#and when i thought about link i immediately thought this is the style of suit zelda would wear

[cpyclopse]

Skyward Sword Beach Episode!!!

Silly version under the cut :3

[My Art]

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Unsated Needs.

Pairing: Yandere!Miguel x Reader (Spider-verse).

Commissioned by the very lovely @kiakaiba.

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Venom!Reader, Sub!Miguel, Rough Sex, Biting/Blood, Everything's Consensual But Reader's So Pissed About It, Tentacle Sex, Threesome (?), Semi-Public Sex, Implied Stalking, and Obsessive Behavior.

[Based On This Drabble]

Miguel found you in a narrow alleyway, gore dripping from your teeth and tar writhing against your skin.

From a distance, he thought you might’ve been injured. Braced against a rusting chain-link fence that could barely hold your weight, bulking arms crossed over your torso, swallowed entirely by your symbiote – he could already picture a bloody gash in your side, a lead pipe embedded in flesh and organ, a cluster of eye-searing colors and patterns slowly eating away at some vital part of you. He could feel his pulse beating against his ears, his throat tightening with a familiar anxiety no amount of anger and exhaustion could seem to drown out, but of course, his panic was wasted on you. With another step, a closer look, he could see that the blood dripping from your teeth wasn’t your own, that you were holding your stomach, not your chest.

He realized, as he stepped into your line of sight, as you shot to face him with a violent snarl, that you weren’t hurt. You weren’t injured.

You were hungry.

No, starving. He’d seen symbiotes waiting to be sent back to their original dimensions exhibit similar behavior: a slight shake in your shoulder, a certain rattle in your chest, a wildness in the pupilless eyes of the mask you rarely wore, outside of your sporadic fights. It was in your voice, too, in the hollowness your hostility couldn’t seem to fill. “What do you want?” you spat, and it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember the last time you raised your voice around him. It wasn’t your style. You were the silent, skulking type. This was pure defensiveness, the rabid thrashing of a cornered. This was desperation. “Take a step closer, and I swear I’ll—”

“Bite me.”

Your shoulders jutted upward, claws sprouting from your curled fingers. Your symbiote’s thrashing slowed, the black tar of its faux skin clinging that much closer to your own, and when you failed to respond, he repeated himself, fighting not to let his voice shake. “What are you waiting for? Take a bite out of me.”

A scarlet tongue slipped past your jagged teeth, lapping over the lips of your mask. It took everything he had not to picture that tongue wrapped around his cock, or better yet, your mouth closed around his lower body as it fucked him open. “Little heroes don’t usually ask to be eaten.”

“I said you can have a bite. Taking anything more, and I’ll be forced to treat you like a threat.” You didn’t move, but he could feel your eyes boring into him, the weight of your attention pressing into his chest, making it difficult to breathe. If only to distract himself, he went on. “Heroes help people, and you look like you’re about to—”

Whatever remaining patience you had thinned and snapped before he could finish. There was a low growl, a flash of pure darkness, and then, familiar tendrils were tangled around his wrists, his ankles, his neck and dragged him upward, until his feet no longer touched the ground. His own claws lashed out reflexively, but he stopped himself from attacking your symbiote, from so much as taking a breath before you surged forward and buried your teeth in his side, tearing through the nano-fabric in the blink of an eye and biting down.

He’d seen you eat, before – caught you hunched over corpses mutilated beyond the hope of identification, seen you strip flesh from bone in a matter of seconds. This was different. This wasn’t just gluttony, it was wrath, anger rolling off of you in waves as you tore away, rending flesh from muscle and swallowing it down. His suit reacted immediately – isolating the injured area with a plaster-like bandage and injecting a thousand microscopic numbing agents around the perimeter of the wound, but still, he could feel the burn spreading outward, filling his veins and distorting his vision. He could feel his mouth falling open, a deep groan catching his throat before he could vocalize his agony. He could feel his cock, throbbing underneath the taut fabric of his suit, already aching for your attention.

But, you were preoccupied. Your mouth fell to his thigh, tearing away another strip of flesh and tissue. The wound was smaller than the first, but deeper, the points of your curved teeth piercing his skin and sending pangs of pure electricity to the pit of his stomach. This time, there was little he could do to stop himself from reacting, from clenching his eyes shut and letting out a noise – cracked, guttural, as pained as it was wanting. It was humiliating, how easily you could make him abandon his dignity. It was pathetic, the things he was willing to do just to be close to you.

You lingered there, lapping at his blood until you’d drunken your fill before pulling away. With more than a little satisfaction, he noted that it was his blood staining your teeth, dripping down your lips and coating the slick skin of your symbiote as you snapped your fingers, as your mask recoiled and your symbiote sunk below your neck. You could never seem to hide your face, not from him, not for very long. He couldn’t say he was much better. If his society wasn’t at-risk, he would’ve given up his identity for the chance to hear his name roll off your tongue. “You’re so full of shit.” It was your voice, now – just your voice, the reverberation of your symbiote’s tenor no long playing beside your own. “You’ve been following me around for months, and you still think I’d believe you’re just trying to be a good little spider? How many hours have you spent begging us to fuck you when you could’ve been playing hero? How many people have you let me eat because you wanted to get your dick wet?”

Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. He tried to justify it, sometimes, to do his research on the handful of bodies you left in more or less one piece and tell himself that all of your victims must’ve been abusive husbands or rich bastards or cops, but he would’ve served you a new corpse every night if it meant you’d keep holding him like this, your symbiote around his neck and your warm breath fanning over his open wounds, if it meant you’d keep touching him – your fingertips skirting over the edge of his injury before coming to rest just below his hip. “Drop the suit.”

He didn’t hesitate. Your scowl deepened as his suit glitched and dissolved, leaving only the upper half of his mask in-tact, but your symbiote didn’t seem to share your animosity. Its touch was teasing, its mannerisms playful – the tendrils around his ankles rising and forcing his knees to bend, another pair binding his thighs to his calves and spreading his legs as far apart as his advanced flexibility would allow. There was a pitchy chirping noise – the sound meaningless to him but, apparently, comprehensible enough to you.

Your frown quirked but, with another round of probing from your symbiote, you reached out and wrapped your fist around his aching cock, your grip too tight not to be taken as a sign of aggression. You didn’t move, didn’t shift, but he bucked into your hand reflexively, gritting his teeth to keep himself from moaning and fueling his own degradation. Even that effort was quickly proved futile – gone the moment you drove the heel of your palm into the base of his cock and a truly broken whimper was ripped out of something weak and vulnerable in his chest. He was already leaking onto your hand, pearls of white pre-cum following the curve of your knuckles and staining the cement at your feet. You watched it drip with disgust before your eyes flickered up to meet his.

You opened your mouth, but whatever insult you planned to throw his way was immediately drowned out by a trembling moan, the fragile sound drawn out of him by the feeling of another tendril against his body, snaking down the curve of his spine. This one was flatter than the rest – wide and tongue-like, slick against his skin. Not against his will but rather his better judgement, he arched into it, his eyes remaining fixed on yours as the newest tendril groped at his ass, taking its exploration slowly. Your grip tightened, your thumb swiping over the swollen tip too quickly not to sting. “Take a deep breath, Spider-Boy.”  

He tried to ask what you meant, but the tendril’s tapered point pushed into him as soon as his lips parted. He’d rolled this scenario over in his mind a thousand times, pumped his cock as he fucked himself to the point of tears on one of the silicone monstrosities Lyla liked to order behind his back when his wandering mind started to affect his multi-dimension work, but he never could’ve imagined how cold it would be inside of him, the involuntary shudder that’d run from his feet to his shoulders as your symbiote pushed farther into his ass, filling him in a single thrust. A distinct, spiraled ridge ran down the length of the tendril, adding an alien sensation that only did more to damage his tenuous composure. Its pace, too, threatened to tear him apart; back-breaking fast and unpredictably sporadic, thrusting into him with enough force to leave his hands curling around whatever part of your symbiote that he could reach. He wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to hold himself upright without the restraints around his wrists and ankles, didn’t know if he would’ve been able to survive without the oppressive weight of your repulsion – your narrow glare there to keep him grounded while your symbiote did its best to break him open.

“I—” He wasn’t sure why he bothered. He wasn’t sure why he tried when his voice caught on every other word, when he could hardly get enough air into his lung to stay conscious. “I— Fuck, is it supposed to—”

“Don’t think about it.” You cut him off before he could struggle though the rest, letting go of his cock and shoving two fingers past his lips. He gagged, but you didn’t pull back, forcing him to adjust to the digits lodged halfway down his throat. “This is already more than you deserve. Just be thankful Reaper thinks you’re cute when you’re pathetic.”

Cute.

Cute.

You called him cute.

He let out an airy moan, clenching his eyes shut and throwing his hips back, encouraging your symbiote to thrust that much deeper, to be that much rougher with him. His meager efforts were rewarded with another pair of tendrils – the writhing tissue massaging his pecs and toying with his nipples, hardened from exposure and sensitive from neglect. The tendril inside of him slowed, but whatever friction might’ve been lost was immediately replaced by a new trail of smooth ridges and defined veins, a bulbed knot at the base, a blunt head that seemed to grind against every spot that made him twitch, every spot that made him gasp and thrash and want more.

The newest wave of his desperation seemed to spark something in you – interest, maybe, or jealousy, it was hard to tell. Either way, when you pulled your fingers out of his mouth, he leaned forward to try and chase your touch, letting out a low whine when you retreated farther than he could reach, wiping your hand on your thigh. You didn’t keep your distance for long, though. Wordlessly, you allowed your symbiote to lift you off of the ground and up to Miguel’s height, keeping you suspended while you wrapped your legs around his waist. Your suit didn’t pull back, didn’t melt away, only pressing flush to your skin, only making it that much easier for you to slot yourself against him. Your symbiote held him taut as you straddled him, taking agonizing seconds to take his pulsing cock in your hand and, just as slowly, to align the leaking head with your cunt. You started to move your hips, but paused, looking toward him. “Do you know what the worst part is?” Without the strength to speak, he just shook his head. You didn’t press for more. “We would’ve gotten rid of you months ago, if I thought Reaper could stomach it.” You spared him the ghost of a smile. “She says you taste like something that’s already started to rot.”

Aided by your symbiote, you lowered yourself onto him, the tendril in his ass thrusting into him at the same time and forcing his cock that much deeper into you, giving him that much less time to brace himself before he was fully enveloped by your cunt.

He made it all of half a second before coming undone inside of you.

The hours he’d spent fucking his fist to grainy security camera footage and his own deranged fantasies couldn’t begin to compare. You were so hot around him, and wet, and the sound of your breathy laugh as he felt his own cum flood into the gaps between your convulsing walls and his cock had him seeing stars. “Fuck,” you muttered, your tone equal parts shock and amusement. “You’re so fucking needy. Just how long have you been waiting for this?”

If it’d been difficult to talk before, it was near-impossible now. You were working in-tandem with your symbiote; your hips slamming against his in time with its tendril’s thrashing, making sure he was always either being fucked full or milked dry. His climax clearly didn’t matter to either of you. If anything, his hyper-sensitivity only seemed to spur you on, make you more determined to draw choked whimpers and gasping moans out of some deep, long-buried part of him. “Months,” he managed, eventually, spitting the words out through his own ragged panting. “Years – as long as I’ve known about you.”

You hummed, and Miguel drank it in like praise. “Did you want me and Reaper, or just her? Be honest. I promise I’ll try my best not to be jealous.”

Just you. It’d always just been you. Your symbiote was like a parasite, latching onto his thoughts of you and your lips and the feeling of your skin against his and perverting them, tinting them with talons and teeth and a cock the size of his forearm. He wanted you, but he’d take anything you had to give him. “You, I just wanted— Christ, I’d give anything for you to—"

The tendrils on his chest flattened over his nipples and squeezed, forming a wet suction that had him seeing white in a matter of seconds. He threw his head forward, but you didn’t let him escape you for very long – taking him by the chin, burrowing what remained of your claws into his jaw. He could feel skin break underneath your touch, his blood start to trickle down his neck, but didn’t dare pull away, melting into your touch without hesitation. “That’s very rude. She’s doing so much for you, and yet, you  still have the nerve to be so ungrateful.” Your grin was blatant, now, dripping with smug condescension. He’d give anything to see that grin again, to be at its mercy every day. He’d give anything to kiss you. “This is why no one likes you, Spider-boy. You have a pretty face, but you ruin it for yourself every time you open your mouth.”

Pretty. Pretty. Pretty. He couldn’t think about anything else, couldn’t seem to stop himself from lurching forward, wrenching out of your hold. His mouth crashed into yours, the connection all bruised lips and gnashing teeth, only sustained by your shock and his own desperation. The taste of his blood was still heavy on your lips, but he didn’t care, letting out a throaty moan as he sunk against you. He wanted to be close to you. He wanted to be inseparable from you. He wanted to be a part of you. He wanted to—

You jerked back, your fist colliding with his cheek a moment later. It wasn’t a slap, playful and open-handed, or a love-tap, but a punch, meant to get him away for you and make him want to stay away. Pain ricocheted through his skull, his ears ringing and his senses suddenly fogged. It didn’t matter, though. The euphoria of knowing there’d be a mark the next day, of knowing he’d be able to carry a part of you for weeks, was enough to send him over the edge, to leave him humping your cunt and pumping his cum into you for the second time in a matter of minutes. He could’ve stayed like that forever, for as long as you’d have him. Your symbiote could’ve swallowed him whole, and he would’ve died happy.

You didn’t share the sentiment. You didn’t even wait for the aftershocks to fade before clicking your tongue. Your symbiote recoiled, peeling itself off of him, keeping you suspended while Miguel collapsed onto the cement, the rough pavement scraping at his exposed skin. You, on the other hand, were lowered slowly onto your feet, your suit regaining its usual mass as you came to stand above him. “Next time you want to get laid,” you started, wiping off your mouth with the back of your hand. “Stick to your hand. Or else Reaper might find a way to choke down more than a bite.”

He heard your footsteps, the rattling of some rusted fire-escape, and then you were gone, off to lurk in the shadows and stalk your next meal. With a deep breath, a groan of exertion, he rolled onto his back, basking in the cloud of bliss still hanging over him. Eventually, when he was ready, he spoke into the empty air. “Lyla.”

There was a flash of yellow, a near-blinding light. She appeared to his side, hands covering her eyes. “Is it over?” Her fingers split apart. “Can I please put your suit back on?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He groaned as he sat up, every muscle in his body drenched in agony. Nano-fabric crept down from his neck, covering his bruised skin and leaking cock, engulfing him entirely. He mourned not being able to see the marks you’d left on him, but it was a necessary separation and, more importantly, a temporary separation. There wouldn’t be anything able to keep him away from you, soon enough. “Cancel everything on my schedule. Jessica’s in-charge until I get back.”

“What should I tell her you’re doing, boss man?”

He flicked his wrist, a holographic screen flickering into existence at his fingertips. A grid-coded map of Nueva York splayed itself out in front of him. A couple seconds later, a blinking dot appeared only a few blocks away from his current position, moving quickly. You were in a rush, tonight.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He’d have to take care of the other eleven tracking chips, the ones planted in the spots you hadn’t taken a bite out of, later on. It could wait. Everything could wait until he’d gotten his fill of you – that was, if he ever could.

“Tell her I’m getting fucked.”

[pennyserenade]

the devil hath power

part two: the game

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader, coriolanus snow x you, coriolanus snow x nameless reader (no use of y/n) rating: m (mature, 18+) tags/warnings: talk of suicide, talk of death, talk of sex work, classism, a little bit of power play, power imbalance, food mention, alcohol mention, tigris snow cameo <3 word count: 3.6k+ summary: Coriolanus and his 'friend' begin to play a game neither of them are prepared to lose. a/n: the link to part one of this story can be found here (tumblr) or here (ao3). part three of this will follow very quickly after this one - maybe a day or two later - i promise. i've written a good chunk of it, as i intended to post this all one part, but it became much too lengthy. also, if you want to be tagged in the next part of this - or other stories like it - you can sign up to my taglist here or follow my updates blog @belovedinfidels and turn on the post notifications. thank you a ton for all your support and love. it's been lots of fun interacting with you all and writing for this fandom.

part one | part three

The money for what had conspired between her and Coriolanus came quickly, as he had promised it would. In the early hours of the next day a nondescript envelope, along with a sizable clothing bag, was delivered to her door by a nameless Avox. The amount was far more than she would’ve charged him, and yet not enough (as it always seemed to be).

However, it was the contents of the clothing bag that surprised her most of all. When she opened it she found a finely made pantsuit, feminine in its cut but masculine in its style, with wide shoulders and flared pant legs, but a more tapered, closely fitted waist. The fabric was not inexpensive either; it was a costly wool in a light burgundy shade, not unlike the color he had worn when he’d approached her in the club. She ran her fingers beneath the peaked lapels, admiring the work of what must’ve been his in-house tailor.

Though she enjoyed this gift—it was far more expensive than anything she’d purchased for herself in years—she did not feel particularly warm nor grateful towards its giver. She took the suit and hung it in the closet of the main bedroom, where she kept all her finest items, and did not think about it again until the next week.

To say Coriolanus filled her thoughts during this time would be a lie; he slipped in occasionally as she conducted business, but did not remain for more than a moment. Young men, with their heads full of ambition and tongues thick with Capital accents, brought her back to moments in that darkened bedroom, watching Coriolanus’ pupils blow wide, his lips twitching, his voice lower. The earnest clatter of teeth provided by Monday’s man reminded her of Coriolanus’ bruising intensity. The cool touch of Thursday’s regular brought her back to Coriolanus’ fingers beneath her chin. Saturday’s newcomer had blue eyes, which were infinitely kinder and much more open than Coriolanus’, but still filled her with a wave of repulsion. But it was nothing, harmless meanderings to make the time pass.

The only time she truly allowed him to invade her truly invade her thoughts was the following Sunday. The same Avox that had delivered the suit and the money returned with another envelope. Whereas the previous one had been free of design, of name, of anything that could mark it back to Coriolanus, this one bore all the signs of him, from the golden rose seal to the loopy script that read out his name.

The Avox stood at her door, staring down at the envelope in her hands with some urgency. She got the hint, opening it up without her usual regard for its design. Quickly her eyes scanned over the contents. She frowned softly; he was inviting her to a soirée at his apartment, asking if she would so kindly RSVP or decline and then send it back immediately. The date was not far away—only two short days. This, the invitation implored, was why the RVSP - or the decline - was so urgently needed.

Of course, she checked yes. How could she not? The previous envelope was evidence enough that Coriolanus followed through more than enough in terms of money, and wasn’t that all that mattered? When she handed Avox the invitation, the woman handed her another envelope. This time she did not stick around to watch her open it.

When the Avox left she sat down at her kitchen table, putting the envelope in front of her. Somehow she knew that whatever was inside its folds would impact her life in a way so few things had, and she was not yet prepared for it. Her eyes trailed over the details of the room, focused on the dampened quiet, the emptiness that lay in the elongated dining table with no guests to fill it.

As a child she had loved this room, perhaps more than any other, for it was a basin of social activity. Her mother had been a lively host and her father a jovial one at the head of the table. Wine had flown freely and their plates had been filled with food they had not known to appreciate but in retrospect. There had been nights when the guests got so drunk and so merry, and they found her innocence and her childishness compelling, cooing as she weaved her little body through their legs beneath the table. In the next room there used to be a grand piano on which she would sit with her mother after dinner concluded, and listen to her sing to the guests. Her father, a typically stoic man, would slouch against the piano and look at her mother and herself with a fondness she would never forget. How beautiful love feels when it's all gone, dried up except for the aching ghost of it rattling in the bones of a once beautiful home.

The truth of it was that her parents were dead and this home was all she had. When Coriolanus called it a museum, he wasn’t too far off. Not much had changed since her mother had died. So much had been taken before, as the Dark Days reached their peak and the hunger became unbearable. Everyone who had been beautiful and lively at those dinner parties became hollow, and thin, including her parents. It was her father who died first, but when he went it was as if her mother had died, too – it only took a little longer. Seconds, days, weeks, a total of two years until it was truly over.

It was a frightening thing to witness as a child, the destruction of something as sure and sturdy as one’s mother. She had not been told of the gruesome demise of her father, only that it had been attributed to the war. It was only later that she would find out that he had died by his own hand, that he had left what little funds they had with her mother, found an empty home, and did away with himself. His death had affected her but none so much as her mother’s had. She had to become a spectator of her mother’s failing health, watched as the rot of it filled their home, and sat idly beside her bed as it consumed her completely. Death was not delicate, not kind, not to her parents.

A better woman would’ve left this home behind as soon as she’d gotten enough funds to free herself from it, but she could not seem to. Somehow living in it felt like the greatest vengeance - or revenge, depending on the day - for her parents. Everything she did was to better this home, to restore it to the beauty she had witnessed in her once-grand childhood. That’s why the envelope was so daunting; she knew that whatever Coriolanus wrote her, even if it was inconsequential, would somehow tie to this dream. He was money and money was everything, the single stepping stone to life.

She took her time when it came to opening it, first finding a gold letter opener in the haunts of her father’s old office. The envelope was not thin but it was easy to open with the knife; she cut smoothly beneath the seal and peeled back the lip, running her fingers over the rose details that sat on the outside. She could see through the back of the folded paper that it was a letter, handwritten.

Everything is about winning, the letter began, but you know that, don’t you? I think you can see that I am not a man of unfulfilled promises now and you’re taking a step in the right direction – as any smart girl would. On the night of the party, I will send a car for you – the weather’s been rather cool for a walk – and it will take you to my apartment. Whether you choose to wear the clothing I sent is up to you, but I will say to you that the designer of the suit will be there, and she is very eager to meet you. Don’t fret too awfully much about keeping up with your appearances; it will be a small gathering, full of like-minded individuals such as yourself. They may ask what you do for a living and you may divulge the truth to them if you wish. I think I am no more ashamed of you than you are of me – what a thrilling dynamic we have.

Until then, Coriolanus Snow.

The letter remained open on the table until the night of the party. It was a reminder that she was a player in a game of her own making, but that she needed to tread carefully, lest it slip through her fingers.

She knew she could not afford to lose this; it meant far too much now that this kind of money had entered the equation.

— Even Coriolanus’ building gave the air of being self-important, large and foreboding.

Before she stepped out of the driver’s car and onto the sidewalk before the opulent apartment, she first took a wary glance upwards. The sky was a flurry of white, but even through the thicket of snow she could see the bright lights of the apartments shining ominously above her.

Her mind had been churning over the possible outcomes of this party all day. She had poured over his letter and dissected it until the individual words meant nothing and everything all at once. What she kept coming back to was the line about her occupation—how it meant very little to him whether she told the guests she was a prostitute or not. If she knew Coriolanus’ type the way she thought she did, she knew that her occupation would be of some worry to his acquaintances. Had he written that to throw her off? To make her embarrass herself the way she had him? If so, he’d have to work harder than that. She wrapped her black coat more tightly around herself and mounted the stone steps. Exhaling a deep sigh, she braced herself for whatever could come of this night.

The doorman greeted her with a curt nod as he opened the door for her. The lobby was an enormous space, full of stone columns and large potted trees. She admired the high ceilings and beautiful hanging chandeliers before another man, dressed smartly in a tuxedo and red bow tie, escorted her in the direction of the stairs. She wanted to request a walk up the large staircase but thought better of it. Now was no time to gawk over the fine housing of one of her clients. Because that’s what Coriolanus was: a client.

The elevator ride up did little to prepare her for what would come. What greeted her first was the warm sound of music and laughter. Not rich, honeyed laughter but real laughter, laughter that belonged to a time she had not been familiar with in far too long. It was feminine, rich, and pleasant. This, more than the intricate design of the apartment itself, excited her.

Before she knew it Coriolanus was standing in front of her. While another tuxedo-ed man took her coat, he walked up to her. “Welcome,” he greeted, his grin proud and wide. His eyes scanned over her and he was evidently pleased. “You wore the outfit.”

He acted as if she had said the correct answer.

Her smile was warm, and performative to a degree. “I’d be a fool not to,” she cooed.

He was pleased with her, showing it in the way he extended an elbow for her to take. She wrapped her hand around his bicep and he walked them through the long corridor, closer to the sounds of chatter. “Is there anything I should know?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing that I can think of,” he answered.

When they walked into the main room, everyone’s eyes turned in their direction. Coriolanus took to the attention, wearing a cordial grin. One of the women sitting on the multitude of cream chairs hopped up, eyes widening in excitement. “Oh Coryo!” she gushed, pushing through the small crowd to get to them.

She was a stunning woman, lithe, tall, her hair as fair as Coriolanus’ and cascading in loose curls down her shoulders. She reached her hand out in greeting. “I’m Tigris. Coriolanus told me wanted me to make an outfit for someone but he didn’t tell me how beautiful the model would be,” she gushed.

Her cheeks tinted, unused to be fawned over with such earnestness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she responded, smiling warmly. “Thank you for the outfit, it’s truly stunning.”

Coriolanus patted the hand she had on his bicep and beamed. He was showing her off like a prize, flaunting her. If she didn’t so much like the company of Tigris, she might ask him what he was getting at. But she did like Tigris, quite a lot even though this was their first meeting. Unlike Coriolanus, she was…kind. Nothing disingenuous, not so far as she could see. There was no air of haughtiness to her, no ulterior motive. She reminded her of her mother, in a way.

“I wanted her to be a surprise, Tigris. I knew you’d think she was lovely,” Coriolanus said softly. Tigris looked at him gratefully, cupping his cheek with a gloved hand affectionately.

“You’re sweet, Coryo,” she said. “Why don’t you go introduce her to the rest of the party, maybe feed her–” she looked down. “Sorry, I don’t mean to talk like you’re not here. There’s food in the kitchen and more drinks on the counter if you’re interested. I’m certain everyone else will be very excited to meet you. It’s not often Coriolanus brings someone to my parties.”

They both watched as Tigris returned into the mix of individuals. All of them were stunning, model good-looking—even the ones with more exotic appearances. Their bright hair colors and lavish makeup only accentuated their beauty. They were, to put it simply, ethereal. Not at all like the people she would expect Coriolanus to consort with.

“She’s my cousin,” he said as if reading her thoughts.

“And what does she think I am to you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “A friend, I suppose.”

“That doesn’t make her curious?”

Coriolanus laughed. “No. Tigris stopped asking me questions long ago and it’s best that way. Now come.” He pointed to another open space across the room. “If I don’t get you something to eat she’ll be angry with me.”

“Is this all you wanted me here for?” she asked once they were secluded from the rest of the party. “To make your cousin happy?”

He handed her a plate and smiled his typical confounding grin. “If it was?” he taunted, tossing a berry in his mouth.

“I’d say I wasn’t an escort,” she responded.

This response made his grin stretch. “Of course you’re not,” he assured.

He followed her down the line of food, watching as she selected bits of fruits, meats, the fanciful little hor devours. Something about Coriolanus made her feel more transparent—like he knew the game she’d been playing and was waiting for her to acknowledge how clever he was for catching on. But of course he knew the game. Wasn’t he the one who sought her out?

“It’s no lie that I’m hungry, Coriolanus,” she finally submitted. Her admission made him hum delightedly around a grape.

“So eat,” he encouraged, taking a step forward. He raised a grape to her lips. When she didn’t take it from his fingers, he smirked. “Not a fan?” he teased, plopping it in his mouth. “Well, no worries. There's a lot of food here. And—“ he lowered his voice, “you can have as much as you like for as long as you like. That’s the nice thing about working with me: you don’t go hungry.”

Her eyes turned into slits. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she snapped.

He nodded, his carefully styled coif of hair bouncing. “You are, but there’s still more for you to decide. When we walk back out there, Tigris’ friends will grow interested even if she doesn’t. They’ve never seen you and you’re objectively good-looking—of course they’re going to want to know where I found you.”

She took a sip of the wine, not understanding where he was headed. This didn’t seem to bother him. He continued with a crooked grin. “When they ask you what you are, you're more than welcome to be honest. The future is what you make it.”

He took his own sip, his eyes full of meaning. She hated him. He was thrilled at her undoing, thrilled at the fact that he could control her in even the subtlest ways.

“And if I say I’m a whore?” she challenged.

He wetted his lips, setting the glass on the counter behind him. “Then a whore you shall be.”

“And if I tell them I’m your whore?”

He regarded her with an uneasy calm. She shifted uncomfortably beneath his unblinking gaze.

“Then my whore you’ll be,” he answered.

The finality of it sent her into a reflective quiet.

—

As Coriolanus predicted, Tigris’ friends were inquisitive.

After he’d let her eat in quiet, he’d guided her back out to the party where everyone was positioned in a circle. The room was made that way, adapting the Snowflake design of the house itself, each of the chairs orbiting one lone glass table in the middle. It was clever, helping facilitate conversation, but intimidating for whoever had the floor.

“Coriolanus, what does your little dove do? You’ve both spoken so little tonight and I think it’s safe to say we’re all dying to know,” one of them, who she thought was named Otho, said.

Tigris smiled ruefully. “I’m sure she speaks for herself, Otho.”

She smiled, having remembered the name correctly. It wasn’t until a second later that she realized they’d all turned their attention to her expectantly—including Coriolanus. They shared a glance before she eased back in the chair. He was nervous, perhaps just as much as she was.

“I don’t do much,” she evaded, bringing the glass of wine up to her lips.

Otho pressed on. “Oh, and how does one as young as yourself get on with doing nothing? Don’t tell me you’ve got one of those adoring Capital husbands. I mean, you’re pretty enough, but it’s just terribly unfair. I hate meeting them.”

It was a welcome lie. She didn’t look at Coriolanus as she eased her way into it. “I’m sorry to say I do,” she responded. They all leaned forward in their chairs, interested, so she continued. “He’s off in District 2 at the moment. I got one of the patriotic ones; he signed up to be a Peacekeeper not too shortly after our wedding.”

“Was he poor?” one inquired. Tigris poked them with her finger, shaking her head in disappointment.

“It’s quite alright, I don’t mind saying he wasn’t. He thought it was the right thing to do, being fit and young as he was—as he is.”

“Coriolanus was a Peacekeeper,” another one said. She didn’t remember their name either. “Is that how you met him?”

Coriolanus took hold of the conversation. “No. We go back a little farther than that,” he answered. Everyone’s eyes shifted to him.

“Do you?” Tigris asked. She seemed hurt by the idea of not knowing this. It struck her that Coriolanus and Tigris were rather close, like siblings, friends, maybe.

“As children we studied together.” Coriolanus shrugged his shoulders flippantly. Tigris nodded, but looked away.

“That’s true,” she added. She was hitting her stride. It was easy to perform, to be others, almost simpler than to be oneself most days. Coriolanus underestimated how much practice she’d had at that. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d known all along. It was hard to tell with him. “When Coriolanus and I were children I had such a massive crush on him. He was beautiful.”

She looked over at him. He wore a tight grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t you remember how I used to fawn over you?” Her fingers grazed his wrist, and she laughed. He did too. To an outsider, they made quite the jovial pair.

“I can’t say I do, but I’m flattered.” He took another sip of his drink, looking back out to their audience.

“Well, never mind that you don’t remember. I do.” She looked back at them, too. Even Tigris, who seemed wounded by what she didn’t know, stared longingly for more as she plunged into the story. She did remember Coriolanus as a little boy. It was easy enough to supply this information.

“Coriolanus was one of the more considerate boys in our grade. At that time boys made up terrible sing-songy rhymes about how girls were ugly and stinky or what have you, but not Coriolanus. Not that I heard at least.”

Everyone laughed and she looked wistfully at him. He did not look back. Instead, his eyes were captivated by the liquid in his cup. She didn’t let it bother her or take away from her story. “I remember on my sixth birthday I invited him and insisted he sit beside me. He got me a doll. I remember it very clearly. It looked a little bit like me and I thought it was very thoughtful.”

Tigris smiled softly. “That sounds like my Coriolanus.”

Coriolanus rose from his seat. He held up his glass, now empty. “I’m going for a refill,” he informed.

Everyone looked to Tigris as if searching for answers. She guided them towards another topic, smiling brightly as if unbothered. But it was in her eyes, the hurt, the confusion. After a little everyone seemed to forget the absence of him, though. Everyone almost seemed to blossom during it.

She was beginning to suspect that perhaps she’d bit off more than she could chew as she watched them all chattering away like that. Who was this man, she wondered, And why did he hold this much power even over people he seemed to love?

[imtotallyokandnormal]

i saw your doe x metalhead reader and thought it was adorable!! I kinda want to request something of the same regards but instead of metalhead something like more of a soft dressed, sensitive person? 😵‍💫

Oh yes this one will be really cute i can ALREADY tell!! By the way I may make this reader more sensitive than you meant but hopefully I get the amount of sensitivity right!

Reader: gn reader

Warnings: none!

Image link: badabing!

》☆John Doe x Sensitive You!☆《

- When I say John would be head over heels in love with a sensitive person I mean that he will be watching your face constantly just to see every range of emotion you experience every day. Like I'm not joking seeing your expression shift even in the slightest way is so FASCINATING to them like the way your eyes light up in the slightest way makes them giddy.

- He loves the way you seem so emotionally in-tune with yourself, he loves being able to tell what you're feeling. They go out of their way to please you and make sure you're smiling as much as possible.

- Something make you upset? It's dealt with before you even get home (this is possible thanks to His Stalking Tendencies). Whether someone was rude to you or you have a lot of things to do, it will be dealt with by however he deems necessary (maybe involving a bit of messy killing in the process but shhhh don't worry about it).

- OK OK IF YOU CRY EASY- John doesn't find it to be a burden at all so do not worry, they only worry because they hate seeing you upset. The moment they notice you starting to get emotional, while watching a movie or in a social setting or whatever it is, they are immediately hugging you and taking you away from whatever is upsetting you.

- If you don't like physical touch for reassurance he'd be absolutely more than happy to replace it with gift giving (giving you a torn up stuffie he found in a random alleyway to hug) or just getting you away from the situation! He is willing to change his style of affection-giving to suit you (even if he WANTS to tackle you and smother you in love until you can't take it).

- Also not to mention they LOVE your clothing style, he would love you no matter what you wore but he appreciates a softer pallette on you because it matches your gentleness!

- They may or may not steal your clothes either to wear or to gather into a big clothing pile to snuggle in while you're gone. They just like your scent and anything that reminds them of you.

- Also this doesn't just apply if you wear soft feminine clothes, if you wear more masculine or androgynous clothes that could be considered soft he'd love them just as much! (Although I'm just saying, if you own a skirt John will absolutely wear it no question so if you enjoy that thought as much as I do there you go.)

- OH OH ANOTHER IMPORTANT THING! If you need regular reassurance that you are loved and needed? You could not have picked a better person for the job like John THRIVES on telling you how much you are loved and cherished. If for whatever reason you feel they aren't loving you in the way you need they have no problem adjusting (to extreme lengths if needed) to fit your needs.

- What extreme lengths you ask? I mean they have no qualms about changing into an entirely different person for you, appearance and personality-wise. To them, every part of their being is adjustable to serve you.

- Which makes him all the more happy if you tell him you like him just as he is, no change required! After than he's practically smothering you in hugs and kisses and every form of praise under the sun.

- Basically, John Doe is a sweetheart (in their own special weird way) and if you're a sweetheart he absolutely adores you!

[wholoveseggs]

Moonlight - Chapter Thirteen

A woman’s life is turned completely upside-down when she encounters some demons in the woods.

I will be putting specific warnings for each chapter as they come out, there is smut and violence in some but I'll tag those chapters accordingly.

If you rather read this on Ao3- Link is here

3k Words - Warnings: None.

{Masterlist} - {Chapter list} Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen - Chapter Fourteen

Union

The ceremony was about to begin, and she still hadn't seen him. Patience had always been her virtue, but her nerves were starting to fray. She was mere moments away from achieving her goal, the taste of it almost sweeter than blood.

To calm herself, she started snooping around, making her way up to the second floor. Almost immediately, she found the library, and it was like being transported back in time to the old hall. Picking up a book and flipping through it with the same enthusiasm she had an eternity ago, she could almost feel his arms around her again, his lips trailing along her shoulder. Back then, she was a different person, a lost and broken soul who knew nothing of the world. The girl she used to be could never imagine the beautiful people and places she would come across, as well as the fulfilling lives she would lead. Yet, that girl possessed something Emma wanted more than all of that, something she hoped to have again.

The sound of live music reached her ears, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. She wandered back towards the ballroom from the second floor. That's when she saw him, standing next to Klaus, looking down on the proceedings. He looked amazing, his dark hair perfectly styled, and his dark suit impeccably tailored. Still as handsome as ever. Klaus turned and looked at her, giving her a cheeky smile, pressing his index finger to his lips. Fucker, she thought.

She moved closer, standing next to him, and looked down at the bride and groom as they exchanged vows. For the first time in centuries, she looked up at Elijah's face, his dark eyes fixed below. He hadn't noticed her yet, his gaze filled with deep sorrow as he watched the bride. Her heart broke for him; he was exactly as she remembered, but there was more pain hidden behind his eyes. She wanted to reach out and caress his face, tell him that everything was going to be okay. Below them, the bride and groom kissed, and the crowd erupted in howls and cheers. That's when he looked at her.

It was like something had cracked open in her mind, and everything she had forgotten about her human life came flooding back. Tomas' face swam to the surface, his agonized screams echoing as Elijah twisted his leg. How could she have forgotten the look in his dark eyes as he snuffed the life out of her husband? The problem was that he was giving her the same look now.

"Emma," he said coldly, glancing at Klaus, who leaned against the railings, watching them with an amused look on his face. "How?" He muttered to Klaus. "Is this the work of Finn or Esther?"

Deep pained humiliation coursed through her whole body. She felt incredibly stupid for doing this. A small, sad part of her had hoped for an epic reunion. She had imagined his arms wrapping around her as they both whispered apologies for ancient mistakes. Her cheeks flushed red, and she started to walk away, ready to run as far away from New Orleans as possible.

Klaus chuckled, "It's really her brother. Our one and only lost little lamb has finally found her way home."

Elijah grabbed her arm; it was the first time in a long time she was up against someone stronger than her. Flashes of Tomas with his hands around her throat clouded her mind with fear.

Then she felt his hand caress her cheek, his eyes raking over every detail of her face. He looked deep into her eyes, with the same warm look he used to give her.

"Emma," he said, his voice cracking. He placed a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her into a tight embrace, his familiar scent overwhelming her senses. The feeling of being in his arms made her feel so safe and protected, just as she remembered.

"Hello, dark one," she said softly, burying her face in his shoulder.

"How?" He stuttered, pulling back to look at her face, his hands gripping her waist.

"Well, after we parted, I kept on living. Yada yada, centuries passed, now I'm here," she responded, her nerves completely destroying her ability to speak eloquently.

He chuckled, affectionately tucking her hair behind her ear as a warm smile spread across his handsome face. She felt Klaus moving behind her, heading to another room. Elijah's eyes locked onto him, his expression hardening, his smile disappearing into a thin line.

"Forgive me, I will be right back," he said to her softly. "Please, do not leave." He let go of her and followed his brother, his shoulders hunched and angry.

Emma stood there for a moment, looking down at the wedding party. The stunning bride was greeting her guests, a beautiful smile on her face as she held hands with her new husband. Emma let out a long sigh, a sense of relief washed over her, then a sense of dread. I finally found him, now what? She thought.

She couldn't help but eavesdrop on Klaus and Elijah arguing in the other room. Naturally, Klaus wanted to kill the groom, and noble Elijah wasn't going to let that happen. "Face the facts, you are even now forcing yourself to deny. You want Jackson dead just as much as I do. In fact, I think you want it more."

It amused her how little they had changed over the centuries. Elijah would always do what's right, regardless of what he desired. Klaus would always tell you the painful truth, regardless of how it would hurt you. She could hear Elijah follow Klaus deeper into the compound, probably finding a more private location to continue their argument. She wandered in the other direction, taking in the decor of their home; everything about it was just so them. She heard the sounds of a baby cooing, a strange sound to hear in the present environment. She followed it and, to her surprise, found Cami sitting in a rocking chair, holding precious new life.

Cami looked up at her, her expression mildly fearful. "You shouldn't be here," she said, gripping the baby closer to her.

"Fucking hell, Cami, do you think I'm going to hurt the baby?" Emma laughed. "What did I do to make you think I'm some sort of diabolical monster?"

Cami let out a relieved sigh, "I'm sorry; it's been a crazy few weeks."

Emma took in the room, a beautifully built cradle and one of Klaus' paintings on the wall. "Is this… Klaus's child?" Emma stuttered, rendered speechless by the revelation.

"Yes," said Cami softly, smiling down at the baby. "Her name is Hope."

Emma felt tears welling up in her eyes. It was probably the most beautiful news she had heard in a long time. "That's… She's… Beautiful."

Emma looked at the perfect baby girl in Camis arms; she couldn't believe such miracles really existed.

Cami looked up at Emma, "How was your reunion with Elijah?" She asked, surveying Emma's face, she could see that her eyes were a bit teary; the icy beauty was actually moved by the existence of Hope.

"Brief," Emma said, walking to the window and looking down at the street below. "Hopefully, to be continued."

"What happened between you two?" Cami asked.

"He went off to argue with Klaus," Emma responded.

"No, I meant what happened back then." Cami prodded, her eyes fixed on Emma's blank expression; the woman reminded her a lot of Elijah. She controlled her emotions so well it was almost frightening.

Emma looked at Cami, her expression softening. "What have you heard?" She asked.

"That the entire family loved you, protected you, and killed for you. Then one day you disappeared," Cami said cautiously.

"That is a bit of an exaggeration, Marcel is such a little gossip," Emma replied.

Cami chuckled, "True."

Emma turned and sat next to Cami, looking down at Hope with a sweet smile on her face. "Alright, I'll tell you, but I expected client confidentiality."

Cami nodded, watching Emma closely.

"And Hope, I expect you to keep your mouth shut," Emma joked, gently squeezing the baby's foot.

Cami stood and placed the baby in her crib, then sat down with Emma, giving her complete attention.

Emma shifted uncomfortably for a moment and then began. "Long story short, I was a naïve village girl who caught the eye of a certain Mikaelson. He saved me from a wretched existence, and I traveled with him and his family for a time. All I craved was absolute freedom, and they granted it to me. I reveled in their company, partaking in every hedonistic act I desired. Klaus and I had a particular affinity in that regard." Emma paused, her gaze on Cami with a wistful smile. "Yet, as time passed, there was only one thing I couldn't obtain—eternity."

Cami nodded, her interest piqued. "They didn't want to turn you?"

"Elijah didn't," Emma said in a hushed tone. "He believed I wasn't ready, and I began to resent him for it. I thought he wanted me to remain his delicate little flower, something he needed to protect. Little did I know, he saw a darkness within me, and he understood that if I were turned, it would consume me."

Cami reached out, taking Emma's hand in a reassuring gesture. Emma's façade of perfection had crumbled, revealing the vulnerable village girl beneath.

Emma took a deep breath, composing herself, and continued, "I persuaded Klaus to turn me behind Elijah's back. I begged him. He relented, thinking he could guide me. However, once I rose from the dead, I went on an uncontrollable rampage."

Cami couldn't help but shudder at the mental image of Emma wreaking havoc.

"After a few days, Elijah found me; I had left a trail of devastation through an entire town. When he saw me, I was drenched in blood, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of my victims. I told him that we could now be together for eternity." Emma released Cami's hand, turning her gaze away in shame.

A few moments passed in silence, Emma's face painted with a mix of pain and regret. "I'll never forget the look on his face," she whispered, "He was heartbroken and ashamed of me." She wiped a tear from her cheek, shaking her head slightly and composing herself.

"So I ran away, literally, vampire sped away for hours," Emma chuckled bitterly. "It took me years to pull myself together. When I finally mustered the courage to search for them, they were long gone. The town I massacred had attracted Mikael's attention."

"What did you do next?" Cami asked.

"I encountered other vampires, although during those times, we didn't identify ourselves as such. I made sporadic attempts to locate the Mikaelsons over the centuries, but eventually, I abandoned the search. I moved forward with my life, dedicating myself to bringing beauty into the world rather than chaos. Fell in love numerous times and broke numerous hearts. But Elijah's face was always there in the back of my mind, like a ghost I could never forget."

Emma shrugged and stood up; she felt jittery and exposed. She walked back to the window, watching the raucous wedding party dance through the streets. She loved the culture of this city; it was so rich and lively.

"So, there you have it, my story. Feel free to incorporate it into your thesis if you wish. My research focused on how the fear of damnation can influence one's perspective on the meaning of life," Emma stated with a playful grin, turning toward Cami.

Cami smiled back, genuinely interested. "What were your findings?"

"I'll let you know when I've figured it out," Emma chuckled.

They both fell into a comfortable silence, watching the party below as baby Hope slept. Emma could faintly make out Klaus and Elijah arguing from across the compound; she parsed through the sounds of the party below, honing in on their location, she couldn't resist listening closer.

"It's amusing, listening to you defend the man who married the woman you love. But then you have always coveted that which is not yours to have." She heard Klaus yell.

The sound of a saxophone prevented her from hearing Elijah's response, so she walked away from the window, hoping to catch it again.

"... now perhaps a better man has entered Hope's life and seeing that you are shaken to your core." She heard Elijah respond.

"You have the audacity to analyze me? That's ambitious, considering your psychological deficiencies. How was your time with my therapist? Was it helpful? Because it was a great risk leaving you alone with her. These days, who knows what you might do." Klaus yelled, his voice full of Shakespearean rage.

Emma looked to Cami as she casually watched Hope, a gentle smile on her face. She really wanted to know what was up with Elijah; it was definitely more than a broken heart.

"Anything you can tell me about Elijah's mental state?" Emma asked Cami.

Cami's eyes widened, "I think you should ask him yourself," she said, giving Emma a sympathetic look.

Emma sighed; Cami was right, she just didn't want to have that difficult conversation with him. She could hear the guests returning to the compound for the reception, along with footsteps coming towards their location.

"I see you've met my daughter," said Klaus, passing by her and taking his child from Cami.

"She's beautiful," Emma replied; it warmed her heart to see her old friend like this. She had never seen him so at peace.

She sensed that Klaus wanted a moment alone with Cami, so she said a quick goodbye and headed back towards the ballroom. She felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Elijah, his dark eyes full of sadness.

"Emma," he said softly. "I apologize for earlier; I had important matters to discuss with my brother,"

"It's alright," Emma replied; she suddenly felt very awkward around him.

"Can we talk?" He asked, motioning to an empty room.

She nodded and followed him, sitting on an ornate loveseat. She watched him cross the room and turn on a lamp; its warm glow casting shadows on the bookshelves.

He grabbed a bottle and two glasses from an old globe bar stand. She observed his hands as he poured; it was a strange sensation to look back on your life and see what stands out. For some reason, she always remembered his hands.

He handed her a glass, then sat across from her, his face shrouded in shadow. She had waited for this moment for centuries, going over in her head what she would say. But at the moment, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"I'm sorry about the bride; her name is Hayley right? I was told you really care for her." She said, immediately feeling foolish for bringing it up.

He looked down at his drink, his brow furrowed. "She did what had to be done for the family," he said quietly. He looked at her, surveying her face, his eyes slowly descending down her body. "Why are you here? After all this time."

"I was feeling nostalgic," she responded, giving him a sweet smile. "Clearly, my timing isn't ideal."

Elijah let out a little chuckle, taking a sip of his drink, then his expression grew sad again.

"Are you alright?" She asked; she didn't like seeing him this way.

"I'm fine," he said quietly.

She knew better than to push him on this. Time had separated them for so long, but she still knew what he was like. Chronically closed off.

They sat in silence, both awkwardly sipping their drinks. Emma was internally admonishing herself for her cowardice; she needed to say her piece.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry," she stuttered, breaking the silence between them. "For how we parted. For how I hurt you. I've never forgotten the look on your face from the night we parted."

Elijah shook his head, "No, Emma, you had just turned, and you were still traumatized from your time with Tomas. I abandoned you when you needed me most."

"You didn't abandon me, I ran away," Emma replied, a mix of long-dormant emotions began to rise in her chest.

Elijah opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. He stood up and reached out his hand to her. "Come with me,"

Emma followed him to the second-floor balcony; the sound of the wedding party growing louder as they approached. With one hand he intertwined it with hers, the other he placed on the back of her neck, pulling her in close, swaying her gently to the music.

She looked down at the other guests dancing and a smile came to her face. She looked back at Elijah, who was observing her with an affectionate gaze.

"I looked for you, searched all the villages, even went back to the clearing," he said softly. "I was so heartbroken that I–"

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please, I would like to propose a toast." Announced Klaus from below, interrupting their dance.

Emma could feel Elijah's body grow rigid; he let go of her and moved to the railing of the balcony, looking down at his brother.

"I want to welcome you all. As you know, last spring, Hayley and I had a daughter. Due to tragic circumstances, she was lost. Now she has returned home; her name is Hope."

The crowd began to murmur, looking around at each other in surprise.

"She will live here among you, her pack, her family. We implore you, protect our daughter. Teach her, love her, as one of your own."

Klaus looked up at Elijah, a wicked smirk on his face.

"Jackson," continued Klaus, raising his glass to the groom. "I invite you and your bride to live here. Uniting your proud and noble people in peace."

Emma looked to Elijah, his face in utter shock. She knew she couldn't fix this; his heartbreak was his own to work through. The endless Mikaelson family drama was something she didn't miss.

"Welcome to the family, mate. To Jackson and Hayley!"

Elijah turned and stormed away, leaving Emma behind. Is this the worst wedding I've ever been to? she wondered. Definitely top five. Fed up with the day's events, she made up her mind to leave, making her way back down the stairs toward the front exit. On her way, she passed the bride. Emma couldn't help but wonder how the bride felt about all this, whether she even had a choice in the matter. She knew all too well what it was like to be caught between the two brothers; it wasn't a pleasant place to be.

{Masterlist} - {Chapter list} Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen - Chapter Fourteen

[maddyguru]

Jujutsu Kaisen's Spin Off

Summary: Gojo Satoru has a wife. And she's not bitching about how gojo mistreated her in many of those fanfics. But rather, she's the one who's mistreating our favorite gojo satoru.

Chapter notes: Yumi is Maddy perez. this story follows the anime and manga, (I'm trying), and when you read this story, just think of her maddy sllsllsls. Also, you're going to hate her lmao. A lot. And a lot of her lines are from maddy in the euphoria show, it will be referenced in italics bc i can see gojo being with a woman like maddy just cuz...

This story has a playlist. You can listen to it when reading 💞 if you can't access the link, lmk!

Chapter 1

The dress she wore didn’t even look like your usual wedding dress. 

Yuuji’s eyes were staring a little too long at the picture that was hung on the wall of his sensei mansion. It’s his first time seeing a bride wearing a see-through sequin silver dress for her wedding. And she wasn’t even covering much. It’s enough that her dress was see-through, but it’s parted in the middle, showing her skin and lingerie underneath. Yuuji expected her to at least wear a veil to cover her face. Instead, it was a diamond-like veil with crystals blinding people’s eyes. (Yuuji literally doesn’t know what accessories she’s wearing, but he admits that she’s hot as fuck).

 Gojo sensei look… normal. Just a groom suit, but he appears to be younger than he was now, a dark sunglass was his substitute over his usual blindfold that the 15-year-old frequently sees in jujutsu high. Gojo sensei’s arms were all around her waist and her back was pressed against his body, head tilting upwards showing her beauty. Like a siren, she lured him. 

Who is this woman? Yuuji knows what his sensei said earlier, but more precisely, who  is  she? Where she’s from? Is she really older than him? How does she look so perfect and sexy with those huge wrecks and big butt- 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

The pink-haired boy jumped, his head quickly spinning to see where the voice was. And there, right at the top of the stair of this mansion, the woman he was entranced by staring down to look at him. Her hair wasn’t in an updo unlike in the picture, but it was styled as wavy curls, and the length was directly on her shoulders. Her eyes were adorned with the most captivating graphic liner, and her lips were painted with a nude color that matches her skin and style perfectly. She’s as beautiful as Yuuji saw in the picture. If anything, she’s bewitching in person and her voice; Her language is so foul but her voice was alluring just like her eyes. 

Is he… falling for his teacher’s wife?

“I said, who the fuck are you?” She walked down the stair quickly, but her eyes were staring at him cautiously. Eyeing him as if he’s an intruder in her mansion.

“Ah, my lovely Yumi, the sunshine of my life! Whatever you do, don’t attack poor Yuuji Itadori-”

“I’m talking to him, not you.” 

Immediately Satoru went quiet. His face wasn’t showing fear because his giggles were heard when you walked toward him. 

Fuck, she’s heading toward him.

What should I do? Ok, Yuuji, act natural, act natural!

“Who are you, again?” 

She was eyeing him up and down, and Yuuji could feel her judging him closely. Her stare penetrates his whole being, and he could feel how he was shaking like a leaf the longer she came closer and closer. 

It took him a second to focus. He swallowed the lump in his throat and bowed. 

“Nice to meet you! My name is Yuuji Itadori. I’m 15-year-old and my type of woman is women like Jennifer Lawrence-”

“I asked who you are, you don’t need to mention your age and your daily porn flick, brat.” 

Stunned was his reaction. Damn, who would’ve thought that Gojo sensei’s wife is so…. Sarcastic? How does he live with her, then? The bubbly Gojo sensei and this sarcastic, Goddess- the beauty of a woman-  

“Are you opening a foster house now, Satoru? I swear first it’s Megumi and his sister, and now this kid.” She walks past Satoru and Yuuji, heading towards the kitchen. The older woman didn’t even glance at either of them but continued walking. But to Yuuji, she’s not walking. She’s strutting, “I don’t remember pushing a 15-year-old out of my cunt.” Cackling softly, the woman opens the top cabinet, struggling a little, and immediately chugs down her champagne. 

Yuuji’s eyes occasionally glanced at Gojo, waiting and undoubtedly, excited for his teacher’s response to his wife’s. 

From what Yuuji heard, Satoru was a part of a huge clan in the jujutsu community (he’s not really familiar with the whole thing since he’s new). If the sensei’s a part of a huge clan, then the clan must be very traditional-like. They must be practicing old Japanese culture and emphasizing the traditional ways of doing things; marriage must be done in Japanese style unlike what their picture represents. The way a wife talks to their husband must be respectful and head bowing down with traditional clothes on, unlike his wife,  Yumi . Instead of a kimono, she’s in her olive-colored robe and gold earrings. There was no obedience shown in her eyes and body language. Yumi, from his observation, is not a woman who’d bow down to any man. Not even  the  Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive. Her legal husband. 

Instead of being angry and scolding her, Gojo- sensei grinned like a Cheshire cat and leaned closer toward the woman. 

“Is that an invitation to have another baby? I’m alright with that,” a punch was placed on his right chest, and within seconds, Satoru was flying across the room. From the kitchen counter to another kitchen counter. The brute force from her punch had him flying.  He’s thrown across the room. 

This chick is strong. 

Satoru Gojo was untouchable, from what he observed so far. How the hell she’s able to touch him? Is it a soulmate connection thing? Is it because Satoru is her husband? Could it be because she’s as strong as him? 

Damn. 

Her face was showing pure disgust. A few seconds later, she shook her head toward him. “it’s hard enough with two boys, now you want me to push another kid? Do I look like a cow to you?” 

So, they have kids? Where are they, then? Why does Gojo sensei never say he was married and had two kids? Nobody mentions the whole thing. Not Shoko-san, Yaga sensei, or Nanamin. 

“Ow, that hurts! Men don’t like physical attacks, Yumi- yumi.”

“Nor do men love periods, your point?” 

Before Yuuji knew it, they were walking out of the kitchen and he finds himself following because what the fuck was he supposed to do? This is not his house!

When they’re walking towards the living room, only then does Yuuji realize how huge this mansion is and he can finally see pictures of two boys. Twins.

They look almost 9 -10 years old. Side to side with each other. They’re spitting images of their father, the man he’s studying jujutsu from. The two boys have white hair and blue eyes, a familiar grins on their faces. Yuuji was excited when he saw the kids because he would love to meet them, given the chance. Where are they? Are they already sleeping? It’s already so late.

“Why is he here?” Now she has more of a serious aura when she asked this. The fact that he’s in front of her and they’re talking about him makes him nervous. Is he… bothering them? Does she want privacy with her husband? 

Gojo laughed, turning to face him. “He’s, my student. The higher-ups fucked his life up and now we’re hiding from them!”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “so you decided to hide him here? Without talking things with me?”

He was quick to disagree and chuckle at her response. “No, no, don’t get it the wrong way, I’m introducing him to you, not hiding him here.”

Yuuji wasn’t paying attention to their conversations about him, but he was appalled at how Gojo- sensei is keeping his life as private as he could! The older man is known to be talkative and run his mouth all the time, and Yuuji expected his teacher to be showing off his (extremely hot) wife to all his students. 

But maybe there’s a private side in Satoru Gojo that’s waiting to be explored. 

She looked at him for 5 seconds, and later, she smirked. 

“I know you for what now, Satoru? 13 years?”

“There’s more to this meet and greet, right?” 

She shifted her gaze to her husband, folding her arms the more she stared at him. 

There’s an eerie silence when they’re looking at each other and finally, Satoru smiled. That same cunning smile Yuuji always sees at school. 

“I want you to do something, Yumi. I’m asking you a favor. As a husband, I’m asking you…”

Her curious eyes studied her husband, and Satoru finally say it. 

“Please help me train Yuuji Itadori.” 

.

.

.

Yuuji turns to his right. He couldn’t sleep a wink, it seems. 

It’s been 2 hours ever since he was sent off to the guest room in this house. Even the guest room looked like something that would come out of a movie; so perfect with a clean room and bed so large Yuuji could sleep with two more people. Golds were decorated in this room, and he remembers gawking at the sight. 

Is Gojo sensei  that  rich? 

So many questions are running through his head. Like, when will he finally see Nobara and Megumi again? Why do the higher-ups are after him? And why did Gojo sensei ask his wife to train him? She couldn’t be any stronger than him, right? Or could it be, that they’re equal? 

He cackled softly with his hands on his face. Of course, Gojo sensei would marry someone equal to him. In strength, looks, and wealth. Yuuji is convinced that the woman he saw a few hours ago is also from a wealthy clan. She must be. 

How strong is she? Must be too strong to the point Gojo sensei trusted her enough to train him. Must be a special grade as well. Someone equal to him and that’s why she’s the mother of his children. Yuuji made his own conclusion. 

His thoughts were interrupted when there was a knock on his door. 

Who could it be? He wondered to himself when he got up from the bed and opens the door. 

“Ah, Gojo sensei, it’s you.” He muttered, giving room for the older man to enter. His teacher smiled; his blindfold is away from his face. Yuuji finally saw his beautiful blue eyes again. 

“Can I come in?” he asked, and Yuuji was more than happy to let the older man in. It’s his house, after all. 

His teacher walked into the room and later sits on the provided couch, staring out the window into the night sky, and finally turned to Yuuji, his grin still on his face. 

“I’m sorry about my wife. She can be a little mean from time to time. Heck, even with our twins she’s like that,” Satoru tee-heed after he shared some parts of his wife with Yuuji, and the boy can’t help but smile as well at the confession. 

If you defend someone like this, you must be head over heels in love with him, right? 

Gojo sensei must really love his wife, and Yuuji made his conclusion.

“It’s ok, sensei. I heard women are like that all the time!” 

His lips were quickly covered by the older man’s and he looked panicked as soon as Yuuji said what he said. 

“Please, whatever you do,  please,  don’t discriminate against women in this house. Especially not in front of my wife, she would kill you, literally.” 

A nod was Gojo’s answer, and the older man quickly let his lips go, the both of them were quiet for a while until his teacher opens his mouth again. 

“She agrees to train you by the way.” 

Well, that threw him off guard. Judging from the way she was looking at him, he thought Yumi would decline. But she accepted? 

“That’s weird, sensei. She didn’t even look at me when we talked,” 

“My wife has a knack for surprising people. She can be kind at times when we least expect it, you know!” 

“…ok?” innocently, he answered. 

His face apparently couldn’t lie. Before Yuuji knew it, Satoru explained to him why Yumi decided to take him as her student. 

“I told him you’re Sukuna’s vessel, and that you must eat his fingers. Cursed objects… that reminded her of,” the white-haired man stared at the ceiling and smiled but his smile was sad, reminiscing. 

“It reminds her of someone she used to know. I guess that’s why she accepted my favor. Yeah, it’s because she still couldn’t let  him  go.” 

Huh? 

“Sensei, sorry. But who’s ‘he?’

“Nothing, Yuuji! Now, get your sleep because best believe she won’t be easy on you!” Just like that, he was left alone in the room, curled in his blanket. 

Well. What was that all about?

The last thought Yuuji had when before he went to sleep was, that Yumi wasn’t smiling in the wedding picture. She looked far from happy. Shouldn’t you be happy at your own wedding? 

[practically-an-x-man]

⭐ for Francesca or the Charbydis chapter in Catch and Release?

Aghhhhhh how can you make me choose?? I'm still buzzing with excitement to talk about Francesca and I have SO many thoughts... but the Charybdis chapter in C&R is the climax of the entire fic and I put so much thought into writing it! This is a really touch choice.

I'm gonna go with Catch and Release for this one. Francesca's still new, and I'm sure I'll get a chance to talk about it again once the hits (hopefully) pick up a little.

Link to the ask game here, link to the original fic/chapter here

____

(very, very long ramble ahead. you have been warned)

Almost as soon as her feet touched down on the warehouse floor, Charybdis was moving. She pressed a button on the dashboard in front of her, and Ophelia watched the spider-machine above Peter’s head begin to descend.

Right from the first line of the fic, Charybdis is trying to get the jump on Ophelia. They're the same person - Charybdis knows that Ophelia will want to analyze the situation before jumping in, and that her motivation will be to protect Peter even before protecting herself. So Charybdis starts moving immediately, and pulls Ophelia's focus by putting Peter in danger.

It's hard to write a fight between multiversal variants. They have the same intelligence and almost-identical thought processes, the same set of values, the same raw strength and tolerance for pain, so writing this fight scene very quickly became an Inception-style game of wits and strategy. Charybdis has the immediate upper hand - control of the situation, more advanced actuators, and she's going into the fight knowing she's fighting a variant of herself - but she's also careless from her grief and obsession with "the justice of the multiverse". They're still evenly matched. This was a very fun fight scene to write.

The claw snapped open, baring a long metal spur as it veered for her heart. If her vest hadn’t been in the way, it would’ve killed her on the spot. As it was, it felt like a kick to the chest, and sent her tumbling across the floor of the warehouse.

This is a reference to Otto's first appearance in No Way Home, when he tries to impale Peter (One) with a spire from his actuators, and Peter's nanobot-suit coalesces to block it. On its barest level, it's just meant to be a reference to the movie, but beyond that it serves two purposes: 1, a reminder of how connected Charybdis is to her father, just like every version of Ophelia Octavius; and 2, a way to illustrate the boons and banes of Ophelia choosing to make her actuators into a vest rather than attaching them.

Because they aren't implanted directly into her nervous system, there's a very slightly signal delay compared to Charybdis' actuators. Ophelia has four rather than twelve, she's helpless if she's separated from them, and destroying the chip would shut down her actuators entirely. But on the other hand, the vest provides protection around her body (as we see here), she's not in danger of being overwhelmed by the actuators' collective conscious (with the chip and its shutdown failsafe), and she can be separated from her actuators if she needs to be (which, as we see from Charybdis' death, is a very important detail). Once again, it's proof that even though Charybdis has the immediate advantage, they're really evenly-matched.

“You just don’t see the injustice of it, do you? You’ve stolen a life that doesn’t belong to you. You deserve what all the rest of us were given, and nothing more.”

It was hard to come up with a motivation for Charybdis that really felt powerful enough to drive this whole scene. Why would she be going after Ophelia in the first place? Why would it be worth designing these machines, kidnapping Peter, and staging this whole fight?

But I figured... it doesn't have to make perfect sense. It only has to make sense to Charybdis - in her mind, it's the gravest of injustices that Ophelia managed to slip by and bypass the fate that every other version of Ophelia Octavius was subjected to, especially when the clocking is still ticking down for Charybdis herself. If anything, that only makes this scene stronger. Charybdis is convinced, from the bottom of her mind, and no amount of logic from Ophelia or anyone else is going to calm her down.

It was plans like these that led to an explosion in a lightning storm.

And that's the other side of this: Ophelia knows she won't be able to convince Charybdis, because she knows how tunnel-visioned she can get when it comes to the things she's passionate about. I wanted to make this whole "reflection of the self" theme apparent even to the characters themselves, where Ophelia can see her own behaviors reflected in a sort of dark mirror.

She can see that Charybdis is cunning and adaptable, and that she won't budge when it comes to the things she's passionate about. In herself, Ophelia has always seen those as positive, helpful traits, but now she's seeing them through the lens of someone who very much wants to kill her and very much has the means to succeed. That's going to cause a few issues for her down the road, that's for sure.

With what little remained of her strength, Ophelia spat a mouthful of her own blood into Charybdis’ face. And Charybdis dropped her.

This is where we start to see the seams between them. Charybdis has planned this fight out the way she would fight it, intending to draw on what she knows to be Ophelia Octavius' thought process and motivation. And for the most of this fight, that strategy is incredibly effective for her! She knows how Ophelia fights because it's the same way she fights, and because she starts the fight one step ahead, it puts Ophelia on the defensive.

But it also puts her in a single-minded track. Here, she's expecting Ophelia to respond with more physical attacks, either by kicking her or using her actuators in another attack. Ophelia choosing to spit on her instead means she's "going off-script", and it surprises Charybdis enough that it knocks the fight off the axis she planned for it.

“Listen.” she gasped, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace, “Just… call this off. Your generator- it’s overheating. Your machines can’t take much more, you’ll-” “Shut up.”

This right here, above all else, is what makes Charybdis a villain and Ophelia a hero. They're both morally-grey and unafraid of violence, and like I said before, they are the same person in both nature and nurture.

But Ophelia's grief has driven her to fight so she doesn't have to lose anyone else, even a stranger or an adversary, while Charybdis' grief means she'll do anything not to be added to the pile. That right there is what divides them.

It was a trick. She knew that implicitly, like a bell had rung in her mind. After all, it was exactly the ploy she’d pull, if it were her. And it was her. Charybdis wanted her to take this open moment and come in swinging - to open that shell, to be so blinded by the opportunity that she missed a following attack. But Ophelia didn’t move in. Instead she turned, actuators aimed straight for the mechanical spider and its weaponized limbs. Four claws struck true, grasping the automaton and ripping it off its port with all the force they could muster. The shriek of metal on metal was horrendous.

This just adds to my previous point: Charybdis expects Ophelia to move in because she thinks Olly will want to protect herself first (because Charybdis, in that scenario, would), but Ophelia turns to protect Peter because she wants him to survive even if it means she gets blindsided by Charybdis. Again, it's their difference in worldview that marks their battle strategies, once they're past that initial onslaught.

She landed hard. She twisted well, and her feet found solid ground below her, but the impact made something snap in her left knee. Ophelia cried out as fire arced up her leg. Her actuators hit the ground around her, briefly overwhelmed by the sudden influx of pain that had overtaken her thoughts. Her lungs refused air for several long, terrifying moments.

It's a running theme in many of my fics for the hero to undergo a physical change or develop a disability through the completion of their hero's journey. Quinn has the ups and downs of her disabilities, Indie needs a pacemaker, Robin recovers from a TBI, Ophelia gets permanent damage to her knee, Katherine develops a tremor in her hands, Madison and Rae have their mutations expressed/enhanced and have to adapt to the physical and societal changes of that, so on and so forth.

For one thing, I think it's unrealistic for characters to undergo so much physical strain and injury and not have lasting damage of some sort. For another, the hero's journey is supposed to be the most significant event of these characters' lives, that's why we write about it, so there should be formative changes that occur in completing it.

(Plus, as a person with chronic pain and other difficulties, it's comforting to me to read about a character having their disabilities attended to and cared for by their loved ones)

She nearly made it to the door before it blew. Ophelia Octavius was always meant to die in an explosion.

It's not just that she's meant to die in an explosion. Ophelia Octavius is meant to die in an explosion of her own making. Ophelia (as in, Argonaut) causes her explosion by being so tunnel-visioned and sleep-deprived that she left a volatile chemical unsecured. Charybdis is so tunnel-visioned on the fight that she ignores her machines overheating until it's too late to stop it.

Charybdis was gone. There was nothing left of her but the shattered remains of her actuators and a few ashen scraps of cooked bone. The blast had more than killed her, more than cooked her- she’d been cremated, and only ashes remained.

This line here is inspired by a scene in my favorite book series, the Market of Monsters series by Rebecca Schaeffer. In the final book of the series, the main character confronts the primary antagonist of the series, and chooses to blow her up with a homemade bomb because there's no other way she can make sure she's dead for good. This in particular is a reference on two levels - the second book of the series is called Only Ashes Remain, for one, and the scene itself references both the first and second books in a line reading "But not even bones, only ashes remained of her mother" after the bomb has gone off.

“Peter?” Ophelia gasped, catching his head with one hand and trying to bring his eyes back to her. He blinked, head lolling in her hands. Ophelia shifted closer, biting down the swell of pain that surged through her bad leg. “Peter, hey- stay with me, baby.”

This is the first time Ophelia calls him "baby", or even by any pet name. You'll notice that's a bit of a repeat theme in some of my fics (mainly the Eris fics, though the first time Billy calls Quinn a pet name other than his usual "love" is after she's injured in a chapter), where the first use of a pet name is during a time of desperation, injury, or other intensity. It's not true of every fic I write, not by a long shot, but it's definitely my go-to for my more emotionally-constipated characters lol

Her actuators nudged her some time later, and Ophelia pulled herself up from her stupor. She ran a tired hand over the nearest folded claw, and it wormed under her hand like an eager dog. “You’re right,” she sighed, swallowing the last of her pain, “You’re right. We should go.”

You'll notice that throughout this fic, Ophelia has a much more positive bond with her actuators than any of the other characters we see with them. Her father, of course, is poisoned by them once his chip is destroyed, and uses them only as tools when the chip is in place. Charybdis has no inhibitor chip, but she also treats the actuators as tools or tertiary limbs rather than separate creatures.

But Ophelia's actuators behave more like trained animals - separate entities, with thoughts and behaviors of their own, but that behave in ways that benefit her. This is canon in-universe too, since she put a lot of effort into familiarizing them with her before she put them into the actuator tentacles, as another failsafe to prevent what happened to her father. In the early chapters, we see her chastising them for getting distracted during a fight, or wanting to be more violent than she'll allow them to be.

However, the fight on the Statue of Liberty acts almost as a bonding moment for them, and once she's returned to her own universe, Ophelia grants the actuators a bit more of her trust. They're given a port in the corner of her lab, freedom of movement even when she's not wearing her vest. And in turn, they act a bit more symbiotically towards her, like we see here - gently prodding her on when she falters.

This is another difference between Ophelia and Charybdis. Ophelia sees her father's death as a failing of his machines, and implements various failsafes and improvements to his design so she doesn't go through the same. Charybdis, on the other hand, sees her father's death as his failing to wield the machines, so her "improvements" are about bonding herself to the machines in a deeper way (welding them to her body, not having an inhibitor chip).

Anyway, wildly long ramble finally complete. I had way too much fun with this, I put so much thought into how Charybdis and Ophelia interact.

[mickgaydolenz]

I HAD A MONKEEMARE I HAD A MONKEEMARE I HAD A MONKEEMARE

so I was walking down my street alone in the morning but I was in my fcking tunic and Hiram pants carrying one of my dragonfly sirams with me and waving it over my head like a flag whenever a car drove by??? and then out of nowhere one of the cars that drove by stopped and rolled down the window and it was young MICKY?????? and he smiled and asked me if I needed a ride so I got in and he just fckin asked me all these questions??? Like: "how old are you?" "Where are you from?" "whens your birthday?" "whats your favorite color?" and then before I knew it he pulled up to a restaurant and ran out of his door and to mine and opened it, then brought me inside and the MONKEES were at the table and Davy went "ooh, Micky! we told you to grab cash from the house! not bring back a stranger!" then Micky sat me down next to him and went "no! this isn't a stranger! this is my friend Raya! and I can prove it." AND THEN HE STARTED LISTING OFF EVERYTHING I SAID

I told him my favorite color was green and where I was from and how old I was when my birthday was and everything so they let me stay and I was too nervous to order any food so we just talked about things??? Mike asked me why I was in my pajamas and Micky went "Mike! those aren't pajamas! just groovy everyday clothes!" but I told him they were pajamas and he scoffed and rolled his eyes. and for some reason I really wanted to talk to peter but I couldn't think of anything to say so I just kinda. sat in silence for a little while. then when they said they were done eating they invited me back to their home

AND IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE WE WERE THERE I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF I SAID YES

and I hung out at the kitchen table playing Go-Fish with Micky but our cards were blank and he'd go "do you have any reds?" and I would look down at my blank cards and go "go fish." that was just how we played. then Davy said from the top of the stairs he needed someone's help changing because he was going on a date soon, so Micky and I go up and I just thought it was like. "which color goes better? " and "can you help me with my tie?" I don't know about Micky, but I was NOT expecting to walk into the room and find a FULLY NUDE DAVY asking us which dress he should WEAR. so immediately I am looking at the floor while Micky completely casually answers like this is all normal. and then Davy asks me which one I like, I said whichever one Micky said, but Davy, very angrily, said "raya. look at the dresses." so I looked up luckily he was holding it over himself it was like a green paisley sundress, and the other one was the same but red, and naturally I picked green and Davy turned around to change, and tbh Davy looked very beautiful in that damn dress. he looked great. wish I saw it under better circumstances though. then he ran to one of the beds (I'm assuming his) and pulled out two shoe boxes and asked us which pair he should wear, one was a white strappy pair and the other were Mary-Janes. Micky and I both said the Mary-Janes but Davy looked down at the strappy heels and said "but these will make me so much taller..." then Micky said "yeah, but who cares? the Mary-Janes go with the outfit, Davy." then he nudged me to back him up so I agreed, but in the end Davy still went for the heels, and then Micky did his makeup with was so fcking PRETTY like??? how??? I do not know how it was so pretty but he was. and I styled his hair and this is the part that didn't make sense because when I started his hair it was his like, Beatle-Esque mop top and when I was done it was his mid season 1 mullet thing. and then he turned to look in the mirror and went "nice! thanks guys!" then just ran down stairs and Micky and I walked down the stairs together while the door rang so Micky and I tried to go down the stairs as fast as we could to see who it was and it was MIKE. fcking MICHAEL. he had a damn suit on with a bouquet of flowers and his stupid hat and they linked arms and left???? and FINALLY Micky was confused about something so we looked at each other then went to peek some more out the door thing and Mike and Davy were already in the car and driving away. then Micky turned to me and said "man,,,I thought he could do better." and I woke up

RAYA THIS IS NOT A MONKEEMARE THIS IS A MASTERPIECE AND I’M FUCKING PASSING AWAY!!!! I WANT TO HANG WITH THE MONKEES AND HELP DAVY CHOOSE AND DRESS AND WATCH HIM GO ON A CRINGEFAIL DATE WITH MIKE!!!! micky being the ultimate hype man AND makeup artist 💖👌😔

bro i am so jealous this was INCREDIBLE!!!!

[jewelhousechandigarh19]

Cash for Gold : Understanding the Emotional Value of Gold

But what's your gold really worth? For many, gold is more than money; it carries memories and personal history. Whether it be your grandmother's antique brooch passed down through the generations or a custom-made piece to celebrate an important life event, gold possesses a personal sentiment that somehow makes it hard to sell.

However, life circumstances may lead to the dilemma of selling your gold for cash. In Zirakpur, the growing market for cash for gold allows people to turn their gold into financial relief. This guide will help you navigate the emotional aspects of selling your gold, ensuring you make an informed and thoughtful decision.

The Sentimental Value of Gold

Gold jewelry often speaks much more than its material value and provides a tangible link with our past. Heirlooms passed down the generations whisper stories of ancestors, traditions, and family bonds. A simple gold ring might remind one of the never-dying love of a grandparent, while some delicate necklace could hint at memories of a joyous wedding day.

It often speaks to major life events: birthdays, graduations, and anniversaries. Such pieces become more than adornments; they are milestones marking achievements and dear moments. In many parts of the world, gold is imbued with deep meaning in culture and religion, representing prosperity, purity, and blessings.

These include, importantly, the emotional attachment we develop toward our gold. This is a part of our being, for which special places are occupied in the heart, reminding us who we are and where we come from.

Practical Reasons to Consider Cash for Gold

While the sentimental value of gold is undeniably there, there are times when selling makes a lot of practical sense. You may fall on hard times and need immediate funds to cover unexpected expenses or tide over a hard period. Cash for gold in Zirakpur can provide a lifeline during such challenging times.

The gold that you would have inherited usually bears sentimental value, but it might not be exactly something that suits one's style or purposes. You may sell pieces you will never wear to appreciate the giver; after all, it provides flexibility in financial aspects. Similarly, broken or unusable jewelry might serve better as cash in the pocket than languish in a drawer.

Other life changes may be downsizing, relocating, or changing financial circumstances that raise the need to sell gold. Be honest about what you must prioritize, and realize that letting go of physical possessions sometimes makes space for new beginnings.

When to Hold

While selling gold can be a practical solution in certain situations, there are times when holding onto those precious pieces is the right choice. Those irreplaceable items for sentimental reasons, such as a wedding ring or a locket containing a picture of a loved one, should not be sold without serious consideration.

If heirlooms have historical value or are a unique chronicle of a part of your family's journey, they should be kept and passed down to the following generations. These items are a testament to your heritage, a tangible legacy to be loved and shared.

Keep in mind that gold tends to appreciate over time. Unless one is facing dire financial need for immediate liquidation, holding on to your gold may be a good investment strategy, allowing the gold to grow toward future uses or inheritances.

Making Informed Decisions

Selling your gold is always a personal decision that needs to be painstakingly well thought out with emotional and practical consideration. Take your time, and allow yourself to reflect upon the emotional attachment of each piece. Ask yourself the following questions:

What kind of memories or feelings does this piece bring to mind?

How would I feel if I no longer had it?

Is its sentimental value more important than its monetary value?

If it was really hard to decide on selling, consider other options. Your old gold can be redesigned into new designs, meaning a new lease on life without losing sentimental value. Alternatively, the option is to save your gold safely for future generations so that its legacy lives on.

It is always a good idea to sell to those old gold buyers in Zirakpur who respect the emotional attachment to gold. Find companies known for their empathy, transparency, and reasonable price offerings.

Tips for Coping with the Emotional Impact of Selling

Selling sentimental items can be an emotional process. Here are some tips to help you cope:

Document the memories: Take photos or videos of your gold before selling it, preserving its visual memory.

Share the stories: Talk about the memories of the gold with family and friends, keeping the stories alive.

Find new ways to cherish the memories: Create new keepsakes or traditions to honor the memories associated with the gold.

Conclusion

Selling gold is a decision that involves both financial and emotional considerations. By understanding the sentimental value of gold, exploring your options, and finding reputable buyers, you can make informed choices that align with your needs and values. Remember that you're not alone if you're considering selling gold near me in Zirakpur. We understand the emotional weight of this decision and are here to offer a compassionate and understanding appraisal experience. Visit our shop today to discuss your options and discover how we can help you unlock the value of your gold, both financially and emotionally.

[yanzinator]

Yo I just got accepted as a RPer for Haruka in a BA RP server and I'm really proud of the audition I submitted and I want to share it somewhere else because only two people looked at it and they called it "Alright" which is good but also I don't think they appreciated my hard work enough so here. I needed to submit botha sol story and a combat story so it's two parts.

pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease click the read more link.

Slice of Life

Features Airi, who’s relationship stories I barely remember. Sorry if she feels off.

Haruka was outside a café in trinity staring at one of the cupcakes displayed through the glass. She thought it looked really good but she had no way to get it without wasting the server’s time so she just kept looking at it. Suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulder. She was really startled and jumped back. It was a trinity student. “Hi, are you-” Haruka was freaked o1ut, someone is talking to her, she clearly disturbed this student, and in her territory no less! “IMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRY” she started running away as she screamed her apology. The trinity student was extremely surprised. “Wait!” she called after her, but Haruka ignored it as she ran.

After a bit of running Haruka found an alley that looked comfortable. It had some weeds she could look at. It let her feel like home. As she was analyzing and tending all the weeds she lost track of time. It was fine, she had nothing she needed to do today anyway. After a while one of the students passing by suddenly turned towards her. Haruka didn’t notice. It was the same student as earlier. “Hey”. Haruka Fell back turning towards the student. She extended a hand to Haruka, “hello, my name is Kurimura Airi. What’s yours?”. Haruka got up, without accepting Airi’s help, and immediately bowed “Imigusaharuka” she said hurriedly and quietly. “What was that?” Airi couldn’t hear her properly. “Imsorryimsorry, uh” Haruka started straightening from the bow “I’m Igusa Haruka”. Haruka was looking all over the place to avoid eye-contact. “I saw you looking at the dripping ocean cupcake earlier. Do you like cupcakes?” Airi said. “Uhm uh” Haruka started stuttering, she had trouble producing an answer. “I bought an extra one in case I ran into you” Airi pulled the cupcake Haruka was looking at earlier from her bag and handed it to Haruka. “Oh uh, thanks!” Haruka took the cupcake, looked at it for a few seconds, crouched down, and started eating it. Airi was confused by the crouching, but she followed suit so she could be at eye level. “So?” Airi tried for a response. Haruka finally looked her in the eyes, “thank you”, she returned to eating the cupcake, Airi watched her. When Haruka finished the cupcake she shyly said “hey, uh, what do you like? I’ll get you something in return.”. “Oh don’t worry about it,” Airi replied “I want everyone to enjoy cupcakes, even if you don’t have money.” Haruka looked up “you want money?” Haruka got her wallet and pulled out all the money she had in it, 6400円, and handed it to Airi. “huh? No wait, it only cost five hundred. You have money? Why didn’t you buy the cupcake yourself?”,”I uh- I didn’t want to annoy the cashier” Haruka looked at the floor as she said this. “well, you can pay me back for the cupcake then. Will I see you around?”, “I, uh n.. Yeah.” Haruka was only here for this once, but she decided she’ll come back to talk to Airi again.

Combat

Features the rest of Problem solver 68.

Problem Solver 68 was on a mission to assassinate a head of some company they never heard of. They were currently outside the HQ, waiting for a group of employees to walk by. As soon as one that had more than 4 did, Haruka went to knock them out. Despite having a shotgun, her weapon was still the quietest between Aru’s old style sniper rifle, Kayoko’s Demon’s Roar pistol, and Mutsuki’s Machine Gun. She snuck up behind them and as soon as she was close she fired off her whole clip as fast as she could. By the end of it all four were completely out. After confirming no one noticed them, PS68 took Their badges wore them. They walked into HQ, got through the inexplicable 50m of hallway, around the reception desk, and swiped their badge on the elevator keypad and got in, pressing the button for the top floor, floor 10, while everyone around them ignored them completely. This was going surprisingly smoothly. They arrived at the top floor and the elevator doors opened, and they saw a single chair faced away from them holding a tv person, with no other furniture in the very large half circle room. Aru immediately shot at the tv person, causing him to fall off the chair with his head shattered. They went up to the body to check what happened because that wasn’t what typically happened when a tv person gets shot. Aru pushed the body to lay on it’s back and realized what happened. “It’s a fake person, it’s just a tv on a scarecrow, they were expecting us! We need to search the whole building, Me and mutsuki will take the right emergency stairwell, Haruka take the left and Kayoko will take the elevator down to the first floor and make sure the head doesn’t escape. Haruka search the odd numbered floors”, and everyone went to their designated routes. 

Haruka started down the stairwell but after the first turn before she even got down one floor, people were waiting for her to shoot at her. She jumped back behind the turn. This was a surprise, there were also too many of them. Then she heard Kayoko’s Demon’s Roar. The shooting stopped, she turned the corner and everyone there were panicking, so she ran down shooting. She quickly dispatched everyone there, then looked back and saw Kayoko coming down “Elevator’s disabled. They planned to trap us.” Kayoko walked past Haruka and into the 9th floor, Haruka followed. The floor had a few rooms, all large with a single desk and chair, and a drawer cabinet clean of all items. All the rooms there were identical and empty other than the furniture. They went down this time down the other stairwell. Haruka was a bit hesitant “Hey aren’t we supposed to go down the other stairwell”, “that was before we realized they planned to kill us from the beginning. Come with me, we need to meet up with Aru”. They went down to the door connecting to the eighth floor, and stopped there until Aru came out. 

“What are you doing here? You should be on the other stairwell” Aru questioned, “they planned from the start to kill us here, whoever hired us was probably in on it, we just need to escape. The elevator is disabled.” Kayoko replied. Aru nodded and they went down the stairwell. There weren’t any more people on their way down, and they didn’t stop at any of the floors. When they got out of the stairwell they immediately stepped into fire. They immediately ducked behind the reception desk. This was tough, there was a 50m gap between them and the only way out, and they were getting shot at by rifles. The only one of them who could shoot back accurately was Aru. She peeked out from above the desk to aim, but she immediately got hit in the head and fell back. “Owww” Haruka realized that if this keeps up, Aru is gonna get really hurt. She had to do something. To the shock of literally everyone, she jumped out from the desk and sprinted towards the shooters. They all focused their shooting completely at her, she gott hit by tens of bullets, it really really hurt, but Haruka pushed through. Better her than Aru. She had to keep telling herself that to stay up. As soon as she was in shotgunning range, she shot as fast as she could, at whoever was closest. Everyone around her was panicking. She kept shooting and getting shot, there was nothing to hide behind, the pain was starting to be too much, when suddenly there were explosions all around her. Haruka’s self-diversion allowed everyone else to follow her without getting shot at, and also allowed Aru to actually start shooting. Now that they had the positional advantage they quickly dispatched the blockade and escaped.

[princesscolumbia]

Code of Ethics - Ch. 2 - Sweaty Palms

Well, with Chapter 1 up and the link working now, it's time to get Tumblr all caught up. I'll post Ch. 2 today (with a reblog for tomorrow morning just to be sure) then Ch. 3 tomorrow.

These 4k word chapters are short compared to my usual and I'm having a hard time gauging when to do a cut-off, so if these initial chapters of Code of Ethics seem a little...abrupt, that's why. I'm doing it to match the release cadence of QuietValerie for the rest of the series, and it's working for fast chapter production quite well.

Preview below the cut:

He blinked as his vision was suddenly filled with blackness and the sounds around him jolted from distant traffic to the interior of a busy office. He carefully operated by feel to find his right hand with his left and pulled the stim gloves off one finger at a time. Once freed, his hands went to his ears to remove the sound isolating plugs that, when operational, carried the entire suite of audio his brain would need to interface with the virtual environment via audio channels. He was immediately assaulted by the overly loud and irritatingly pompous voice of Senator Cruz, a blowhard who was on the committee that secured funding for the agency. Dylan kept his thoughts about the senator to the deepest, darkest parts of his mind and prepared to rub elbows with people he’d normally do his best to avoid.

He felt the latches on the helmet being undone and the lower mask portion of the device was pulled away. A quiet voice, almost ‘mousy,’ if a male analyst could be said to be such, murmured into his ear, “The senator wanted to shake hands with you right away. You impressed him today and I don’t know whether to congratulate you or offer condolences. Sorry to rush you but you know these Hill types.” Geoffry wasn’t a boy scout, he was hardly the ‘fit, outdoorsy’ type the scouts were known to recruit, but he did hold a very ‘do good deeds whenever possible’ attitude and Dylan was grateful he’d been able to secure the analyst for his support team.

“Probably the latter,” Dylan muttered as he raised his hands to pull the top half of the helmet away, the neural interface bands peeling off, sticky from his sweat from wearing the thing for hours. Geoffry washed the bands every day, but it didn’t keep the halo of circuits and sensor pads from getting tacky over time. They’re due for quarterly replacement soon anyway, he mused as he started fussing with his hair, I’ll put up with it until then.

As his eyes strained to adjust to the office lighting, he felt a brush put in his hand. Geoffry again, being every bit a ‘Man Friday’ for his assigned agent. Managing to tame his sweaty hair into something resembling a style without a mirror as he sat up, he blinked aggressively, forcing his pupils to focus on the room in a full three dimensions rather than the simulated ‘third dimension rendered on a 2D ocular display with layering to trick the eyes’ he lived about a third of his life in.

Sooner than he’d have liked, the blur that ostentatiously took up far too much space resolved into the somewhat bulky form of Senator Cruz. “Fantastic work, agent…uh…”

Dylan hid his frustration. It wasn’t like their names were printed bit as life over their workstations and all over the displays around them, this was a power move, one the senator had used on purpose.

“Thank you,” was the only reply Dylan gave as he shook the man’s hand. A hand that was far too…plump for a man supposedly only eating the same rations the rest of the country were permitted. If the ‘good’ senator weren’t padding his rations with under-the-table bribes, Dylan would eat his entire workstation with ketchup.

There was a moment of awkwardness, but the other man let it pass. Had this been the senator’s office instead of the agency bullpen, he likely would have made an issue of being upstaged like that, but he couldn’t throw his weight around here. “Yes, well, good job. Tell me,” the pudgy man finally released Dylan’s hand, “What was that bit at the end?”

The image of a teenage girl begging for her life flashed through Dylan’s mind and his jaw flexed, “Just another rogue A.I. trick, sir. We’ll probably be developing tools combat it before too long.”

Dylan’s boss finally stepped subtly between the two of them, “Make sure you’re cleaned up and ready to debrief, agent,” to the senator, he nodded somewhat deferentially, “If you’ll come this way, sir, we’ll show you how the chairs operate. They’re quite a bit more advanced than the toys your kids might have.”

Read the rest on Scribblehub

[curedeity]

Being cringe on main and posting a link to this fic again because somehow it has 100 views and not a single comment. And I like promoting my works, especially when I put a lot of effort into them. So hey, if you have the time, please go read (or reread this fic) and let me know what you think. Even get into a discussion with me and lemme know how you think i handled my topic!

For this what I'm actually gonna do is go back and reread this fic (as I type this) and give a bit of a retrospective on this. I find that I often have new thoughts about these sorts of fics when I return, and I just wanna talk about my process. In this part I will also be criticizing my work, which is just something I view as growing as a writer, but I know makes some uncomfortable.

Immediately my focus is on the style of the fic, this isn't my stylistic strong suit but I can really see the growth of my writing. There's some sentences that are a bit clunky and that I'd swap up, but I think it was a good choice for me to keep it simple 3rd person but personable.

"Though Maru was also unsure as to why she’d asked the question, it wasn’t like she knew what she wanted the answer to be." Ahh, one of my biggest struggles as a writer. I want the characters to have the conversation but don't know how to get there. I'm not that bothered by it here, but I know its a problem with my work. Going back, I might've have chosen to write a bit more dialogue between them before reading into this.

...I forgot a quotation mark at some point

"Zyro would battle a burger if it could blade" This is the best thing I've ever written. Gingka Hagane flanderizing Zyro.

Here is where I come into the first problem of this fic, I think cause of my style (and age) I have Maru react a bit too maturely. I really wanted to recapture this feeling you get of first finding out about sexism, and I don't think I manage the exact wealth of reactions.

"Maru wanted to stop thinking about it, lest the acid in the back of her throat keep climbing" Like look at this line? It seems minor, but its very much a bit too mature and clear. Something like "Maru's ears rang, her stomach churning in ways that made her think she'd eaten something rotten earlier. Where was home? Were they close yet?" It illustrates much more her trying to evade the conversation without as much of a sense as to why.

On the flipside, I really enjoy the dialogue between the girls. I think in a lot of writing a critiques, we struggle with the line of self-awareness the character should have. I think this conversation illustrates well a lot of depth. Ren's aware of her treatment, but she doesn't let that all slip to Maru because a) Maru's age and b) this sense of "you can't directly call it what it is, at least not confidently." It's a struggle I've had with a lot of girls I know where we're aware of our treatment but struggle to put a name to it to ourselves, to others, and it can take a while to build up to that.

Ren only starts to spill what she really truly thinks when Maru prompts her enough, I think the conversation is given enough time that finally comes naturally to her.

I think this conversation also highlights the struggle for the rest of the book, which is this very complex dynamic of "how to confront your friends over sexism" its a hard thing to accuse people of. You often feel like you're blowing it out of proportion. And it also identifies this dynamic about how sexism is a systemic version of harm. Maru is, by witnessing and knowing, also experiencing harm. And its a hard topic for them to identify and discuss.

Accidentally had a ; in the place of an ' im fine im fine im FINE

In comparison to Maru and Ren's conversation, Madoka and Hikaru's is immediately more critical of the problem. This is because it was a shorter scene, but also I do think it fits. Madoka and Hikaru are both older, and talking more about a general problem than people they personally know. They are much more confident and comfortable with identifying sexism then. It was also a fun place for to throw in my gripes about a lot of gender segregation in sports, a topic which I want to do more research into.

Not only that, this scene allowed me to quickly identify Maru's internal sexism (even if it may be interpreted as heavy handed). She, too, can;t help but view the "bladers" as "boys".

I think if I rewrote this I'd just do some more research so I could include more specific grips about gender segregated sports. I, in fact, think i should be more blatant and specific.

there is another ; where there should be an ' I WILL NOT BLOW UP I WILL NOT BLOW UP-

I would remove the "Is that also sexism?" joke. Its kinda about Maru becoming intricately aware of gender and suddenly viewing it everywhere, but I don't think its deep enough or serves enough. Its not a line I really like.

THERE IS A THIRD ; IN PLACE OF AN ' THIS FIC IS BEING NUKED FROM THE INTERNET ILL NEVER WRITE AGAIN THIS WAS ALL A MISTAKEEEEEEEEEEEE

Okay but this conversation between Madoka and Maru though... I have a lot of thoughts on it. It was the conversation that changed the most, and the hardest to write. Biggest changes I'd make is to not let Maru identify the issue as sexism (she is not ready for that) and maybe let Madoka talk a bit more about how many differing gendered experiences there can be in beyblade. I feel like this fic still worked a lot better than my first and that I could never be comprehensive, but it still feels like there's ground I want to cover. Also, some of the metaphors don't hold up.

On the other hand, I think this conversation just holds a lot of nice weight. Letting Maru seek out a positive adult influence was something that was important to me, especially with that influence being Madoka. And having Madoka recognize the effects on both of them this situation could have makes that theme more obvious.

I think maybe what this conversation needs the most is Madoka admitting that sometimes, if people aren't treating you right (being discriminatory) you do need to leave them, but Madoka is coming from a place where she also knows the kids Maru is talking about, and is hoping that Maru will let her talk to them on her behalf.

I mistook "role" for "roll" i think i need to actually start editing my fics god fucking dammit.

I think something I did a good job at throughout the fic is highlighting Maru's deteriorating mental state. She really becomes more and more uncomfortable in her own body and with the people around her. Even those she trusts normally she's now questioning, because she's becoming so aware of this systemically.

The other aspect of this scene is Zyro and Shinobu's rivalry and the way the show treats Ren. This is something I hope I recaptured canon from, while actually centering Ren and a feminine perspective. I think I did a pretty good job breaking down all the ways this is messing with Ren's self-confidence, and now, Maru's.

I normally frontload a lot of exposition, but I think waiting until now to do a shorter montage of Maru's thoughts does a better job. At this point in the narrative, it serves as a reflection on all the relationships shes beginning to question.

And now we're at the climax of the story and. oh god. Takanosuke. This might surprise people or they may doubt it, but I genuinely like Takanosuke. He's a very silly character in so many ways, and one of the more likeable on the cast. I genuinely think he and Ren have a good dynamic as friends.

But I really think, on a totally textual reading, he's one of the biggest forms of the show's sexism.

It's a very hard balance, critiquing such a loved and likeable character in a way that doesn't mischaracterize them. I really worked to keep his dialogue likeable and fun to show that he's still the same character. I put a lot of effort into him be the antagonizing force in the piece, but also someone Maru is strawmanning in place of the problem.

It's one of the elements I think has turned people away from the fic, while I find it endlessly cathartic. Having him have to deal with his mistakes and the implications of his character... its honestly the only place I can genuinely like him in.

Also, in this section, I like having Maru act harsher to Takanosuke's mannerisms that aren't things she'd normally mind, or that make her a bit of a hypocrite. I think that's always a good and easy way of showing how close to the brink a character has been pushed.

"What was it she’d heard Director Hikaru say about Ryuga at some point? Maru wanted to take this guy’s intestines and feed them into a garbage disposal. Yeah, that was probably right." Assume that Hikaru said this with like 20 extra expletives.

I honestly forgot that I gave Maru a named bey.

"Feet spread wide, hold your arms steady, Maru had heard all the advice, and given most of it herself" me and my girlfriend (comma splices)

The evolution of this battle, I think, was something that was off the cuff. I knew the two sections of it I wanted, and then just let it flow. I don't really like writing battles, but I find them good structures sometimes for emotional moments. Watching Maru's conceptions unravel as she admits more and more how personally shes taking this is something that I think hits hard in this section. It was also quite fun to write a battle of someone that doesn't have much experience, and the dialogue around that (with Takanosuke being kinda off-kilter having to battle someone in this state).

Something I like doing in writing like this is the slow unraveling about how these girls think of their own interests. Its something I also did a bit in Madoka's piece, but the way we see Maru going from talking about writing mechanics and get hint after hint about how she struggled to gain respect, seeing finally that it was the only place she thought she could go because of the pressure on bladers is something that really speaks to me personally. I used to be very involved in sports, and slowly got less and less into it, and I don't think it was just because I was lazy. Noting all those ways you tried to cover it up as your own choice, or your own preference, but really was because you just felt off in another environment? God I love shit like that.

Listen I love Maru's pov but I also wish i had written from Ren's POV just so you could see her panicked "oh shit oh shit oh shit" mantra when Maru starts crying

This is where the theme of them both being hurt comes to a head, and also a conversation I had to think about a lot and stll have to think about a lot. Its important to note that a lot of people dont bring up stuff like this over safety, and its important to respect other peoples decisions. At the same time, even as an observer, there are always going to be these certain thoughts and emotions you have. Basically, I wanted this piece to be a validation of Maru's emotions without saying that it was wrong for Ren to prioritize herself.

Ren thought of her own struggles as just that. Her own. Stuff she had to handle and go through alone. She thought that she could handle it, because it was just her, because she could be strong enough to handle others dismissing her because she had enough self-assurance. She was almost trying to prove to herself that she could be enough.

But she forgot these actions have systemic consequences, and is now being reminded of that.

(Also, Ren is older than Maru, and that colored some of their interactions, because ofc Ren doesn't expect Maru to be able to handle this)

I don't know if its a moment i did perfectly, but rereading it, I don't think its a moment I did horribly.

"He glanced over, catching her gaze, and immediately looking like a deer she’d run over." Takanosuke dealing with the consequences of being in a shonen anime

"Not some evil villain for Maru to defeat and thus conquer the evil beast of sexism." NOT ME USING EVIL TWICE IN THE SAME SENTENCE

This next part, above all, is what really encouraged me to write this fic. Everything beforehand were my gripes with the show, the handling, all of it, tried to be put through a feminine narrative perspective. After this, its about success, its about what could be, how to reach that point of just cathartic joy. Having Maru and Ren synchrome was the best idea of this project. Synchrome, in itself, is a simple but narratively effective system, and its so nice to have a shortcut like that to developing these themes. It immediately brought to mind images of sisterhood, of group power, and of how women support each other. Having Maru get to be the one entrusted with the bey was also so important to me. It would've been easy to give this moment of success to Ren, but this is still Maru's story, and part of it isn;t just about Ren being better (which i think wouldve been the implication if i gave it to her) but about THEIR success together.

I think if I rewrote this the end battle would be longer, but I was probably ready to murder something by this point in the fic.

All in all, returning to this fic, it holds up much better than its predecessor. The writing is more solid, focused, and I hope Maru's arc is compelling and engaging. I think Ren, Maru, and Takanosuke are all well-characterized in this fic, and they were so much fun to write. Creating this fic was an amazingly cathartic experience, and so was writing this retrospective. I dunno if I expect anyone to read, I hope you will and that you'll read the fic, but in the end, it meant something to me. That's the best type of writing.

[spaceyflowerswriting]

Imagine Y/n who’s a badass like UI Daniel? How would DG or Gun or Daniel react? 🥺🔫

lookism boys with a badass s/o

details: gender neutral reader but written in 2nd pov, reader has been dating character for a while

a/n: thank u for the request >:] this is a bit similar to the ask i got a while ago but with reader actually being conscious and being able to fight like they have UI 😭

×

dg / james

> appreciates a good fighter; he's just glad you can defend yourself

> as long as you don't go around causing trouble, he doesn't blink an eye at your insane fighting skills

> for your own convenience, he generally doesn't want you fighting much in the first place. he knows you'll be able to take care of yourself no problem, but it'd be a pain if you catch the eyes of certain people and they're able to link you and 1st generation legend james lee together 😭 (it's why he doesn't do much fighting himself these days unless absolutely necessary)

> also doesn't want other certain people (read: gun.) around him to know how much of a capable fighter you are,, you might be used as a chess piece for something or dragged into things if said certain people find out ;;

> still, he doesn't really mind if you fight. if you come back from a fight with a few injuries, he'll tease you while patching you up with, "i thought you were an untouchable fighter, what happened?~"

> concerning the previous request i got about james's s/o getting kidnapped... in this scenario, if you get kidnapped and your kidnappers contact james to tell him, "we have your partner trapped with us--" he's going to say, "nah, you're trapped with them," and hang up the phone <3

> if you ask to fight with him, he'll accept out of amusement

> actually i don't think he would mind occasional play fighting at all but keep the environmental damage to a minimum please 😭

gun

> your fighting skills are one of the first things that made him feel attracted to you ^_^

> he's relieved he never has to worry about you if you ever get in danger because you're one of the best fighters he knows

> loves loves loves taking you around with him and beating people up (if needed by his job; he's not just beating up strangers with you lmao). i mean if you don't want to he doesn't really force you but he'll be ecstatic if you agree <3

> "goo's just a coworker, you're my actual partner. in a romantic and work way." <- what he thinks if you like fighting alongside him

> speaking of that, while he loves fighting alongside you, he also loves just watching you fight. your fighting style is ruthless, it's majestic, it's art to gun 💖

> says yes immediately if you ask to spar with him

> quietly and humbly boasts about you, if that makes sense

> if appropriately suited, he talks to charles about you and offers you a position within his work. might as well put your skills to use, right?

daniel

> beyond impressed with you; "woah!! i can fight like that, too!! but... only when i'm unconscious T_T"

> asks about how you got so strong and vaguely wonders if you're in a situation like him

> knows he doesn't have to worry about you if you get in a fight but he can't help it as a caring person; cue the looping of "oh no my partner's in trouble!!" and then seeing you send someone across the room with a punch and going, "oh. right"

> also knows his friends are very capable of defending themselves but he still asks you to look out for them if you can

> he's happy he has you and his friends to depend on though :] even if he doesn't want you guys to be in danger ;;

> if you want to practice fighting with him, he accepts with a nervous smile but he probably won't say yes the first time you ask because 1. he's lowkey scared of your fighting skills and 2. he'll probably be the one getting hurt but he's still worried about hurting you. either way, he'd love to see if he can learn something from you!

> curious about what would happen if you fought his UI state but at the same time he doesn't want to find out and hopes he never will 😭

> if you follow daniel along the canon story and meet gun, the guy'll offer you to become his successor the way he's asked daniel before. daniel swoons a little when you reject gun's offer <3 (and if you do accept... why? 😭💔)

[watchmegetobsessed]

Floating Through Space - Harry Styles

a/n: im literally bursting from excitement over this, i’ve been working on this fic for so long and im pretty satisfied with how it turned out so i hope you’ll like it too! pleas please PLEASE don’t let this flop bc it means a lot to me 🥺 the song featured in the fic is obviously an existing one, i linked it into the right place so you can listen to it and get the vibe of it, that song is what inspired the whole story so i recommend giving it a listen! leave your thoughts and reactions, i can’t wait to read what you thought about the fic!!

pairing: Harry x Famous!Reader

warning: drug use, smut and everything thats wrong with patriarchy lmao

word count: 25.7k

masterlist

This dressing room is no different than the other one thousand you’ve been to. The plaster on the wall is all cracked up, the red bricks peeking from under it in the corner, the dusty couch looks like it’s been through hell and just sitting on it would probably give you STDs. The mirror on the wall is cracked, the few water bottles you’ve gotten are not even cooled, they’re a warm room temperature. The glorious life of a musician, right?

Moments like this you question why you didn’t just choose to be the obedient daughter and became a surgeon like your parents always wanted you to be. You’d have a steady future and a nice income, a decent career instead of having to perform at a different bar every other night for nicks and pennies that barely cover your rent at the end of the month. But that wouldn’t be you. Wearing scrubs, smiling at patients, throwing out your dignity along with your dreams, you wouldn’t have been true to yourself if you chose that life. Besides, you’d still be in school, barely nearing the halfpoint of your education if you decided to go along with your parents’ plan and it’s clearer than daylight that the school system is just not for you. It would be pure torture if you had to sit in classes for a decade just to work a job you never even wanted.

Looking around the small dressing room you cast your eyes over your band that consists of three people. It’s a temporary set up from three guys you met along your way, all of the struggling musicians as you and you saw the as opportunities. Places would rather have a band play with several men in it than just put one single woman on stage and pray for the best. It’s the sexist part of the industry not enough people talk about. You can’t even count how many pitying stares you’ve gotten through the years when you stated that you want to make a career as a solo female singer.

“Honey, you ain’t making it without at least one man behind you,” is what they’ve always told you. So you’ve gotten yourself three until you could stand on your own two feet without a male backup. You’re using them just as much as they are using you. They were already a band when you joined them, the lead singer just disappeared to thin air with her boyfriend and left them incomplete, so you joined forces to navigate your way together in the depth of the music industry, looking for that big jump everyone is dreaming about.

Standing in front of the cracked mirror you fix your eyeliner, checking yourself once again. Your thrifted checkered suit looks radiant on you especially with the neon green see-through top underneath, showing off a black bralette. It’s a male suit, hanging a little baggy on you at places, but you still feel like you’re pulling off the look. Your thick eyeliner makes your eyes appear even bigger than they already are and your hair is in an unruly mop of curls, making your appearance complete.

You’ve received tons of critiques over your outfits, but they are the only thing you are not changing on yourself.

“Don’t wear men’s pants.”

“You’d look better in a dress.”

“Why do you look like a guy?”

“What a shame to hide such a gorgeous body in clothes that weren’t meant for girls.”

Each and every comment is burned into your mind forever and you’ll never stop fighting against the judgment women has to face for not being the conventional beauty all females are expected to be.

There’s a knock on the door and the person behind it barges in without waiting for an answer. The tall, bald guy rushes in, looking a little stressed, but that’s kind of the normal for the owner.

“I’m not sure how to say it, but… you are not performing tonight,” he simply states and your anger sets in faster than ever. You’ve had gigs get cancelled, but not minutes before going on stage. However, he is still not done with his little informative speech. “And your instruments need to be used by another band tonight.”

“What the fuck?” Trey, the drummer jumps to his feet. “No way I’m letting someone else play my drum set!”

“You’ll get half the money if you let it happen,” the owner answers.

“Wait, what band did you find minutes before start?” you ask in complete shock.

“There’s this group celebrating a birthday in the VIP section and some boy band is apparently with them. Birthday girl requested to have the stage for them.”

“And you’re just cancelling on us that easily?” you snap.

“Not that I have a choice. If I don’t do it they are leaving and I’m losing a big amount from the night. Sorry guys, but this is strictly business.”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” you laugh bitterly, staring up at the ceiling. This would have been a great chance for all of you, you’ve been trying to get a gig here for months, knowing that a lot of people from the industry fancies it, you might have caught someone’s eyes, but it’s definitely not happening now.

“Are you letting them use your stuff or not?” he urges, hands on his hips as he looks at the four of you impatiently.

“But what about our gig? We’ve been on the waiting list for months, when can we actually perform?”

“Uh, I don’t know. We’re pretty booked, maybe sometime in the summer?”

“Summer?” you gasp in disbelief. “It’s fucking February!”

“Are you lending them your stuff or not? I don’t have the time for your little tantrum!”

“Yeah, if we get the money they can use it,” Connor, the bass guitarist answers before you explode right then and there. The owner walks out with that, leaving the four of you behind, forgotten and humiliated.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Trey groans, plopping down on the couch, covering his eyes with his tattooed arm.

“This is fucking bullshit,” you scoff under your breath, reaching for your bag to grab your pack of cigarettes you keep in it especially for cases like this, whenever you are about to go around and punch every living thing in the face in your reach.

Kicking the backdoor open you lean against the cold brick wall as you light the cigarette and start puffing vigorously, trying to get as much nicotine into your system as possible. You notice a group of guys standing near you in the alleyway, laughing on something, having a great time, oblivious to how hurt and angry you are feeling just a few feet away. You hear frictions of their conversation and it’s clear they are British judging from the accents that are hitting your ears. You finish your cigarette pretty fast and immediately reach for another one even though you know you shouldn’t have even smoked that first one, but you just can’t help it. It’s either the smoking or you’re going after the owner and kick him in the balls for being a bitch.

“Oi, can I ask for one?”

Glancing to the side you see that one of the guys has approached you, smiling at you warmly he nods towards the pack in your hands. Nodding you hold it out for him and he takes one. Before he could even ask for the lighter, you throw it at him and he catches it easily.

“Thanks,” he nods, holding the cigarette between his lips before lighting it and passing the lighter back to you.

“Lou, you really shouldn’t smoke,” you hear one of the others speak up as the rest of the group slowly joins you and the one you just helped out.

“S’fine, don’t act like me motha’,” he shrugs, taking a drag from the cigarette.

“At least not before we go on stage,” the blonde one shakes his head at his friend and your eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh, so you’re the band that’s gonna play?” you ask with a forced smile, already feeling your blood boiling. Who the fuck they are and why do they deserve to steal your gig?!

“We’re just playing a couple of songs,” another speaks up shrugging his shoulders. “No big deal.”

“Glad it’s no big deal to you, because it would have been to the band that was robbed from tonight because of you,” you spat at them, clearly surprising them with your harsh reply.

“I assume you are part of that band, right?” the on with the curly hair speaks up, his green eyes burning down at you.

“Nice job, Sherlock,” you groan, taking another drag from your cigarette.

“You could play with us,” he offers, the others nodding in agreement.

“I don’t need your pity,” you scowl at them. “Bringing me on stage to try to make yourselves look like the good guys is not necessary. I’m just fed up with people like you.” The truth is coming out of you easier than ever. All the years on injustice is seemingly erupting from you, pouring down on these five.

“People like us?” the dark haired one asks with a confused look.

“Yeah,” you nod with a bitter chuckle. “Five conventionally hot guys grouped together for a band, making every girl between the age of ten and thirty scream just by a wink. I don’t know where you came from, but I’m betting my head that you’ve had it easier than others.”

“It’s not nice to assume things when you don’t know anything about us,” Curly speaks up, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh, I’ve seen enough not to care about what’s nice and what’s not,” you chuckle shaking your head as you take another long puff from your cigarette and throw the butt to the ground, stepping on it. “Who are you even? Some Back Street Boys 2.0?” you ask, folding your arms on your chest, earning a heartfelt laugh from the blondie.

“I kinda like her,” he smirks around his friends. “We’re called One Direction, you haven’t heard of us?”

“Not even once,” you shake your head.

“That’s kinda humbling,” the one with the cigarette smiles. “We’re from the UK. I’m Louis, that’s Liam, Niall, Zayn and Harry.”

“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but it would be nicer if you guys didn’t just take my gig and lessen me with half my paycheck,” you smile at them sweetly before rolling your eyes.

“Wait, what? They’re not paying you because of us?” Liam asks.

“We only get half the money for lending you our instruments.”

“Let us pay the other half then,” Harry offers right away, but you just laugh at him.

“It’s not about the money, Prince Harry,” you smirk at him, tilting your head to the side. “It’s about justice. How is that air that you just waltz in here and take our time and chance? What if there’s a producer out there who would have liked our music and offered a record deal? What if someone would have taken a video of us performing, put it up to YouTube and it would have gone viral? I assume you never had to go through this phase where you have to beg for every minute on stage so you can at least earn enough money to pay rent. You don’t seem like the type of band who had to perform in smelly bars four times a week for a ridiculous amount of money.”

They stay silent and you know you were right.

“I’m not saying you had it easy, but I’m sure you have no idea what it could have been. And I’m fed up with men walking over others just to have what they want.”

“Look, it wasn’t our intention to ruin your gig. Have your set with your band and then we’ll play a few songs too after that,” Liam offers, but you shake your head.

“No, we weren’t supposed to be just your opening act and it’ll turn into that. So have a nice evening, enjoy your showtime, I’m out.”

Pushing yourself away from the wall you walk back into the building and grabbing your stuff from the dressing room you move out to the bar area, desperately needing a drink.

Sitting on the last stool at the bar you ask for straight tequila and two vodka shots knowing it’ll do the job for the evening and pulling your phone out of your bag, you open up Google. Searching the name One Direction you’re met with quite a few hits and you start scrolling through them, reading about the five boys you just had an encounter with. Just as you thought, they didn’t start off as a traditional band, having put together at a talent show just three years ago, getting such a major push so early in their career, they have no idea how struggling it is to make it in the industry. They surely had their fair share of ups and downs, but they will never know what it’s like to sweat blood and tears for your dream when everyone just wants to drag you down and tell you you’ll never make it.

The shots and half of the tequila is gone, your band joined you to at least get wasted as you watch the technicians set the stage for a band that’s not you, but gonna play with your stuff. Sitting on the stool you’re having a fairly good time thanks to the alcohol when you spot Harry making his way towards you in the crowd.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready backstage?” you ask with an eyeroll as he joins your little circle, the guys eyeing him curiously. Ignoring your comment he pulls out a piece of paper handing it to you. As you unfold it you almost want to throw it back at him.

“This is to make up for what you lost tonight,” he says nodding down at the check in your hands.

“I told you I don’t need your money,” you firmly answer, but Trey grabs the check from your hands.

“But I do!” he snorts. He is such a pig.

“Let us do at least this one thing for you. We really do feel bad for taking your time and the offer to come on stage with us still stands.”

“No thank you,” you shoot him a fake smile before downing the rest of your tequila, the drink burning down your throat. Looking back at Harry you keep your eye locked on him as he watches you intently. He is a good-looking guy, you have to give that to him, but the circumstances you’ve met under just made it impossible for you not to hate him for the privileges he is being handed every day while you fight your way through life.

Harry sighs in defeat nodding as he licks his lips. For a split second, guilt takes over you for the way you’ve been acting towards him and the other boys, but then you remember that you don’t even know him. For all you know, he can be a royal asshole with the face of an angel. You can’t let guilt chew you and spit you out, you have to keep your guards up.

“Alright. We really are sorry. I’ll… see you around,” he nods before turning around to walk away.

You watch them perform their biggest hits, the whole place going crazy over the impromptu One Direction concert they just got for basically free. The VIP area is going crazy over the boys and with each sang song, you feel yourself getting more and more hopeless about your future as a musician. Here you are on a Saturday night, robbed from a job you’ve worked hard for, watching five British boys take your place on the stage that’s supposed to be yours tonight. You catch Harry’s eyes quite often while he is on stage, he keeps glancing in your way, a hint of guilt glistening in his green irises as he sings their songs with perfect vocals. You can tell he feels bad for the situation and you didn’t make it any easier on him or any of the boys, but you’re not really one to beat around the bush. They deserved to know what others in the industry below them have to deal with every day. It’s not always as glamorous as people might think and you’re the living example of that.

You don’t stick around for long after the boys are done on stage, you help your bandmates pack their stuff and head home before Harry or any other members of One Direction can find you.

Walking past the news stand that’s on the corner of your street, you stop upon seeing your own face smiling back at you from the cover of People Magazine, the title catching your attention.

“Grammy nominee Y/N Y/L/N shares her secret to her one of a kind fashion style.”

Grabbing the magazine off the stand you pay for it and continue your way home, holding the copy to your chest with a warm feeling in your heart.

It’s been only a week since the nominations have come out, but it still feels like a dream. You didn’t just get nominated in the category of Best New Artist, but your album Hands of Power got nominated as Best Album and your biggest hit of last year, Sleepless is running for the title of Best song. Three nominations the first time earning a spot on the list. Not bad.

Just as you walk into your place, your phone buzzes, the ever so smiling face of your manager staring back at you from the screen.

“Hey!” you sing into the phone, holding it to your ear with your shoulder, taking off your boots as you walk further down the hallway.

“Are you home already?”

“Yes, just arrived.”

“Great, I’ll be there in ten,” she announces and ends the call. Chuckling you just shake your head, dropping the phone to the coffee table before you move to the bedroom and change into something more comfortable. The flared jeans looked fire on you today, but you rather wear something looser when you’re at home.

You barely have the time to start the water for a tea when Taylor storms through your door using her keys you’ve given her some time ago. She is wearing all white that looks fantastic with her almond skin tone, a knitted sweater tucked into a maxi skirt, paired with strappy heels, she is always so elegant and perfectly dressed for whatever occasion.

“I have knee-shaking news, girl!” she announces as she throws her purse to the couch before joining you in the kitchen.

“I’m going to be the next Bond girl?” you joke smiling to yourself as you get two mugs from the cupboard.

“Better than that!” she cheers. “You are going to perform at the Grammy’s, baby!” she screams throwing her hands into the air as your jaw drops to the floor.

“You’re not just kidding with me, right?!”

“I would never play such a dirty joke with you. It’s one hundred percent true, I had an hour long phone call with some bloke today and they want you.”

“Yes!” you scream in excitement, jumping up and down like a child that just got a pack of candy. “I’ll make the Grammy’s my bitch!” you cheer, making Taylor laugh.

“Alright, Miss Dominatrix. We still have a lot of things to discuss and there’s one more thing about the performance.”

“Oh God, is this the part where you say something that ruins it completely?” you sigh in defeat as you take the kettle and pour the water into the mugs, dropping a filter into each.

“I don’t think it ruins it,” she shakes her head, but you have a feeling you won’t like what she has to say. “They want it to be like a… joined performance. You’d start off with Sleepless, then it would kind of mesh into your partner’s song and they would end it with one of their own songs.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound bad,” you nod.

“See?” she smiles warmly.

“Do we know who I’m going to perform with?”

“Harry Styles.”

You almost drop both mugs the moment the name is mentioned, but you manage to get them to the kitchen island and slip them to the counter, Taylor giving you a questioning look at your wide-eyed expression.

“Uh, I’m not sure that’s… gonna work,” you clear your throat.

“You’re not sure your duet with the biggest male artist can work? Why is that?”

Licking your lips you try to find the right words to say it, but you’re not even sure why you got so shocked over it. Probably because the last time you saw him, you were still nobody, playing gigs at no name bars and he took your spot on the stage with One Direction. It’s weird, but since you’ve finally made it in the industry, you haven’t crossed paths with him and this would be the first time you meet after seven years.

“I’m not sure if he remembers it, but we’ve met before.”

“You and Harry?”

“Yes. I was playing with The Gambits years ago, it was before I started putting out covers on my own. We were supposed to play at this bar but they cancelled on us, because One Direction was there that night and someone wanted them to play instead of us, so we lost the gig. I had a pretty… harsh conversation with him and the band, basically telling them that their pretty man privilege is what ruins the careers of talented women.” “Oh Jesus, Y/N. Why haven’t I heard of this before?” Taylor sighs leaning on her elbows on the countertop.

“Not that it’s something that would just come up in a conversation,” you shrug. “And as I said, he might not even remember it. It was a long time ago.”

“I know you are all about your rebellious past, good for you, but sometimes you’re making my job really fucking hard,” she sighs, grabbing her phone, already typing a message to God knows who. “Starting beef with Harry Styles before you even made a name for yourself? Who does that?”

“It’s not beef!” you protest. “I just gave them my piece of mind.”

“We’ll see what he thinks about it. I have to make a few calls,” she announces before walking out, already on the phone with someone.

Sitting on a stool, staring into your mug you think back at the time you met him. It feels like a lifetime ago when you were fighting to stay afloat, trying to make through the days, barely hanging on a thread. You didn’t know that five years later you’d sign your first record deal as a solo artist and seven years from that night, you’d be a Grammy nominee. It was a long and challenging time for sure with way more downs than ups until you finally got on track and you’ll never forget where you came from. Not when even as an acknowledged artist, you still face judgment and hatred no matter what you do. Being a solo female singer sometimes feels like harder than being president of the country and there are just so many things that need to change in the world of music, you will never stop fighting for girls that are in the same shoe you once were.

Through the years you’ve followed the career of the boys, especially Harry’s. You read about Zayn’s parting, their so-called hiatus and how they all went solo soon after. Genre-wise Harry’s work is what stands the closest to you, and you’ve witnessed all the backlash he has faced during his time in the spotlight. The shaming for whatever women he chose to date, his choice to get into acting and the way he has been dressing. People just don’t seem to understand they can’t have control over any of these and they’ve tried to bring him down one too many times, but he has been thriving lately, anyone can see that.

Your mug empties out by the time Taylor returns, taking her previous stop at the kitchen island.

“Alright, I set up a meeting with Harry and his manager for tomorrow. They still haven’t decided on the performance and apparently, Harry would like to meet you before giving his answer.”

“Oh God, he remembers me,” you growl under your breath.

“Or maybe he doesn’t and just wants to meet the person he is supposed to perform with. We can never know. We’re meeting them at his manager’s office at eleven tomorrow.”

One night is enough to make you go crazy over such a small thing as meeting someone. It’s not like you are nervous to see him because of who he is, it’s more about knowing what he thinks about you after all these years, in case he remembers you. He saw you as a struggling artist at rock bottom and though your encounter didn’t last long and he didn’t know you on a deeper, personal level, you still fear that he remembers and thinks that you’ve lost yourself over the years.

Authenticity has been a huge issue in your life. Early in your career, everyone wanted to change you. The way you dress, your hair, the style of music you write, nothing was good enough as it was, they wanted you to become someone else, someone who was not you. You fought all attempts until the right person came through and accepted you as yourself, but a tiny voice in the back of your mind kept telling you that they succeeded, that somewhere along the fight you did lose yourself and became what you always feared to be.

Meeting Harry is like meeting a piece of your past and having to face what you’ve become. It’s going to be like a mirror right in front of you and what you’ll see might not be what you expect.

Wearing your bright red dungaree with an oversized vintage shirt and a pair of white sneakers, you definitely don’t look like you’re dressed for a business meeting, but when did you ever? Pushing your hair back with a pair of cat eye shades, you leave a little earlier, knowing well traffic is horrible in these hours. You arrive to the office building just minutes before eleven, Taylor has already texted that she has arrived and which office you should come to. When you finally find the door you’ve been looking for, you take a moment to yourself before knocking.

“Come in!” a male voice calls out and you walk in. Taylor is sitting on the sofa that’s pushed against the wall on the left, a man is sitting behind the enormous desk and then there is Harry, standing by the window, his hands hidden in the pockets of his black slacks, and old Rolling Stones t-shirt hanging loosely on his frame as his eyes meet yours upon your arrival.

“Hey, I would say I’m sorry for being late, but I’m actually exactly on time,” you smirk, closing the door behind you. The man stands from the desk and walking around he meets at the front, holding a hand out for you.

“Perfectly on time,” he smiles warmly. “I’m Jeffrey Azoff, nice to meet you.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you too.”

“And this here is Harry,” he motions towards the man who has stepped closer and as you look back at him, you’re met with a blank expression for a moment so you can’t figure out if he remembers you or not. But then, a tiny smile tugs on his lips as he holds his hand out for you.

“We’ve met before, right?” he simply questions, and your eyes flicker over to Taylor in a kind of “See? I told you!” manner before you look back at Harry and shake his hand.

“Yeah, we have,” you nod. “A long time ago.”

“Congrats for your nominations,” he smirks, his hand letting go of yours and your let out a soft chuckle.

“Well, thank you. Back at you.”

“Alright, why don’t we start this discussion? We have a lot to go over,” Jeff suggests and you sit beside Taylor while Harry stays near the window, as if he is trying to soak up the sunshine coming through it that’s painting his skin a golden shade.

The concept is simple. The performance would be a mashup from Sleepless and Harry’s song Golden with an exciting and fresh way of mixing the two songs together in the middle, making your song flow into his in a smooth and effortless way. The songs sound compatible and you already have an idea how to mash them together for the transition, but you can’t help but feel doubts over the performance.

“What are your concerns exactly?” Jeff questions.

“Not to come off too harsh, but why is my song the first one?” you ask, earning a few puzzled looks. “If Harry finishes it off, he is going to be the one people will remember more and he’ll get the applause as well. The riffs in the songs allow them to be switched, how come it’s not me who comes second?”

You can see the shock on Jeffrey’s face at how straight-forward you were about your concern and that you even dared to speak up about the issue. He clearly hasn’t had to face anything similar before and when he glances at Harry you follow his gaze as well, but instead of shock, what you see on his face is amusement. He is smirking, tapping his fingers against his chin as he stares back at you.

“She has a point,” he nods and you take a deep breath. For a moment, you really thought this is going to be the part where you are thrown off and Harry makes the performance only his.

“I, uhh—this is what’s been requested,” Jeff answers and you tilt your head.

“Okay, can we make a request to change it?” you simply ask, eyeing Taylor next to you who is typing on her iPad vigorously, taking notes of everything that’s said. She is already used to what you’re like, she is not even surprised you came up with the prompt to change.

“Hold on, so just because you want to be second, you get to be?” Harry questions, but he doesn’t come off as harsh, it seems like he is entertained by the conversation. “Does this mean I don’t deserve to be the second one?”

“That’s-That’s not what I meant,” you answer, taken aback from his accusation and you hate to admit, but he is right. You addressed the issue, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve the spot either.

“Alright, so then we need to seek a solution that benefits the both of us,” he offers, walking closer from the sunlight and you follow his every movement.

“We could do some kind of medley? Do an ultimate mashup from more songs and have more smaller parts split between us, finishing it together,” you suggest and he nods.

“That could work, but I have something else on my mind.”

“And what would that be?” Jeff asks, a little lost about the situation as he watches the two of you exchange ideas.

“We could write a song together, a duet, and perform that instead of our solo stuff.”

“What?” you snap right away. “You want to write a whole new song just for the Grammy’s?”

“Why not?” he smiles carefreely. “We have almost two entire months to do it, albums have been written in shorter periods, I’m sure we can handle just one song. And I think a collaboration would be a hit for the both of us now.”

You look at Taylor who just stares back at you, ignoring the panic in your eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” she tells you. “I can see the collaboration working, it could be a huge hit.”

“And what, we’re gonna release it as a single after the show? Whose song is it going to be? I don’t have an album coming up until next year, do you get to have it on your third one then?”

“We can put it out as just a single. No one has to have it on any albums,” Harry replies. “If we released it after the show, it would be just the right timing. Neither of us had any new songs out in a while.” Clenching your jaw you’re trying to find a way out of this collaboration, though you’re not even sure yourself why. Taylor sees right through you, knowing well you’re planning your escape, but she has other plans apparently.

“Y/N, let’s have a few words outside,” she pushes herself up and pulls you with her. Once the door is shut behind the two of you she starts right away. “What the fuck is your problem? The song is a huge thing, it would be an instant hit with him on it!”

“Why do I need a song with him to stay relevant?” you question, folding your arms on your chest.

“No one said it’s about that. But we both know it would be a great push to your name that Jordan has stomped over not so long ago, calling you a Feminist Nazi.”

“Don’t even fucking mention him!” you whisper yell, refusing to even think about that trashbag of a man that ruined your life with his fake accusations.

“Look, I know what you are thinking, that you’ll be seen as just an object next to him, a pair of boobs and nice legs, but that’s not his brand. He doesn’t need you to be sexy next to him, he is known for his honest and real works that go farther than just twerking and being a hoe. We both know he produces meaningful music, so why are you so against it?”

“I just… I-I’m scared to work with him,” you finally admit and it’s the first thing today that surprises Taylor.

“Scared? Thought you’re not scared of anything,” she huffs.

“I never said that,” you give her a look. “Harry met me when I was nobody, it was just me and my big mouth, trying to find my breakout. What if we start working together and he sees that I completely lost that version of myself? I would feel like a liar, an impostor.”

“You are overreacting,” Taylor sighs. “You’ve changed on your way here, but I doubt you are that far from the girl he met before. I know we didn’t meet just a few years after, but I can assure you, you’re still that big-mouthed pain in the ass who fights every norm in the industry like no one else.”

You know she is right, she is always right. Taylor knows you too well, that’s why you love working with her, but sometimes, her honesty throws you way off, especially when she is stating the truth.

The two of you rejoin the two men in the office and they both look at you with anticipation as you fold your arms on your chest and move your gaze over to Harry.

“I would… love to work on a song with you.”

When you agreed to work with Harry you didn’t think you’d find yourself heading over to his house a few days later to have a writing session, but he offered right away that day in the office and Taylor accepted it before you could protest. You’ve had a day filled with meetings and fittings and now you’re rolling up his driveway after punching the security code in that he shared with you over text.

You’ve exchanged numbers on the spot and just like that, you’ve become one of the few people on this world that could contact Harry Styles anytime they want to.

You chose to be casual for the occasion, wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a white hoodie, you like to be comfortable whenever you’re working on new music and Harry’s presence won’t change your ways about that. You’re not sure what to expect, if you’re being honest you’re still afraid of being alone with Harry and do such an emotional thing together as writing a song.

The front door opens just as you get out of your car, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat. Harry walks out wearing a pair of shorts and a green hoodie, looking like he hasn’t left the house all day.

“Hey, you found the address easily?” he asks smiling as you walk up to him.

“Yeah, everything went fine.”

“Do you want something to drink or eat maybe?” he offers as the two of you walk inside. If you’re being honest, you’re starving, the last time you had anything to eat was between two meetings around ten, but nothing since then, just a granola bar. But you’re a first time guest, you can’t just eat up his fridge, like you’re old pals, right?

However, Harry can see right through you.

“You haven’t had anything in a long time, right?” he softly asks and you purse your lips, feeling awkward already and you haven’t been here for more than two minutes. “I can make you a sandwich, if you’d like.” “Harry, no need, I—“ “No need, but I want to. Come on,” he nods at you, making you follow him into the kitchen. “So, who would have thought we would be here now, huh?” he smirks at you as he gathers the ingredients and starts working on your food while you sit on one of the stools at his kitchen island.

“Not me,” you admit chuckling. “I kind of didn’t think I would see you again, I mean, personally. I was seeing you a lot on TV after that.”

“Now might be a good time to confess that, that night wasn’t the last time I saw you.”

“What?”

“I went to one of your gigs a few weeks later. Stayed at the back, I just really wanted to see you play.”

“And what did you think?” you ask tilting your head to the side. Harry smirks, his eyes meeting yours before they return to the food under his hands.

“You absolutely smashed it. And I felt even worse for taking your time away that night. The people were robbed from a mind-blowing performance and had to see five annoying guys clown on the stage,” he laughs making you chuckle too. “I wasn’t surprised when your name surfaced a few years later. Knew you’d make it at one point.” He joins you at the island and slides the plate in front of you with a warm smile.

“Thank you,” you mumble smiling shyly before you start eating and only after the first bite you feel just how hungry you’ve been. “Now that we are at it, I want to apologize for the way I talked to you guys back then. I feel like I was a bigger asshole than I should have been and the whole situation wasn’t entirely your fault.”

“No need to apologize,” he shakes his head. “You were absolutely right. We had no business being on stage that night and what you said actually made us think about where we came from and appreciate our career more. You were right about having it easy at the beginning. We never had the phase where we had to push our way to the top like other artists, our first days were broadcasted on TV, giving us the biggest push ever.”

It’s good to hear he is not holding grudges against you for whatever went down in the past. You eat in silence while Harry types a response to a message on his phone before turning it with the screen down to pay his full attention to you.

“I actually just messaged Niall that we are working together and he is losing his shit over it,” he chuckles softly.

“You guys still talk?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Not all of us thought,” he adds, pressing his lips together.

“You miss being with the band?”

“It’s… good to rely on someone in certain situations. As a solo artist, you only have yourself and that’s about it. But I think you already know that.”

“I never really liked being in a band,” you admit.

“How come? I think you fit in well with The Gambits.”

You shrug, chewing on your bite slowly. It’s probably not the best time to admit that you prefer working on your own, when you’re about to get into a duet with him.

“I uhh… I always imagined myself being a solo artist and I just couldn’t stay with the guys too long, especially when I got my record deal.”

“Why?” Letting out a long breath you lick your lips looking at him.

“I would have never made it in a band with three guys. It would have always been about which one I’m sleeping with, who am I having an affair with or if I’m lesbian because I’m not hooking up with any of them. This is just how it goes for women.”

Harry stays quiet, taking your words in as you finish the sandwich that was literally lifesaving. You wash the plate even when he tells you to just leave it in the sink, and once that’s done, the two of you move over to his little home studio in the basement of his house.

“So, where do we start?” you ask, making yourself comfortable in one of the armchairs while he grabs an acoustic guitar and sits on the one next to you.

“How do you usually start writing?” he asks scratching his chin before he rests his hands on the body of the guitar.

“Well, most of the times I write when I’m pissed about something,” you huff and Harry smirks at you.

“Nothing pissed you off lately?”

“Not enough to make me write a song,” you point out. “See, this is one of the reasons why I was hesitant to write a song with you. It doesn’t come that easily for me.”

“And what were the other reasons?” You shut your mouth at his question, you weren’t expecting him to pick it up, but apparently, he listens more than you thought.

“It’s… a long story.”

“And we have all the time,” he smiles slyly. “But of course, don’t feel pressured to share. I just thought it would be nice to get to know each other more so we can work together easier.”

Harry starts strumming his guitar gently, playing random riffs as you watch him, chewing on your bottom lip. Taylor asked you to try and be more open than you usually are and though part of you wants to keep the wall high between you and him, something is telling you to try and reach out to him.

“I didn’t want to do it, because I didn’t want to be seen as just a pretty face next to you. In duets between a man and a woman, females are often seen as just an object, a sight for the eyes but not as serious artists. I worked hard to be taken seriously and I was hesitant about collaborating with you even though your music is not necessarily what I should fear.”

Harry looks back at you with an unreadable expression and you feel like he is judging you for standing up for yourself. Your fight for yourself is often mistaken as “being a bitch” or “being too sensitive” and the amount of times you’ve been told to just chill is upsetting.

“Well, good thing then that I won’t write music about twerking,” he then finally speaks up, a smile breaking his blank expression.

“But you do write a lot about sex,” you point out with a smirk.

“That I do, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be sexist at the same time.”

“You’re right,” you nod smiling.

 The writing process turns out to be harder than you thought. You’re not specifically inspired and Harry is the person to just throw things around until he finds something he likes. The two of you put together is kind of chaotic as you try to come up with something useful.

Two hours later you have a raw version of a melody that could serve as a chorus, but nothing else, no full melody, no lyrics. And if you’re being honest, you don’t like that chorus that much either.

“It’ll be fun to just stand on stage for three minutes and do absolutely nothing, because we couldn’t write anything,” you groan, sliding lower in your seat, rubbing your face with your hands.

“It’s literally our first session and we have plenty of time, Y/N. Don’t stress about it.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You don’t know how not to stress?”

“I literally haven’t had a stressfree day since about 2007, so no, I don’t know.”

“You can’t chill even when you smoke?” he asks and you give him a puzzled look. “What, you smoke, don’t you?”

“Cigarettes? I put it down in 2015.”

“No, I’m not talking about cigarettes,” Harry chuckles softly. “You don’t smoke weed?” You shyly shake your head. “Really? I would have sworn you’re the type to relax with a good joint. Want to try it?”

“What? Now?” you ask with wide eyes.

“Why not?” he shrugs and walks over to the little side table in the corner of the room and reaching into it he simply pulls a little plastic bag out with three joints in them.

“Are you just casually keeping joints around your house?”

“I don’t really smoke them, they make me feel sleepy. But some of my friends like it so I keep a few around,” he explains as he takes one out and puts the rest back. “You want to try?”

“I-I’m not sure… I have to drive back home.”

“You can stay for the night, I have three guest bedrooms,” he shrugs before his eyes meet yours. “Again, not trying to pressure you, I’m just offering.”

“Are you gonna smoke?”

“We can share one if you want. I would recommend smoking one by yourself for the first time.”

“Okay,” you nod shortly as you watch him tip-tap the joint a little, rolling it between his fingers before he takes it between his lips and reaches for a lighter. “Wait, shouldn’t we do it somewhere outside? The smoke is gonna get stuck in here.���

Harry stops, thinking about what you said and he nods. Grabbing the guitar he asks you to follow him and the two of you move up and out to the terrace, sinking into his lounge chairs. You bring your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly as you watch Harry light the joint and take the first few puffs. As he exhales the smoke he holds the joint out for you and you take it, hesitantly putting it between your lips as you inhale for the first time. You can’t help but scowl at the taste, the whole act of smoking feeling strange after years of smoking your last cigarette. You keep it down a little before puffing the smoke out and passing the joint back to Harry.

You keep switching until you make it past half of it and you finally start to feel the effect of it. You feel light, like you’re floating in the pool that’s in front of you, you can almost feel the water touching your skin yet you’re still dry.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, blinking at you with hooded eyes.

“I’m feeling… fine,” you chuckle softly as you take the joint from him and drag from it again. “Do you do other drugs?”

“I’ve done shrooms a few times, not often though. I’m not trying to pick up an addiction,” he smiles softly, running a hand through his hair. “Have you done anything?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Didn’t have the money for it before and then didn’t have time later. But I never really felt the need either.”

“And you said you put down the cigarette as well?”

“Yeah. I knew I had to do that sooner or later, it was starting to change my voice and I couldn’t have that.”

“That’s what we always told Louis, that his voice will turn to shit if he keeps smoking,” Harry chuckles softly, dragging from the joint before he passes it over to you, not much left of it.

“Did he ever stop?”

“I think he put it down when his son was born, but I don’t know if he started again.”

You give the joint back for him to finish it and you watch him put it out in the ashtray before he sinks down in the lounge chair, closing his eye for a bit, breathing steadily. You find it amusing how you can still see the guy that handed you a check years ago at that bar, trying to make things right, but he also looks like a completely different person at the same time. He is more mature and open in his mindset and just the way he approaches things in general. The Harry you met seven years ago was still searching his way, but the version lying next to you now is a lot more confident in who he really is.

“Want to take a picture?” he hums keeping his eyes closed.

“What?”

His eyes peel open and turn to face you, a smug smirk on his lips.

“You’ve been staring at me. Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

“You are way too full of yourself,” you scoff and pushing yourself up from the lounge chair you walk over to the edge of the pool, mesmerized by the way the light is dancing on the surface.

You never really thought about what weed would feel like in your system, but it feels oddly tranquil and relaxing. In a way your body feels a little strange, like it’s not even yours, but you also sense everything very… loudly.

“You alright?” you hear Harry’s voice coming from behind, the tapping on his feet signaling that he is walking closer to you.

“Yeah,” you nod without taking your eyes off of the water.

“Do you want to go for a swim?”

“What?” you breathe out turning to face him.

“Do you want to go in?” he rephrases his question with a small smile.

“I don’t… have a bathing suit,” you answer and the moment the words leave your mouth they feel so ridiculous even when you were just stating the truth.

“Okay, but you are wearing underwear, aren’t you?” he smirks. “Or I’m completely fine if you want to go in naked,” he adds smugly.

“Shut up,” you chuckle. “Can you… maybe give me a pair of shorts? I’m fine without a bra when I come out but I would rather have my underwear on dry.”

“Sure,” he hums and turning around he jogs back into the house while you stay right there, staring at the water again.

With each passing moment you get calmer, the outside world and everything in life that’s not happening right in this moment eases into nothingness, your mind numbs in the best way possible.

When Harry returns he is wearing a pair of yellow swimming shorts, two towels are thrown over his shoulders and he has a pair of white shorts in his hands.

“This is the smallest thing I have, I think it’ll be fine,” he comments handing you the shorts.

“Thanks,” you nod before he shows you the way to the closest bathroom where you change out of your clothes leaving them in a neatly folded pile on the counter, you put on the shorts that are a little big on you, but once you’ve tied the strings it seems to be staying up steadily. Your simple black bra is not showing more than what a bikini top would, so you feel fine walking out in your attire.

Harry is sitting at the edge of the pool, his legs moving around in the water. His head lifts hearing your steps and he smiles at you, standing up when you arrive.

“Fits fine,” he nods, taking a look at the shorts.

“Yeah,” you chuckle.

Walking over to the steps you dip your feet in first, testing the temperature before you start going in further, Harry following you right behind. Just as you expected, the water feels smooth against your skin, warmly caressing and swallowing your body as you get in, the surface reaching your chest. You let your arms move around, feel how the water runs through your fingers, it’s amusing and you enjoy it probably more than you should. It’s just water, but right now it feels like a pile of clouds.

“I know I suggested to smoke and then swim, but please don’t drown into my pool, I won’t be able to talk myself out of that,” he chuckles, easing him into the water until it reaches his neck.

“My life is in your hands, Harry,” you smirk at him before you follow him and let the water swallow your whole body up to your neck.  “This feels so nice.”

“Yeah? You like it?” he smirks.

“Mm, like I’m… floating through space.”

“In a sense, you are floating in the water,” he chuckles. “You don’t feel sick, right?”

“No, I’m fine,” you smile at him shortly.

You move over to the edge of the pool, laying your arms to the side, holding yourself up so your legs could float in the water. You watch Harry dive under and swim across the pool, reaching the far end before he pushes himself over to you.

“When I went to see you perform there was a song I really liked, but I never found it anywhere later.”

“Which one?”

“The chorus went like… Crashing and crumbling, I’m fighting for my breath, Today won’t be the day I’m meeting death…”

You suck on your breath, surprised how well he remembered the lines even after so many years. He recalled them perfectly, even singing the melody a little with them.

“I never recorded it in studio,” you admit quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because it felt too emotional and I didn’t want it to be just out there.”

“What was the name of the song?”

“It’s called Till I Die. I wrote it when…” You take a deep breath, feeling heavy just by talking about it, but something is urging you to share it with him. “I left from home right after I graduated high school, broke contact with my parents completely and I had a few very rough years, trying to just… keep myself alive, I guess.”

“Can I ask why you left your parents?”

“We had very different visions of what I should become. And I didn’t intend to live the life they imagined for me. My parents are very… traditional, my career in their eyes is just some kind of circus when I’m the clown on the stage. They don’t take any of it seriously and they made it very clear at the beginning that they don’t want me to become a musician. I was supposed to become a surgeon, my dad is one and my mom is in criminal law, they both worked very hard to get to where they are, but they don’t think that’s exactly what I’m doing as well.”

The last person you shared it with was Taylor and though it feels odd to open up about these old wounds again, but having Harry as the one listening to you just feels right.

“You haven’t talked to them since you left?”

“No,” you shake your head.

“And they didn’t even try to contact you?”

“Well, I made sure they couldn't. Changed my number first thing I set my feet outside the house and I never left them any of my addresses. I know it sounds cruel, but I didn’t want to do anything with them after the shaming they put me through when I told them I don’t want to become their perfect little daughter. They told me that I could consider myself disowned from the family if I dare to even write a song.”

“Woah, that sounds really tough.”

“It was,” you nod. “I wasn’t asking them to support me in any other way apart from just being there for me. It’s not like I wanted to spend the money the put aside for my tuition to buy guitars and tour the country, I just wanted them to… accept who I am, but apparently, I asked for too much.”

You feel tears forming in your eyes, but you wipe them quickly. It’s been long since the last time you let the thought of your parents, you’ve been good at keeping these feelings bottled up and in the deepest end of your mind. It’s not like you’re going around and just share your trauma with anyone you meet, but it felt comfortable to share it with Harry.

“I’m sorry about that. Everyone should have a support, especially in our job.”

“I had… myself,” you chuckle bitterly. “Became pretty good at relying only on myself.”

“I’m guessing it’s another reason why you prefer working alone, right?” he smiles at you softly.

“You could say that,” you nod into the water.

“I know it’ll sound cheesy, but… if you ever want to talk, I’m here,” he offers.

“Oh, are we becoming friends?” you ask chuckling.

“We’ve known each other for long enough to be friends, am I right?” he smirks, splashing some water in your way.

“We met a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean we know each other. Everything I know about you is from articles and gossip sites and I think you can only say the same thing,” you point out.

“Okay, then let’s get to know each other.”

“What, do you want to play 21 questions now or something?” you huff.

“Damn right,” he smirks.

And that’s exactly what you do. Swimming around in the pool you ask each other questions, some are funny, some are more serious and you slowly start to get to know each other, seven years after meeting for the first time, but in a way it feels like it’s been just last week when you were talking in the alleyway.

The weed soon dies down in your system, leaving you incredibly tired and it’s only then you realize it’s already past one am. Pulling out of the pool, you both grab a towel drying yourselves up before making your way back into the house.

“The guest bedroom next to mine has a bathroom so I think that’s the best one. I can give you something to sleep in if you’d like,” Harry offers as you follow him down the hallway.

“I think I’m fine in my sweats, but thank you.” He shows you the room, tells you how to change the AC if you feel too cold or hot and then bidding goodbye he is about to go to his own room when you stop him.

“Thank you for… today. I know we didn’t get far with the song, but… I liked hanging out with you,” you admit with a shy smile, leaning against the doorframe.

“Don’t worry about the song, it’ll be fine. And I liked it too. We can make it a regular thing, if you want. You can come over, we’d chill and try to cook up something for the song.”

“I, uhh… Yeah, that sounds good,” you nod, he shoots you a smile before turning around and disappearing in his room.

The morning doesn’t turn out at all any awkward, especially because you don’t get to stay around too long. You have a meeting at eleven so you have to leave in time to go home and get changed before that. Harry makes you coffee, which is lifesaving, the two of you sit at the terrace as you drink it and you arrange to meet in two days to try and have another, hopefully more successful session for the song.

You genuinely enjoyed your time with Harry and to think that you didn’t only smoked weed for the first time with him, but also opened up about your parents, you feel a kind of connection forming and you can only hope you’re not gonna regret it later.

You move on with work after leaving from Harry’s that morning, you have some fittings for upcoming photoshoots and an interview scheduled, so there’s not much time for you to sit around. Tonight you’re supposed to meet Harry again at his place for another session and you feel buzzed about it. You meet Taylor for lunch, sitting on the terrace of your usual place she is talking you through everything that’s coming up the next week, just like you always do so then you can put work aside and have a real chat.

“So how did the writing session go?” she asks, digging into her salad that she always asks with extra chicken.

“The writing? Not so well. But we had a good time,” you truthfully admit.

“Good, good! You’re finally making friends!” Taylor grins, satisfied with the news. You just roll your eyes at her, turning back to your food right when you notice that your phone has been blowing up with notifications.

Huffing you grab it from the table with the pure intention of muting it down completely, but then you see that several people have texted you the same link and it bugs your curiosity so you open one of the messages and tap on the link.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you groan, feeling your rage already pushing up your spine, clouding your vision in red.

“What?” Taylor snaps, reaching for her phone out of reflex.

“That fucking asshole dragged my name again!”

“Who? Jordan? That fucker never learns?” Taylor hisses, her thumbs vigorously typing on the screen immediately.

“Someone asked him about me on Twitter and he dared to call me a lying bitch! I can’t fucking believe this man!”

You and Jordan worked together on a project a while ago. You were supposed to write lyrics to a song he was composing and it was meant for an upcoming popular Netflix show, so the anticipation around the song was huge, especially when word got out that Ariana Grande might end up singing it. During your time working together he very blatantly tried to hit on you, which you politely shut down, because one, you didn’t intend to date someone you were working so close with and two, you just simply weren’t into him. However, he couldn’t take rejection the way a mature, almost thirty years old man should. It started off very subtly, but once you’ve had a chat with him to stop posting obnoxious and suggesting things about you on his social media, because it’s making it hard for you to be taken seriously as an artist and that people will just see you as another celeb which you don’t want to be, he just completely lost his shit. He called you different names on Twitter a few times, the worst were Feminist Nazi and a cock teasing slut, and he just somehow never fails to mention that you lied about your intentions with him, when you were clearer than daylight that you didn’t want a thing from him other than work.

When you realized he isn’t going to be stopping anytime soon, you took him to court, dragged his ass in front of the judge and won the case, which ended with him having to pay you thirty thousand dollars and he was ordered to clear all his platforms from your name for good. You really thought that taught him a lesson, especially because against your will, the case got some publicity and he ended up making headlines about the fault accusations he made about you, but it seems like he didn’t have enough.

You wouldn’t worry that much about his new tweet, knowing that he is the one lying, but the trials took a toll on you. It was at the beginning of the time when you were making yourself a name and even though you won, his accusations stung for some people and some even thought him to be the victim. You fell out of two brand deals and an important interview in the upcoming months which was a major setback and all for what? Because a man couldn’t accept rejection? The sad part is that if it would have happened the other way around, he wouldn’t have had to suffer any effect of it, people don’t tend to question a man’s words when he is showing this charming and nice persona to the public. If you accused him the same way you would have been dragged and titled as a sour crybaby and Jordan’s life would have carried on the same way.

The peaceful lunch soon falls through as Taylor turns on her beast mode to at least get the tweet down as soon as possible, already contacting the legal team you worked with before. It has to be against what you agreed on at the end of the trials, he can’t just go around and drag you again without any consequences.

In just about twenty minutes, the tweets disappear from Jordan’s feed, but you know it was already late the moment he posted it. If something gets out on the internet it never goes away, there are probably hundreds if not thousands of screenshots floating around that will preserve his words forever.

You part ways Taylor as he heads to an immediate meeting with the lawyers you worked together previously, she tells you to try not to worry about it, but you can’t just turn it off in you, that’s not how it works.

Making your way home you keep riling yourself up about it, thinking about what it’s gonna cause you this time, what opportunity is going to be taken because a man has called you a lying bitch, even after winning the previous trial against him that proves how big of an asshole he really is.

Changing into a casual attire you head to Harry’s place a little earlier, hoping it’s not a problem you get there an hour before you were supposed to. Arriving you’re a little taken aback seeing that there is another car parking on the driveway that’s not his and you immediately regret coming here, but before you could leave, the front door opens and Harry walks out. You couldn’t have left without noticing, the security system must have signaled your arrival when you punched the opening code in.

“Hey, everything alright?” he asks instead of questioning your early arrival.

“I uhh—I’m sorry for being early, I could go—“

“Don’t be silly, come on in!” he waves at you and you walk up the stairs. “Two friends are here but they were just about to leave soon,” he explains as you walk in.

“Sorry for crashing the party,” you let out a soft chuckle.

“The more the merrier,” he smiles. “You seem a little stressed, everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just… It’s nothing,” you shake your head.

“Oh my God, is that who I think it is?” you hear a woman’s voice from behind and turning around you see a smiley brunette walking towards you, a shy looking guy following behind her.

“Sarah, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Sarah, my drummer, and that wanker over there is Mitch, my guitarist.”

“Nice to meet you.” Shaking hands with both of them you realize they look familiar from pictures you’ve seen from Harry’s tour.

“I saw that ugly tweet today, that guy needs to be kicked in the balls,” Sarah sighs with a sympathetic smile, Harry’s ears perking up.

“What tweet?” he asks, eyes switching between you and Sarah.

“Oh, just… Jordan Wells thinks it’s fine to drag people with absolutely no truth behind his words,” you answer with a tight-lipped smile.

“Jordan Wells? The name rings a bell,” Harry hums.

“He is a music producer,” Mitch chimes in.

“I think he was supposed to write for 1D one time, but the deal fell through. Guess we didn’t miss out on anything,” he jokes and it brings a genuine smile to your face.

“You surely didn’t,” you comment under your breath.

You chat with Sarah and Mitch for a bit before they decide to head out, but Sarah asks you to come around sometime they are hanging out and you gladly say yes, wanting to know her and Mitch better, they seem like great company and even greater musicians, it’s always good to meet people who are like you.

As Harry walks his friends out you make yourself comfortable on the couch, reading Taylor’s texts about the update on the recent actions, she has gotten in contact with Jordan’s team and legal steps will be taken if Jordan doesn’t show any sign of improvement in the very near future.

“Hey, want something to drink? Wine or beer maybe?” Harry walks in as you look up from your phone.

“Wine sounds fucking fantastic,” you breathe out earning a soft chuckle from him. You follow him into the kitchen and watch him get a bottle of white wine with two glasses. “I hope Sarah and Mitch didn’t leave early because of me.”

“Oh, not at all. They knew you’d be coming over and would have left around this time, so don’t worry about it.”

He joins you at the kitchen island with the two glasses handing you one and you take a sip from it with a satisfied hum.

“So, want to talk about this Jordan ordeal?”

“There’s not much to talk, really,” you shrug. “He is a jerk and I just can’t seem to get rid of him and I didn’t even date the guy…”

“What did he do this time?”

“Oh, he just casually called me a lying bitch on Twitter, so that’s fun,” you let out a fake laugh, raising your glass before taking a big swig from it.

“Not that creative, if you’re asking me,” he jokes making you laugh. “It’s a very plain choice of words.”

“Yeah, not as good as his best which was calling me a feminist nazi.”

Harry almost chokes on his wine as you say the words, coughing a little while you watch him with an entertained smirk.

“That’s… an interesting way to express his opinion about you,” he answers diplomatically.

“Right? I was thinking about getting a sign of it, like a Live, Love, Laugh one, in the middle of my living room.”

“Would be a wonderful touch of décor,” he smirks. “Alright, I have a proposal for today’s session.”

“Shoot it.”

“You seemed to enjoy your weed experience the last time, I thought we could give it a try again, but we would try to write this time as well.”

“You want to write while smoking?” you ask raising your eyebrows at him.

“Only if you want to. I just thought it would relax you a bit, might even come up with some interesting ideas for the song.”

“Are you trying to turn me into an addict?” you narrow your eyes at him and he just holds his hands up innocently.

“Told you, no pressure,” he smirks angelically.

“I feel like I’m not even coming here to work but to meet with my new dealer,” you chuckle making him laugh. “Okay, we can… give it a try.”

 An hour and one joint per person later the two of you are lounging in his living room, he is sprawled out on the loveseat with a guitar on his arms while you are curled upon the sectional, fumbling with the strings of your hoodie.

“We should just… fucking steal a song,” you snort, finding your comment hilarious.

“Which one were you thinking about?” Harry smirks your way, his fingers gently strumming some random melody on the instrument.

“I really want to have a Madonna song to be mine,” you sigh dreamily.

“You’re a fan?”

“Oh, I grew up on her. I have an elaborate choreography for Hung Up,” you snort.

“You need to perform it for me.”

“No fucking way,” you laugh shaking your head. “Not even weed can make me dance for you.”

“Come on, I need to see that choreography, you can’t just hint it and then never show it to me!”

“Nah, not happening,” you laugh, sliding lower down in your seat, your head resting against the armrest of the couch.

You listen to him play the same melody over and over again with your eyes closed and though you really like what you are hearing, no words are forming in your mind that could serve as lyrics. Your phone buzzes on the cushion next to you and grabbing it you see a text from Taylor.

Taylor: Lawyers are on the case, we’ll have more tomorrow, don’t stress about it too much. Night! Xx

Sighing you drop the device back next to you, covering your eyes with your arms.

“You alright?” Harry softly asks.

“Nah, I just want to… disappear,” you sigh, tired of this fight you’ve been fighting for way too long.

“Is this about Jordan? He is a fucking ass, most people know it.”

“But not everyone!” you snap throwing your hands up. “And that fraction that still believes that he is saying the truth is enough to ruin my life. I’m fucking fed up with the injustice women have to face because of the patriarchy we are forced to live in!” Pushing yourself up you run a hand through your hair, hugging your knees to your chest. “It’s so fucking upsetting, like everything I do goes straight down the drain because of one little thing and I’m stuck with trying to rebuild my whole future plan.”

From a sudden urge, you move down to the floor, lying down on the fluffy rug that runs under the couches and the glass coffee table. It feels nice, kind of grounding to lie flat on the floor, especially because your senses are all messed up again because of the weed, but in a good kind of way.

“You worry way too much on longterm things. Try to stay in the moment a little more,” Harry tells you, putting the guitar to the side so he can move his feet to the floor, leaning onto his knees. “You can’t control this much what happens in the future, you should only care about today. And today, you’ve done good, you made it through another day, you did what you had to do and that’s it. Stressing about tomorrow or the next week or next year is just way too much to deal with all the time, twenty-four-seven, three-six-five, that’s just no way to live.”

Lying on the floor you stare up at the ceiling seemingly blankly, but your mind starts to swirl over what he just told you. The worlds are running around, mixing and mingling until something starts to form, making you gasp.

“Grab the guitar,” you tell him, sitting up abruptly. He pulls his eyebrows together, but does as you told him to, holding the instrument on his lap as he waits for you to instruct him more. “Play that… that melody you’ve been playing, but a little faster.”

He turns his attention at the guitar, trying the strings out a few times, feeling the melody under his fingers before he starts playing it just how you asked as you slowly start to sing the lines you have just thought about.

“You made it through… another day, you made it through another day… You did it, let’s celebrate…”

The lines fit perfectly with the melody he has come up with and the more you sing, the wider his smile grows as you move along in the forming song.

“Some days you feel you’ll break, but you made it through another day, yeah, you did it, let’s celebrate…”

“Don’t fucking stop!” he chimes in, never stopping the riffs, trying out new things as you go, slowly perfecting it together with the lyrics.

“Twenty-four-seven and three-six-five, you made another day, you made it alive! Made another day made it alive!” You sing loud and clear, completely lost in the melody Harry is playing, the lines just flowing out of you, like a dam has been taken down and now everything washes over you at once.

When the chorus is about to come up however you run out of ideas, your eyes meet Harry’s and he sees that you’re stuck. His eyebrows knit together, tongue runs along his lips before he starts playing the melody of the chorus and takes over the singing as well.

“So today, baby, remember it’s okay! We’re all floating through space, today, baby, remember you’re okay! We’re all floating through space…”

He plays a little with the lines, repeats them, tries a few times before he stops singing, you are now standing up, watching him end the melody, neither of you saying a word as he room grows silent. A sudden urge drives you to go closer and you sit back down to the floor in front of him, your eyes casting over the now silent instrument on his lap. Looking up your eyes meet his and you feel like the air is kicked out of your lungs.

You’ve heard so much about moments when you feel yourself pulling towards someone, when it’s like a magnetic field but you never actually experienced it until now. Staring back at Harry you feel that pull everyone has talked about and you finally understand what they were trying to say. It’s like there’s a string coming from your chest that’s connected to him and he is tugging it without even doing anything.

Reaching forward he tugs a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers dancing down the side of your face as you catch his eyes wander down to your lips. Sucking on your breath you feel the moment, you know what he is thinking about because you think about the exact same thing. Kissing him. You are desperate to find out what his lips feel against yours, what he tastes like, what it’s like to have him so close to you.

“You want to kiss me,” you whisper and it’s not a question, more like an observation.

“I do,” he admits with a soft smile, but doesn’t move closer. “Can I?”

“I don’t think it’s an appropriate thing to do in our situation,” you breathe out, though you don’t agree with the statement fully.

“You think too much,” he chuckles softly, leaning closer just a tad bit, but there are still a few inches between the two of you. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yes,” you admit.

“Then we should just do what we want to,” he suggests with a small smirk and he looks ridiculously handsome with his dimples and shining green eyes that are glued to you.

“And then what? We’ll just go on like it never happened or there’s going to be more happening? How are we supposed to—“

You don’t get to finish, because Harry closes the distance between you and him and presses his lips against yours, swallowing the rest of your stammering speech. Whatever doubts and hesitation you felt just a moment ago, it all vanishes into nothing as you melt into his kiss, his lips caressing yours gently, softly capturing them, savoring and tasting you with caution, giving you the chance to pull back anytime, but nothing in your body can make you stop kissing him in this moment.

His palms cup your jaw as you push yourself up, slowly making your way to straddle his lap after he has blindly put the guitar to the side, hands coming to rest on his shoulder for leverage. His other hand grips your waist, pulling you close until your chest is pressed up against his, lips never disconnecting in the kiss.

Kissing him feels like second nature, like it’s not even the first but the hundredth time, but on the other hand, every touch and tiny sparkle is so new and unusual, you’ve never felt like this before.

Harry slowly pulls back, pecking your lips a few more times before he stops, nuzzling his nose against you in an adorable and innocent way that brings a smile to your lips.

“Doesn’t it feel good to just do whatever you feel like doing?” he asks with a soft smile, making you laugh.

“Kind of.”

“Nothing has to change. Or something can, it’s up to you.”

“You are so upsettingly cool and respectful,” you blurt out chuckling and it makes him laugh, his head falling back against the back of the couch.

“I’m sorry, I guess?” he smirks with a shrug.

“See? Respectful!” you grin, your hands moving up to cup his face. The pad of your thumbs gently tap against his dimples that are showing thanks to the wide smile on his lips right now. You can’t stop yourself from leaning down and kissing him again, even though your rational side is trying to make you stop. You just can’t, his lips are screaming to be kissed and who are you to deny that?

You’ve been running errands all day. Following an early meeting you ran to your favorite vintage store to get another armchair for your living room. Then you went grocery shopping because your fridge has been ridiculously empty the past two days and later you had a quick fitting for a few outfits you are supposed to wear in the near future. You’ve ran into a few fans too, having small chit-chats with them, taking photos, so it’s been a busy day.

It’s been a week since you and Harry have kissed and despite your fears, it hasn’t been awkward at all. He didn’t bring it up, but you don’t feel like he is pretending it never happened, which is kind of a great balance. He is giving you just enough time and space to figure out what it really meant to you, because quite frankly, you have no idea.

Obviously, you find him attractive. You’d have to be completely blind to say that he is not handsome and just simply good to look at. You’re attracted to him and not just to his looks, but to his whole persona.

It’s just you’re not sure it’s a smart idea to start anything with the man you’re working with and though you know Harry is nothing like Jordan, part of you is still scared the whole thing will happen all over again if you get involved with another man from the industry.

Workwise, everything is going well. You’ve successfully finished the song you started that ominous evening and have started recording it in Harry’s home studio, working some more on the melody, bringing a lot more into it than just a single guitar. What more, you’ve been coming up with new ideas for other songs, lyrics popping up in either your or Harry’s head and you just keep sharing them with each other, saving them for later once the song for the Grammy’s is done.

Heading back to your place you get a call from Harry, his smiley face appearing on the screen of your face as you accept the call and his accent fills the car through the speakers that are connected to your phone through Bluetooth.

“Hey, hope I’m not calling in the middle of a meeting,” he greets you and you can tell he is smiling.

“No, I’m just on my way home. What’s up?”

“I’m meeting with Sarah and Mitch for dinner tonight, thought you’d like to join us.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with your friends, I feel like you’ve been spending all your time with me.”

“But I like spending time with you,” he chuckles softly, a blush making its way to your cheeks at his words.

“Are you sure you want me there? What about Sarah and Mitch? I crashed your last meeting with them as well.”

“You didn’t crash anything, Y/N. And I’m positive I want you there, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. And just so you know, Sarah asked if you’d be joining us, so I assume they wouldn’t mind it either.”

“Oh, well, okay then. Send me the time and place.”

“Wonderful!” he beams, his enthusiasm making your chest warm.

By the time you arrive home he has already texted you the details and you have just one hour to spare before you have to head out. You opt for a quick shower and an outfit change, switching up your ripped mom jeans and simple t-shirt to one of your favorite jumpsuits. It’s a little baggy, but the waist is cinched in with an inbuilt corset, giving the whole fit a very interesting twist.

Arriving at the restaurant Harry has texted you the address of, the waiter escorts you to the terrace at the back that’s a lot more secluded and you feel yourself relaxing that you probably won’t get photographed. Harry is the only one who is already at the table, sitting with his eyes fixed on his phone, but he immediately puts it aside when he sees you approaching, a wide smile stretching across his face.

“Hey! You look amazing!” he greets you pulling you into a quick hug.

“Thank you,” you smile shyly. He is wearing a pair of brown slacks, a simple white shirt tucked into it, a knitted cardigan thrown on, a typical Harry outfit. “And thanks for the invite,” you add as you take the seat next to him, assuming Sarah and Mitch would like to sit next to each other.

“Don’t even mention it. We’re friends, it’s really nothing. I’m glad you could make it.”

The way he called you friends is giving you mixed feelings. Part of you is happily jumping up and down at the fact that he considers you as a friend, given how you don’t have many of those. It’s been hard opening up to anyone since you’ve made a name for yourself, you’ve ran into occasions a lot when people wanted more than just your friendship from you and it made you rather closed off when it comes to making friends.

On the other hand, you can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Is that all you are? Just friends? More importantly, is that all you want to be, or more?

Sarah and Mitch arrive soon after, joining you at the table and the waiter takes the orders before leaving the four of you alone. It seems like they genuinely like it that you’ve joined, so you can enjoy the evening a little more relieved.

Sipping on some amazing wine, you eat and talk and you feel like you’ve known these people your whole life. You especially like Sarah, she is so open-minded and funny and you think they make a great couple with Mitch who is obviously more closed off, but it’s obvious how much he worships his girlfriend.

Sometime in the evening, when you’ve already had two glasses of Chardonnay and you’re feeling a lot more relaxed and comfortable, you move closer to Harry without even noticing, leaning against him gently and his hand rests on your knee, giving it a soft squeeze under the table, making you want to move even closer to him to feel more of his touch, to get more of him.

Neither Sarah, nor Mitch questions the two of you being a little cozier and you’re thankful for the safe and stressfree environment they are providing, not making you overthink what you do, just letting you enjoy the moment.

At the end of the evening, you can’t shake the thought that you don’t want to say goodbye to Harry just yet. He pays for everyone’s dinner, leaving a generous tip for the waiter and you stay back at the table while Sarah runs out to the restroom and Mitch takes a quick call from his father, leaving you alone with Harry. His hand is still resting on your leg, a little farther up, but still in a very safe zone in the middle of your thigh.

Turning to face him your eyes meet his, his green irises glistening in the soft lighting and he looks so beautiful, you just want to kiss him again.

“Do you have plans after this?” you find yourself asking.

“Not that I know of.”

“Do you want to come over to my place?”

“That sounds like a nice plan,” he smiles at you warmly and you just know that if you weren’t out in the public, he would have leant in for a kiss and you wouldn’t have stopped him.

When Sarah and Mitch return all four of you head out and they don’t question when you follow Harry to his car. They say goodbye and Sarah makes you promise to join them some other time too and you happily say yes to the invitation.

Not much is being said on the way back to your place, he plays some music quietly as you navigate him through the streets.  

“Welcome to mi casa,” you smile as you key the two of you into your apartment you’ve been living in for the past few years.

It’s nothing luxurious, just a tad bit bigger than what one person would need as a home. You would have been fine living in your previous home you lived in before you’ve gained fame, but you needed a much bigger closet so you were forced to move. It’s a two bedroom apartment with one big bathroom, an open concept kitchen and a spacious living room. And of course, a closet as big as your bedroom. It’s the perfect size and you haven’t even thought about buying a bigger place just because you can, it would be a waste of money and space. The interior is very much vintage with all your mismatched furniture and colorful walls, but you think it’s quite cozy and just the ideal space for you.

“Would you like something to drink?” you ask, walking into the kitchen to get yourself some water.

“Some water would be great, thank you.”

Filling up two glasses you hand him one as you lean against the counter, silently eyeing each other. It should be clear to him that you had intentions with asking him to come over, especially after being your cozy with each other during dinner, but you’re a little lost in what you should or even want to do. You just know you want him close.

He drinks up his water, his eyes meeting your gaze as a small smirk tugs on his cherry lips.

“You want to kiss me,” he states, using the exact same words you used the night when you kissed for the first time.

“I do,” you nod, feeling a little breathless.

“Then do it,” he simply answers, making you smile.

“Cool and respectful, as always,” you grin at him as he moves closer, stopping just a few inches away from you, your feet almost touching. Reaching up his fingers gently caress the side of your face and you feel yourself already melting under his touch.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, a shiver running down your spine at his words. You close your eyes for a moment, giving yourself the chance to pull out of it, but you realize you don’t want that, not even the tiniest bit. Opening your eyes they meet with his gaze before you move closer, closing the distance between you and him, lips meeting in a warm and chaste kiss.

Though it grows a little hungrier, you can tell he is still holding back a little, giving you the chance to stop whenever you want to, but you don’t intend to. Pushing yourself closer to him, your arms curl around his neck as his hands grip your waist, your tongue meeting his as you deepen the kiss and melt into his embrace.

Pulling back you grab his hand and head to the bedroom, going back to kissing him the moment you reach it. You easily slide his cardigan off his broad shoulders, pulling his t-shirt out of his pants before taking it completely off, throwing it somewhere to the side. You smirk against his lips, hands wandering down his naked chest and you can’t push down a moan as you feel the warmth of his chest muscles under your touch.

When you feel him try to blindly figure out how to get you out of your jumpsuit with not much luck and this clears your head for a moment to realize what is about to happen. Pulling back your gaze meets his and he stares back at you with caution, ready to stop whenever you tell him to, but that’s not what made you pull back.

“Harry, I…” “We don’t have to do anything,” he softly tells you, his fingers dancing down the side of your face until they reach your chin and he pulls you in for a delicate and slow kiss.

“I want to,” you whisper. “It’s just that… I want you to know that I’ve never… I’ve never been with a man before.”

Searching in his eyes you look for any sign of what’s going on in his head wishing you could just simply read his thoughts.

“You’ve never been with a man?” he asks, seemingly not as surprised as you expected him to be. You nod, licking your lips, waiting for any kind of reaction, a part of you expecting to be upset, though you know he has no right to be mad at you for any of it. “Do you want me to be the first man?” he then asks, with a loving and warm smile as his hand on your hip pulls you against him playfully.

“Yes.”

“Then help me get you out of this jumpsuit, because I can’t figure it out for my life,” he chuckles making you laugh too.

You show him where the corset opens and then get you out of it with joined forces, finally leaving you standing in just your underwear. Harry’s gaze runs down your body, a look of hunger and passion shining through his green irises as he pulls you close again, kissing you with a lot more vigor this time.

Soon enough, his slacks slip to the floor and you climb to your bed, Harry following closely, climbing on top of you before rejoining your lips. Your knees open up wide for him, allowing him to sink his hips between your thighs, his crotch meeting your heated center, a moan slipping out your lips when you feel his erection rubbing against you through the material of your underwear. He kisses his way down your jawline and neck, gently sucking on the soft skin, peppering kisses along your collarbones before he reaches your chest. He easily unclasps your bra and slips the straps down your arms before getting rid of the barrier that’s been keeping him away from your naked chest.

“Fuck, Y/N, you are so damn beautiful,” he breathes out shakily, before his lips wrap around your right nipple, his hand cupping your other breast. You keep whining and whimpering as you feel his tongue swirl around your nipple before his mouth moves over to the other breast, giving it just the same amount of attention.

He kisses down your stomach, glancing up at you as he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties silently asking for your permission to go further, still so respectfully looking out for you. As an answer, you lift your hips up so he can easily slide the material down your legs and throw it to the side.

“Oh fuck!” you moan when his tongue and lips press against your bud, playing with it oh so perfectly, making you shudder. If you didn’t think Harry was perfect, his tongue work is now surely making a statement on that.

With every lick, kiss and suck he pushes you closer to your release that’s nearing in a fast pace like never before. Reaching down you lace your fingers through his chocolate curls, tugging on the lightly, making him moan against your core. You’re not sure how long you’ll last, but you want to cum with him inside you, so you pull him up, lips meeting again as you still taste your own juice on him. It’s heavenly.

Without breaking the kiss you reach down and into his underwear, palming his fully hard cock, earning a satisfied growl when you wrap your hand around him. The feeling is quite unknown, you’ve only once had to face a penis before, it happened back in high school when you were still figuring out what sexuality meant to you. Gave a wobbly and quite short handjob to a guy from the grade above you, never even talked to him again. The experience left a major effect on you, never even got close to being intimate with a man, but being with Harry now is putting everything into a whole new light.

“Do you have a condom?” he mumbles against your lips, clearly just as excited to carry on as you are.

“Yeah,” you nod and let go of him, rolling to the edge of the bed so you can dig into the drawer of your nightstand, successfully finding the little silver packet. Tearing it open you hand it over to Harry and get back to your previous position as you watch him kneeling up, rolling the condom on carefully. Your lips part when your eyes fall on his cock, seeing now how big he really is. Harry catches your eyes and leaning down he kisses you softly.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop, okay?” he kindly tells you, but you smile at him coyly.

“You might be the first man I’m with, but your dick won’t be the first thing to be inside me,” you answer with a smug smirk and it brings an amused look to his face.

“You are so fucking hot,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours in a hard kiss as he settles himself back between your legs.

Though you really tried to sound confident the other moment, you still feel a little nervous about it and Harry senses it right away. Holding himself up on one arm he cups your face in his other, kissing you slowly, taking his time with his lips, as if he is trying to make you forget about everything else but his lips.

“Are you still sure about this?” he softly asks, looking for any sign of hesitation in your eyes, but there’s none.

“Yeah, I want this. I want you,” you nod and reaching down between your bodies, you take him in your hands again, positioning him to your center.

Harry captures your lips in another passionate kiss as he pushes into you slowly, filling you up inch by inch. You gasp at the sensation, feeling a little tight around him, but not in an uncomfortable way.

“You alright?” he asks once he is almost fully in.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you breathe out with a small nod. He pecks your lips and slowly pushes all the way in before he starts to move out and then slide in again, picking up a not too fast but still firm pace with his movements.

You gradually get used to the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, it’s surely a whole different experience than using a dildo or any kind of toy you are used to. The thought that it belongs to him is bringing you a sense of intimacy you haven’t felt in a long time.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you dig your fingers into his hot skin that’s coated with a thin layer of sweat as he keeps moving, slowly picking up his pace as you both get closer to the endgame.

“Harry, faster, please!” you plead, legs coming to wrap around his waist so he can thrust in deeper, making you go completely nuts from the way your orgasm is already forming in the pit of your tummy.

He obeys without a second thought, slamming into you faster and harder, making you continuously moan his name, the room is filled with moans and panting, the slapping noise of his hips meeting yours.

Harry buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin, definitely leaving a mark, but you couldn’t care less. You just grab a handful of his hair, shutting your eyes closed as you feel yourself nearing the end.

“Harry, I’m gonna cum,” you pant, barely hanging on.

Instead of stretching it out and trying to play with you, Harry clearly wants you to combust. Reaching down between your bodies his index and middle fingers find your clit and he starts circling on it, adding that little extra you needed to fall over the edge.

Moaning and whimpering under his massive body, your orgasm washes over you in waves, bringing you such an intense satisfaction you’ve never felt before. He keeps up his thrusting and just a few moments later his movements fall out of his rhythm and mumbling your name over and over again, he gasps as he rides his high while you’re still trying to catch your breath following your own.

With a heaving chest Harry rolls off of you, gets rid of the condom and throws it to the small bin you keep next to your night stand and then lies flat beside you as you both just silently stare up at the ceiling, very much in the best kind of after sex haze.

“How are you feeling?” he then asks, rolling to his side, his hand coming to rest on your bare stomach. Turning your head to the side you crack a smile at him.

“I feel like I’ve just been properly fucked,” you bluntly answer, making him laugh wholeheartedly. Rolling to your side his arm falls to your waist as you scoot closer, your face only a few inches from his. He is so pretty up close, his features never fail to amuse you, hard to believe he is a real human, lying right next to you.

He closes his eyes a little, letting his head sink into the pillow as his fingers delicately dance up and down your side and back. You feel like you owe him to say something, dropping a major detail about yourself in a heated moment.

“I had two girlfriends,” you speak up, his eyes fluttering open to your words. “The first one was when I was eighteen, we dated for almost a year, then I briefly dated a guy, but it was barely just a month. And I had my second girlfriend when I was twenty. We were together for two years.”

“Are you still friends with them?”

“I still talk to the second one. Her name is Mila. We broke up because she moved to Spain for a job for a year and we didn’t want to do long-distance. Then we just… grew apart, but we still talk sometimes. She lives in Atlanta now, she has a girlfriend and she told me that she is planning to propose soon.”

A soft smile tugs on your lips as you talk about her. She was an important person in your life in a time that was truly challenging. Mila supported your dreams, she went to a lot of your concerts and she was the first one you called when you got your record deal even though you weren’t together anymore. She has seen you go from performing in dodgy bars to rocking the stage of arenas.

“Congrats to her,” Harry smiles through tired eyes. Reaching up he tucks your hair behind your ear before leaning closer he envelopes your lips in a soft kiss.

“We really shouldn’t have done this,” you hum, though you can’t wipe the satisfied smile off your lips.

“Why not?”

“Because we work together.”

“So what? We aren’t allowed to like each other?” he smirks cockily.

“You like me?”

“Thought I made that pretty clear,” he chuckles rubbing his eyes. “But yeah, I do like you, Y/N. A lot.”

“I… like you too,” you admit shyly. Leaning in he kisses you again before pulling you to his chest as he lies on his back.

“Can I stay the night or you want to throw me out?” he hums closing his eyes. Chuckling your snuggle to him, making yourself comfortable, enjoying the warmth of his body after so spending so many nights alone in this bed.

“You can stay, but you have to behave.”

“Oh I will behave my best, don’t worry.” A chuckle rumbles through his chest as you both fall silent and soon enough, drift off to sleep.

You wake up tangled in the sheets, but no one else is lying in bed with you. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes you look around and though there’s no sign of Harry in the room you spot his clothes on the floor. That’s when you hear the pots and pans clinking somewhere outside and you smile to yourself. You pull a t-shirt on with a pair of clean panties before heading out, finding Harry in your kitchen, wearing your pink fluffy robe and nothing else as he is making what seems to be pancakes.

“I don’t remember hiring a chef,” you joke walking closer, sliding a hand down his back as you lean against the counter next to the stove.

“Good morning,” he smiles. “I really wanted for you to wake up but I was afraid my growling stomach might wake you up,” he chuckles as he flips the pancakes in the pan with the spatula.

“Found everything you needed?” you ask, walking over the fridge to grab the orange juice.

“Yeah, you have a neatly organized kitchen,” he hums. “Sorry for snooping around though.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Pouring the juice to two glasses you hand one to him which he thanks softly before placing the golden pancakes to the plate on the counter and pours another bunch into the pan.

Sipping on your juice you watch him move around, making breakfast in your robe and you can’t help but smile at the sight of this fine man in your kitchen. Harry catches you eyeing him and he cocks an eyebrow at you.

“What’s gotten you so smiley?” he asks, his voice still a little groggy and husky.

“I just… really want to kiss you,” you shrug placing the glass to the counter.

“I think we are over this whole asking for permission thing,” he smirks, stepping closer he leans down and kisses you gently, tasting like orange juice and something sweet, he has probably ate one of the pancakes. His hand that’s not holding the spatula finds your waist, the t-shirt bunches up on your side as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss before you hear sizzling coming from the stove.

“Whoops, not trying to burn the place down,” he chuckles as he turns to the pan and flips the pancakes. You wrap your arms around his waist and kiss his jawline before stepping away from him to set the table for breakfast.

“Do you have any plans this weekend?” he asks over breakfast.

“I have a meeting with my label on Saturday, but nothing else.”

“I’m having a few friends over Saturday evening, kind of a late Grammy nomination celebration. Want to come over?”

“Yeah, that… sounds good,” you nod smiling.

“I was thinking that maybe you could spend the night and then we can finish recording on Sunday.”

“Alright, I’m in.”

Harry takes a quick shower after breakfast before heading out, promising to call you later and though it still feels a little odd that he says goodbye with a kiss, you very much like this new setup between the two of you.

Friday evening Taylor is over at your place, she loves helping you sort out promo stuff you get sent all the time, especially because you let her take whatever you don’t want, half her closet was meant to be worn by you.

Sitting on the floor with boxes surrounding the both of you, you’re digging through them with a bottle of wine, some 90’s music playing in the background, it’s a nice and relaxing evening.

Your phone lights up with a text on the coffee table and you already know it’s from Harry. You haven’t stopped texting since he left from your place just a few days ago.

Harry: Do you think it’s a look for the Grammy’s?

He attached a photo of himself in all denim, looking very much like 2001 Justin Timberlake at the AMA.

Y/N: Should I match and pull a Britney?

Harry: Is that even a question?!

“Okay, who’s the girl?” Taylor asks, making you tear your eyes away from the phone’s screen.

“Huh?”

“Last time I saw you smiling like this at your phone you were talking to that girl you met at that award show. So who is it this time?”

“It’s… not a girl,” you admit, placing your phone back to the coffee table.

“Oh, did a guy finally manage to sweep you off your feet?” Taylor gives you an amused look, genuinely surprised to hear that this time it’s a guy that has you wrapped around his finger. “What is his name?”

“Harry,” you shortly answer and see her eyes widen.

“Wait, is it… Harry as in Harry Styles?”

“Yeah,” you admit with a soft chuckle.

“Oh my God, I knew I could feel some sexual tension between you two at Jeff’s office!”

“There wasn’t any, what are you talking about?”

“You didn’t see it because you were too busy trying to blow off the duet, but it was radiating from him.” She gives you a look, putting the sweater she’s been examining to the side. “So, how are things? Are you guys an item, or…?”

“We didn’t label anything, he just said he likes me and I like him too. And he… spent the night the other day.”

“Wait, what? Spent the night as in—“

“Yes, we had sex,” you confirm blushing.

“That’s like huge! The first man you’ve been with!”

“I know,” you chuckle.

“How was it?”

“Fucking amazing,” you truthfully admit with a sigh. “I didn’t think it could be this good with a guy. Maybe it’s just because it was with him.”

“He surely looks like a guy that takes good care of his girl. So what’s gonna happen? Are you guys together?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to care about names and labels, he just likes to do whatever he wants and if I’m being honest it’s kind of refreshing. We are just… enjoying whatever we have.”

“That sounds very liberal,” Taylor chuckles. “But I’m happy for you. You’ve been alone for way too long, I think he might do good to you.”

“I really hope,” you nod with a sigh.

“How is the song writing going?”

“We’re finishing up recording on Sunday. I’ll send it to you when it’s done and we can start all the paperwork and everything.”

“Amazing, you are doing great, Y/N, I’m proud of you,” she smiles and climbing over she wraps you in a tight hug.

“Thanks, Tay,” you smile at her. “Alright, now do you want these lace socks or should I burn them?” you ask holding up a whole pack of them, making her laugh.

Harry said it’s just a chill get together, nothing fancy so you decide to wear a khaki maxi skirt with a shirt tucked into it that was a gift from a fan, your first album’s name embroidered to the front. It’s one of your favorite pieces and you like wearing things your fans make you, gives the whole fit a plus.

Arriving to Harry’s place you spot that there are a few cars already parking on the driveway. You leave your overnight bag in the trunk, grab the bottle of wine you’ve brought and head inside. Unlike every time you’ve been here, the silence is now switched up with soft music and chatters, quite a few people lingering around the house already.

Just as you walk farther inside, Harry appears on the stairs and his face lights up at the sight of you.

“Hey! Did you just arrive?” He jogs down the rest of the stairs and walking up to you he pulls you close for a quick kiss without hesitation.

“Yeah. I know you said not to bring anything, but I hate coming to parties empty handed,” you chuckle softly, holding the wine bottle up.

“Thanks. Have you eaten? Jeff is grilling outside, but help yourself with anything.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Sarah and Mitch are already here, but come on, let me introduce you to a few people.”

Harry takes your hand, lacing your fingers together with his. He drops the wine off in the kitchen before joining all the other guests. It’s really not that many people, just about thirty of his close circle. Musicians, people he has worked with and stayed close with, people he has known for long. Everyone seems welcoming and open, many already know who you are and it’s always a good conversation start, so there are not many awkward silences, especially because Harry is always near you, making sure you feel comfortable around his friends and it means a lot to you.

“Hey, everything alright?” Harry asks, when he finds you in the kitchen, refilling your glass. He walks up to you, placing a hand to your waist as he kisses into your hair.

“Yeah, your friends are nice,” you smile at him.

“I know, that’s why they are my friends,” he smirks, so full of himself. “Want to hear something interesting?”

“Always.”

“I was talking to Adam and our song came up and then out of nowhere I referred to you as my girlfriend.”

Seemingly he is testing the waters, trying to see how you react to the title, even a little afraid of what you might say, but it doesn’t scare you.

“Yeah? That’s interesting indeed.”

“Are you okay with it? I wasn’t really thinking about it, just slipped out.”

“It’s fine,” you smile at him softly.

“You don’t have to call me your boyfriend, call me whatever you want. It’s just a habit of mine, I guess,” he explains, popping some nuts into his mouth from the little jar on the counter.

“Alright,” you nod. Harry stares back at you for a moment before a smile stretches across his face and leaning down he kisses you shortly before taking your hand and walking back to the living room with you.

The last guests leave around midnight. After bringing your bag up to his bedroom you start cleaning up while Harry walks out the last couple leaving. You start loading the washer and put away things you’ve cleaned before.

“Oh, thank you for cleaning, but you don’t have to. I can take care of it later.”

“It’s nothing, I want to make myself useful,” you chuckle softly as you start the washer. Harry comes up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kisses into your neck.

“I have other ideas for that,” he murmurs, his nose nudging the side of your face.

“Yeah? What kind of ideas?” you teasingly ask, closing your eyes when you feel his hand slide under the waist of your skirt, moving down your abdomen until it reaches your core.

“Fun kinds,” he chuckles lowly. His other hand turns your head so his lips could meet yours, you’re still pressed up against him, melting against his chest with your back just right, like you’re two puzzle pieces.

“Fuck,” you breathe out when his fingers wander into your underwear and they start doing their magic. “Harry!” you whine, reacting intensely to his actions.

“I fucking love hearing my name from your pretty mouth,” he growls, kissing you hard before his lips part from yours and he starts bunching up your skirt.

You don’t protest, in fact, you lean forward, grabbing onto the edge of the counter as he pulls down your panties and you hear the zipper of his pants. Glancing over your shoulders you see him pull out a condom from his pocket and you can’t push down a laughter.

“Did you keep that in your pocket all evening?”

“Wanted to be ready when I finally got you all for myself,” he smirks, pulling his cock out of his boxer briefs, rolling on the condom.

His hands come in contact with your hips and ass cheeks, giving them a light squeeze before you feel him lining himself up with you. His palm slides up your back as he pushes into you, both of you moaning at the fulfilling sensation.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he breathes out as he pushes all the way inside before starting to pull out.

“Go hard, Harry. Please!” you whimper as he starts thrusting into you. Harry lets out a growl and slams into you, making you gasp at the harshness of the movement, but that’s exactly what you wanted.

The kitchen is filled with the noises coming from the washer next to you and the slapping noise of Harry’s hips meeting your ass with every forceful thrust he makes. His ring clad fingers dig into your hips, probably already making them red, but you couldn’t care less. You hold onto the edge of the counter, but then you move one hand to cover his on you, needing to touch him in some kind of way.

Leaning forward Harry kisses your back between your shoulder blades through the thin material of your shirt and you moan his name when he hits the perfect spot inside you.

“Shit, Harry! I’m g-gonna cum!” you gasp, perking your ass up more so he can go as deep as possible.

“Let go for me, baby. Come on!”

“I want to cum with you.”

“Yeah? Then hold on for a little longer, I’m almost there.”

You try your best to keep everything inside you under control, your orgasm is really on the edge and you can only hope he is nearing his end too.

“Harry! Please!”

“Fuck, okay, okay, cum for me! Let me feel you!” he moans and his words bring you the release.

You clench around him, moaning and whimpering and it finally pushes you into his bliss too. His thrusts slow down but they are hard and go deep, helping you ride the last bits of your high.

He pulls out and gets rid of the condom before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you up from your position so he can kiss your lips.

“How about we take a shower while the washer finishes?” he suggests, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Mm, good idea.”

Once the song is fully finished you submit it to your label after an agreement that it should come out through yours, but it wouldn’t be tied to your or Harry’s upcoming album. Everyone seems to love it, Taylor is over the moon when you show her the final version and Jeff is just as happy about it. Having only three more weeks left until the Grammy’s, you send them your request to perform the duet instead of the medley they asked. Their answer comes the next day and they are more than happy to have you premiere your new duet at the show. Everything seems to be on track.

Following a rehearsal for the Grammy performance, you’re staying over at Harry’s, just eating takeout and having a lazy evening after a whole day of working. You’ve put on a new Netflix movie, but every time you look at Harry you feel like his mind is somewhere far away.

“Want to share what’s on your mind?” you ask softly, not wanting to be pushy, you’re just trying to be there for him.

“I’ve just been thinking.”

“About what?” He looks up at you, clearly hesitant whether he should share it with you or not.

“About what you said about your parents.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. Pausing the movie you turn all your attention to him. “What about it?”

“I was just talking to my mom the other day, she is coming here for the Grammy’s and I thought about how you… won’t have your parents there with you.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Yeah, but then I thought about how you said you haven’t even let them contact you since then and that maybe they’ve changed their mind about the whole situation. You’ve clearly proved them wrong with building yourself a career, maybe they can now see that what they did was wrong.”

You remain silent, chewing on his words. You’ve been great at not thinking about your parents these past years, it feels weird to have a conversation about them out of nowhere. Harry takes your silence as a warning sign, though that’s not the case.

“You know what? I’m sorry for bringing it up. It’s not really my business, I shouldn’t have brought it up, sorry,” he shakes his head.

“What… would you do if you were in my place?”

Harry looks at you, surprised you are willing to continue the conversation. His hand finds your thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

“I think it might worth a shot to just… contact them. See if they want to maybe get in touch again.”

“And what if they don’t?”

“Then… you know you made the right decision leaving. I know it’s scary, but I think you should take a chance.”

“I’ll… think about it,” you nod shortly.

“Take your time, do whatever you feel comfortable with.” He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you get comfortable in his embrace before starting the movie again.

Two weeks before the show you are headed to a fitting with Harry, your matching sets are nearly done, but they needed you to try them on and make sure they fit just perfectly. True to your and Harry’s extravagant fashion, this performance won’t lack any over the top fits either. It was clear from the beginning that you would be matching, but you made it clear that you want to bring it to the level where you’d be wearing the exact same outfit, so now there are two sets of suits in the making, the pattern of the whole two piece is recalling a kind of space vibe, blues, purples and black meeting in the colors with hundreds of embroidered stars and planets littering the fabric with additional crystal stars to make it even more extra. It’s truly one of a kind, especially paired with the sheer, tulle shirt you both will be wearing underneath.

“We look fucking great, babe,” Harry smirks as the two of you stand next to each other, examining yourself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the small podium.

“We really do,” you smirk, satisfied with how the performance is coming together. It’s gonna be the perfect way to celebrate both your first Grammy nominations, a huge milestone in your and Harry’s career as well.

Grabbing his phone he quickly takes a picture in the mirror of the two of you, pulling you to his side as you smile into the camera through the mirror. Then you leave him alone on the podium as they are pinning his pants to make it the perfect size. Stepping to your bag you fish your phone out and reading just the first few words of Taylor’s last message she sent about ten minutes ago, you feel all blood rushing out of your face. Tapping on the notification you start reading.

Taylor: Please don’t lose your head, but we are dealing with this.

She attached several articles and you start digging through them.

“Is Harry Styles dating his new duet partner?”

“Harry Styles cozied up with Y/N Y/L/N at dinner with friends.”

“Can we expect some hot make out sessions at the Grammy’s from Harry and his new beau?”

And then there’s the absolute worst.

“Is Y/N Y/L/N going to take Harry Styles to court too?”

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mumble under your breath, vigorously typing back to Taylor to take them down. Two pictures have been leaked from the time you had dinner with Sarah and Mitch, it’s so odd because it’s been weeks since then, where were these pictures all along? Not that it matters, all you want is for them to be gone.

Against your better judgment, you go online and check your social media even though you know you shouldn’t snoop around now that it’s out there. No surprise, you and Harry are trending, but the reactions are very much mixed.

The impact of your case with Jordan is still major. It doesn’t matter that you won, people are still questioning whether he said the truth or not and now they are afraid you might drag Harry down just like you did with Jordan. That you are just trying to use his fame to get more attention and then ruin his career, making a victim out of yourself again, because apparently that’s what you’ve been doing.

You’re not only being dragged, but all of a sudden, nothing is about the music and the art you are making, people just want to know if you’re fucking Harry Styles or not. A lot of the times you’re not even named, only referred to Harry’s new lover or what’s worse, his hookup. You’ve lost all the credit you worked so hard for and for what? Because you dared to have dinner with a man?

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Harry asks walking up to you. Your eyes snap up at him and he immediately sees the shock and anger in them, setting panic in him as well. “What is it?”

“The fucking… pictures,” you hiss handing him your phone so he can see the articles for himself. He scrolls through them with furrowed eyebrows, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before handing the phone back once he has gotten to the end of it.

“Let’s finish this up and head home, okay? We’ll figure it all out.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you nod, trying your best to keep your anger at bay while the designers finish up on the outfits.

An hour later you walk into your place, talking on the phone with Taylor, discussing the situation though there’s not much you can do at this point. It’s all out, the pictures can’t be taken down. She suggests to just keep quiet for now, she’ll call Jeff to see what could be done as damage control.

Throwing your phone to the bed you feel your whole body shaking from the anger, it’s agonizing to know there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll figure it out,” Harry speaks up, trying his best to calm you down, but it’s not really working this time.

“Stop saying it, you don’t know that for sure. I can’t believe this bullshit is happening all over again,” you breathe out shaking your head.

“Again?”

“Yes! I’m being fucking dragged for something I shouldn’t be.”

“People will always have controversial opinion on everything, you can’t get them all to like you.”

“It’s not about liking, Harry!” you snap. “I couldn’t give a damn about people liking me, but they discredit my work. Have you read those articles? I’m seen with a man and suddenly, I’m not even seen as an artist anymore. I’m not even my own person in some of them, just a girl who is linked to you. How is that fair?” “It’s not, but stressing yourself about it until you’re sick is not gonna help anything,” he retorts in a firm voice.

“So I should just sit around and so nothing while watching all my work go to shit?”

“Nothing is going to shit! This is how it goes, there’s always something people talk about but they will forget about it in a week. That doesn’t take anything away from what you’ve proved through your career.”

“Now that’s a lie. Because if they did forget about things in a week, they wouldn’t be bringing up the whole Jordan thing now. I dared to stand up for myself against a man and look where it took me to! I’m the drama queen, the lying bitch who likes to ruin men for apparently no reason and they see me as a threat when it comes to you too. People are talking about how I’ll take you to court as well, they think I’m just using you even though they know nothing about me! And the worst part is that it wouldn’t be like this if I weren’t a woman. Whatever happens, however we react to the situation, it will never have the same effect on your career than it will have on mine.”

“So what, you’ll just live your life without ever doing anything that’s gonna upset people? There will always be someone who’ll judge whatever you do, you can’t do anything about that and if you let them get to you now, they’ll know they can mess with you easily.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore everything? And not do a single thing about it? It’s easy for you, you’ll walk away from this without a scratch on your name, because you are a white man who can do no wrong in the eyes of the world.”

“Okay, now you are being mean for no reason.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” you retort. “And you know what else is part of the truth? That I’m not even having it the worse. There are women who are even more targeted because of their religion, their skin color, their nationality or sexuality and people don’t even realize how hard it is for any of us. I’m sick of the injustice we have to live with just because of our gender!”

“I do acknowledge the problem on hand, I’m aware of it and I’m all for doing against it, but we are not gonna solve it instantly, it’s a long process. Sometimes we just have to pull back a little, be smart about things.”

“They will never stop about this,” you shake your head, stubbornly clinging onto your opinion. “I won’t be seen as a serious artist anymore, just some girl who was linked to you. It’s fucking done, over.”

“Y/N, what are you trying to say?” Harry asks with caution.

“Exactly what you are thinking about,” you reply with a bitter laugh. “I can’t be a respected artist if I’m with you.”

“That’s not true. It will die down, they will see that you are more than just who you’re dating and everything will be fine.”

“What’s not fair is that I have to work for it to be fine while you are still the same artist you were before it all blew up. Don’t you think it’s unfair?” you call him out and part of you knows you’re being mean and unnecessarily rude to him, but you just can’t control it any longer. You need to let it out and unfortunately, he is the one who is here to take the blame.

“It is, but what are you expecting me to do about it? Release a statement asking people to only talk about my dating life to make it equal? What can be done is that we try to fight this together, show them that you’re more than just a woman who is linked to a man in any kind of way.”

“Yeah, like realization is just gonna hit them,” you snap. “I’m at a turning point in my career, Harry. Whether I win a Grammy or not, this time is going to have an impact on my future. If I’m seen as just a girl linked to you, I’ll never make it. I’ll be forgotten and dragged again and I can kiss my career goodbye.”

You know you were way too harsh, but it’s what you think to be the truth. You didn’t fight your way to this point in life just to be seen as a man’s girlfriend rather than the artist you truly are. And right now, you can’t see yourself get out of this situation without letting go of Harry.

“Y/N, please don’t let this ruin what we have. We can get through this, you can’t let them control your life this much. Who are they to tell you what to do? That’s not the Y/N I know, come on!”

He tries to step closer, reaching out for you, but you take a step back, wanting to keep the distance between the two of you.

“I would prefer to be alone now,” you sternly say, folding your arms on your chest, closing yourself off from him as you don’t even look at him, because if you did, you know you would break.

“Y/N, please don’t do this, we—“

“Alone!” you snap, cutting him off.

He stares at you, hoping you might change your mind, but you’re quite set on this. He knows you well enough to know you won’t budge anytime soon. He lets out a shaky breath and slowly turning around, he heads towards the door as you’re already fighting your tears back. He stops right before he is about to walk out.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” he quietly says before walking out, the door shutting closed behind him.

The sobs start immediately and you fall to the ground, tears soaking your cheeks, already missing him more than anything in your life. You really thought it would be different this time, that things might get better, but you were naïve.

The next two days go by in a blur. The whole fucking internet is filled with those damn pictures of you and Harry, nothing has been about any of your Grammy nominations or even about your music, you’ve officially became the woman Harry Styles is dating.

Harry was titled as a Grammy nominee in every goddamn writing that surfaced, he was completely credited for his work while you could be happy if your name was written correctly. With every new article, your faith in having the career you worked so hard for lessened until you felt hopeless. You’ve officially became a dumb celebrity, just a woman who was known to be dating a man in the industry.

On the evening of the second day you have enough. You just read yet another degrading piece of you that was clearly written by a man, they once again talked about your case with Jordan, joking about history repeating itself and you swear you could scream and throw a tantrum like a baby at how useless and helpless you feel.

You put your laptop to the side and reach for your phone, dialing Taylor’s number.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” she asks right away, knowing well how hard these past days have been. She came over the evening you sent Harry away and tried to comfort you, but nothing could help you that night.

“Hey, I want to ask you to do something and not try to talk me out of it.”

“Oh God…” she sighs, already knowing you’re about to do something stupid according to her.

“I don’t want to perform at the Grammy’s.”

“What? With all due respect, are you fucking stupid?”

“I’m not stupid. But I don’t want to do it.”

“Well, this has got to be the most ridiculous move you’ve ever tried to pull. Why do you want to throw such a huge thing away?”

“I can’t… sing that song with Harry. If I stand on the stage and sing with him… I just can’t do it, Tay.”

“Of course you can! Suck it up! I know you miss him and it fucking sucks what’s happening, but you have to do it!” she tries to convince you, but you’ve already made your mind up.

“No. I’m not doing it. Please let them know that it’s going to be just Harry performing.”

And with that, you end the call.

Taylor knows better than to try to fight you, she doesn’t call back though you know she wants to murder you right now probably, but she’ll come around, she always does. You make yourself a tea hoping to relax your nerves with it though you know nothing can help you now. You wish you had someone to rely on, someone you could talk to right now, but usually Taylor is that person to you and lately Harry has been your support, but you can’t call either of them. The rest of the people you consider friends… they are just not that close to you. You’re left alone, again.

As your gaze wanders over to your phone, a thought pops up in your mind that makes your hands sweat. You think back to the conversation you had with Harry about your parents and you can’t shake the urge off to finally make that call.

“Fuck it,” you breathe out and grab the device, opening up the contacts until you find what you’ve been looking for. Your thumb hovers above the call button for a while before you finally tap on it and start the call. It rings four times before a voice speaks up on the other end.

“Halo?”

“Hi mom,” you reply and hear a gasp from her at your voice.

There’s less than a week left until the Grammy’s. For your own sake, you haven’t been online outside of answering work emails, you just can’t deal with the shit show your life has become on the internet.

You haven’t left your home unless you really needed to go somewhere, did most of your meetings over the phone or videochat and postponed a fitting as well. You’ve officially caved yourself up in your apartment and you are not planning on leaving anytime soon.

Taylor keys herself in, she hasn’t even mentioned that she might drop by, but you’re not surprised. She is probably here to try to bring you out of this pity party you’ve been holding for days. When she sees you lying on the couch in sweats and messy, unwashed hair, she sighs, shaking her head.

“You really need to pull your shit together, Y/N.”

“I’m fine,” you mumble, pulling your fuzzy blanket up to your chin.

“No, you’re not. This is not the bad bitch I know.”

“Bad bitches have bad days too.”

“This is not a bad day, you look like a fucking zombie. This is not what a Grammy nominee should look like days before the big show.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’m performing or anything,” you shrug, but the look in Taylor’s eyes make yours go wide. “Taylor, I’m not performing, you informed them about it, right?”

“This is why I’m here,” she sighs walking closer, sitting on the other end of the couch. “I never cancelled on your performance.”

“I told you I’m not doing it!” “I know, but I was hoping you might come around. But you seem to be still acting like a stupid bitch, so that didn’t happen. However, I’ve gotten an interesting email today.”

She pulls out her phone and opens the email before handing it over to you. Shooting her an unhappy look you start reading.

-

Hi Taylor!

I got your email address from Jeff, wanted to write to you myself. I’ve officially pulled out of the Grammy performance so it’s going to be only Y/N in it. We are also working on a statement to release over the whole ordeal and my lawyers have been after the bigger gossip sites to get the articles down. I want Y/N to have the Grammy experience she deserves and I know it can’t happen with me in the performance. Tell her that I’m sorry for ruining it for her, she deserves so much more. I’m sorry she was brought into this.

I hope to see you soon, take care!

Harry

-

With parted lips, you look up at Taylor who is smiling softly at you.

“He… pulled out for me.”

“He did. Talked to Jeff on the phone, they have already let them know Harry wouldn’t be performing, they will make it official tomorrow.”

“But he deserves this just as much as I do. He is a nominee too.”

“Well, seems like he values you more than his own success.” Taylor lets out a long sigh and scooting closer she places a hand to your knee. “Look, I know you’re upset about how the media treats you just because you were seen out with Harry, and I know that you’re afraid of getting labeled as just the girl he dates and not get taken seriously as an artist, but you can’t let them stop you from living your life how you want to. There will always be judgment, there will always be men who are worse than trash and want to bring you down, but you are stronger than that. Pushing Harry away and being alone for the rest of your life is not a solution. What you can do to put them to their place is give them a big fuck you, date the hottest man in the industry and continue being the bad bitch that you are, fighting against the way you are being treated. Speak up, show them who they are dealing with, share your truth, like you always do! But you can do all of this with Harry by your side. You deserve to be happy and he makes you happy, don’t make yourself miserable because we live in a world where men are still placed above women. Fight for the change but don’t forget to think about yourself as well in the process.”

You feel the tears sting in your eyes. The weight of this past week is just way too heavy to carry, but Taylor is right and you are realizing that you’ve made it harder for yourself. The sobs come before you could stop yourself and Taylor pulls you into a hug.

“I know, I know. It fucking sucks, but you can’t let them win,” she soothes, running her hands up and down your back. “Show them how big of a bad bitch you are and get the man too.”

“You think Harry still wants to be with me?”

“I think that man would be on his knees for you in a heartbeat if you asked,” she chuckles pulling back. “Statement about the performance will be released tomorrow. That’s how long you have to figure it out,” she tells you with a knowing look before leaving you alone with your thoughts, however you don’t have to think long what you have to do.

You have not been the only one these past days took a toll on. The fight the two of you had left Harry completely drained, angry and helpless. He hated that he was the reason you weren’t credited as the talented artist that you are and he couldn’t stop thinking about ways to make it better. That’s when he came up with the idea of pulling out of the performance.

Now he is ready to spend the remaining days until the award show hidden from the world, not even leaving the house. Everyone close to him knows he is better not to be disturbed now, so he is quite surprised when the security system lets him know that someone has arrived.

As you drive up to his house you spot him immediately, stepping out the front door with a shocked look on his face, probably expecting you to be the last person to be there at the moment. You wipe your sweaty palms against your thighs as you walk up to him, feeling anxious to see him and talk to him, especially after the last conversation you had.

“Hey, I’m sorry for coming here without calling or anything…” you shyly start, stopping in front of you.

“Don’t be silly. Come… Come on in,” he clears his throat inviting you inside.

You’ve walked through this front door so many times in the past almost two months, but this is the first time you feel so odd, standing out, like you have no place in here and it’s all thanks to yourself.

“Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?” Harry walks past you but then turns to face you, talking to you with such warmth and kindness, even after how you acted, putting blame on him for something he has no control over. It completely breaks you and can’t stop your eyes from watering as you look at him. You really hoped you’ve run out of tears in the past days, but it seems like that’s not the case at all.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” you breathe out shakily and you step closer to each other at the same time, he envelopes you in his strong arms and you fist his shirt at his chest. “I know it was none of your fault, I just got so desperate and afraid that it might ruin what I worked so hard for.”

“I know. And you were right about everything. Everything you said was true and I’m sorry you have to deal with it.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t right to be mad at you just because you have different privileges, it’s not like you can change who you are. So I’m really sorry about that, and also for pushing you away when you were just trying to be there for me. I was so stupid,” you breathe out, wiping the tears sliding your cheeks down away.

“You just panicked, it’s okay. Don’t apologize for wanting to protect yourself.”

Resting your forehead against his shoulder you wait for your sobs to die down before you look back up at him. Reaching up he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, smiling down at you warmly and that smile alone ensures you that you are exactly where you are supposed to be, with the right person.

“Taylor showed me the email you sent her,” you bring it up, clearing your throat.

“You deserve it all to yourself so people can see how amazing of an artist you are.”

“I’m not doing it without you,” you shake your head stubbornly. “We wrote the song together and we’re gonna perform it together or else I’m not doing it either.”

“Y/N, you know if we step on that stage together they are gonna twist the whole thing and make it about something else. I want you to have this opportunity for your career without me ruining it with just my presence.”

“Fuck them, if they take it as something it’s not. They are not gonna take the chance away from us to perform our song. If they are such fucking dumbasses that they make it all about what’s between us, that’s their own personal problem. If I need to, I’ll go on a Twitter rant and tell them this myself. I want you on stage with me or else I’m not doing it either.”

Harry breathes out through his nose, pressing his lips together as he stares back at you, probably realizing you are dead serious about pulling out of the performance and he is right. He doesn’t even know you were the first one to cancel on it, you’d do it again without hesitation.

“I guess we are performing then,” he cracks a small smile and throwing your arms around his neck you pull him down, lips smashing against his, the kiss mingling with giggles and smiles.

Harry wraps his arms tight around your waist, pulling you up from the ground as he spins you around, making you squeal as you hold onto him.

“I have to call Jeff to call the Grammy’s not to post the statement,” he hums against your lips and he pecks them a few more times before letting go of you to quickly make a call to his manager.

You move over to the couch in his living room as he talks to Jeff, who is luckily very understanding about the sudden change. Hugging your knees to your chest you watch him pace the floor, exchanging a few more words with the man on the phone before ending the call, his gaze dropping to you again. Sitting beside you, he kisses your temple, dropping an arm around your shoulders as you lean against him, head resting on his chest.

“I called my mom,” you drop the bomb suddenly and you can feel him tense up for a moment, probably shocked by your words.

“You did?”

“Yeah.” Lifting your head your gaze meets his as you carry on. “She was… very shocked to hear my voice.”

“I bet,” he hums. “What did you talk about?”

“I just… asked how they are doing and told her that I’ve been thinking a lot about them. She sounded genuinely touched by it and said I’m always welcomed for dinner or lunch if I’d like to see them.”

“That’s amazing! See, I told you they would love to hear from you!”

“Yeah,” you smile at him softly. “I think I want to go over sometime after the Grammy’s.”

“I’m sure it’s going to go well.”

“Would you please come with me?”

Your question catches him off-guard he seems surprised that you would want him there, but then his expression softens as he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“I would love to, if you want me there.”

“I do,” you nod.

“Then it’s settled,” he smiles warmly as you lay your head back to his chest, his fingers gently dancing up and down your arm and for once in your life you finally feel settled, like everything is going to be fine.

Highlights of the 63rd Annual Grammy Awards: Y/N Y/L/N blows up stage with new hit duet

The killer duo surprised us all with a brand new duet titled Floating Through Space, performed it together on their big night. Wearing matching galaxy themed suits, Y/L/N and Styles have closed off the evening with probably the most success, the latter winning two out of his three nominations, receiving the award for Best Music Video and Best Pop Vocal Album with his latest album, Fine Line, while Y/L/N was titled best new artist, becoming a Grammy winner early in her career.

Tabloids blew up earlier this month when the two singers were photographed cozied up at dinner with friends, speculations started about their possible romance, but Y/L/N has made a clear statement on the question with her red carpet appearance before the award show. Wearing a head to toe black Gucci gown paired with a dramatic cape, the message “I’M AN ARTIST, ASK ME ABOUT MY ART” painted onto it in red, making a bold statement about her opinion on the way the media has been treating the star.

Both singers remained silent on their alleged romance, but proved to be the best of their time with their joined performance with their new emotional duet. Following the song’s debut on stage it was released to the public as a single right away, taking over all charts with its overwhelming success.

Listen to Floating Through Space now on Spotify and Apple Music!

Your knuckles are turning white from the tight grip on the steering wheel as you stare up at the home you grew up in. It looks almost the same, sometime through the years you haven’t been around your parents have painted it a light blue color from the paste yellow, but it’s still… the same.

“Hey.”

Turning to your right you look at Harry who is smiling at you warmly as his hand reaches over and squeezes your knee gently.

“It’s going to be fine. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you, you’re still their daughter.”

“That’s not what they told me the last time I was here,” you whisper, feeling your throat closing up.

“We all say things in the heat of the moment. Seeing how happy they were about this lunch proves that they regret what happened.”

Nodding you take a deep breath to get ready for whatever is going to happen. Leaning over the console you pull Harry in for a kiss and it calms your nerves a little. Getting out of the car he takes your hand and squeezes it to let you know he’ll be right by your side all along. As you walk up to the front porch a sense of strong nostalgia washes over you.

You didn’t have a bad childhood, your parents provided you so much growing up, it’s sad to think what it has become. In a way you feel more anxious than walking the red carpet a week ago for the Grammys even though you’re just meeting your parents, but this is a turning point in your life that needed to come sooner or later.

“I’m right here, baby. It’s going to be fine,” Harry murmurs, kissing your forehead before you ring the doorbell, feeling weird that you come here as a guest, not as someone who belongs here.

You hear footsteps approaching on the other side, two frames appear through the clouded glass of the front door and then it flies open, pushing all air out of your lungs, clinging tightly onto Harry’s hand. There’s a moment of silence and just staring at each other before the tiniest smile tugs on your lips.

“Hi mom, hi dad.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[diovstheworld]

Formaggio and Fashion!

(3 posts this week, who even am i 😭) this post is the same as the prosciutto post (here’s the link to that one in case anyone wants to see it!). minus the collections the clothes are from because that was time consuming and frustrating ✨ also maybe not as many images as last time because finding 9 outfits wasn’t always easy. i know some of these choices may be questionable but bear with me lmao. i am simply just a gal who likes looking at fashion but has no idea what she’s talking about and can’t even dress herself/hj. also my posts have been flopping recently so any likes and reblogs are extra appreciated this time round <3

୨ ╭ ୨୧ ✦ ︶꒷꒦・⎯⎯・⎯⎯・₊ˎ✧๑

Jean Paul Gaultier

okay actually i think some of these outfits are not that nice lmao BUT i think formaggio could pull them off. i don’t think the one with the orange top and dungarees is nice at all but i saw it and i immediately thought of formaggio for some reason. when i saw some of these i actually thought of risotto at first (and for one of them abbacchio came to mind but this isn’t about him right now lmao) but the more i looked at them the more i thought they maybe fitted formaggio better? i was a little worried at first because i was like none of these look like what he actually wears but then i remembered i’m not trying to find exact recreations of what he wears and it’s just things that i see that remind me of him lmao. some of these were just for individual pieces (actually i think just that camo shirt) and i actually seen a lot of individual pieces that would work well for him but i didn’t include them, mainly because of the quality of the photos. here’s the moodboard!:

Off-White

okay i actually like this one but i feel like some of the stuff might suit illuso too soooo there may be some overlaps with the clothes on his post when i get around to posting that. formaggio in that top left outfit would be so cute 😭 anyway here’s the moodboard!:

Moschino

i think this is probably my least accurate board out of this whole post but i also think he’d look cute in that orange outfit and that one outfit with the black cropped jacket. also the like plaid or whatever it is outfit? he would rock that for sure! i feel like he could probably rock a variety of stuff which made this post a little more difficult than my prosciutto one ahhhh. anyway moodboard time!:

Vivienne Westwood

honestly i couldn’t not include vivienne westwood in this post. i don’t know how to explain it but gosh i think all of these would suit formaggio so much. the minute i decided to make more of these posts i just knew i had to use vivienne westwood stuff lmaooo. anyway, again i don’t have much to say so on with the moodboard:

Anna Sui

okay i actually love this one a lot. even though these don’t look like what we see him wear i can totally see him in a lot of these outfits. this is definitely one of my favorites for this post for sure. i don’t have too much to say but i just think like things with mesh or like netted clothes look like they would suit him bc of what he does actually wear so i think that’s why i like some of these so much. 2 of these that i included are only for the one item and not the whole outfit (the two sweaters) but i couldn’t not include them bc i really think they would suit him. here’s the moodboard!:

Saint Laurent

so again i think a lot of these reminded me of formaggio bc they were either kind of mesh or sheer but i like these ones a lot too. it’s so hard to explain but i have a particular style in my head for formaggio (and all the other guys actually) that i cannot explain for the life of me but i have it in my mind when i go and pick these posts lmao anyway to me these feel right and they definitely remind me of him and he would look great in these! i think risotto would suit a few of these too to be honest so maybe there will be some overlaps in their posts lmao anyway moodboard time!:

Dior

again, anything mesh or sheer or see through for me automatically goes in the moodboard lmao. also i really think he would suit sweaters and sweater vests so i’ve included quite a lot of them in this one! i don’t really have anything else to say so here’s the moodboard!:

Marc Jacobs

honestly i was starting to lose it a little bit when i was making this post and then i remembered heaven by marc jacobs exists and immediately it felt kind of appropriate to include? maybe i’m only saying that because i started to struggle with the post lmao. i have to admit that a lot of the time when i’m making these posts and i see some of the clothing and even some of the stuff i put in the posts, i’m not actually a fan of it. but i was a big fan of a lot of these outfits i saw and honestly i haven’t even included a bunch of the pictures i saved for this section because there was a lot lmao. honestly i might even use a few of these outfits when i get around to make my post for illuso bc i think a few of them would suit him also. anyway, here is the moodboard!:

୨ ╭ ୨୧ ✦ ︶꒷꒦・⎯⎯・⎯⎯・₊ˎ✧๑

if you made it this far, thanks for reading my messy ass posts lmao. i have risotto and illuso posts in the making sooo stay tuned for that i guess? again, thanks for reading my silly little drabbles about these boys!

[nifolution]

Dirty Secret 6

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, insecurity, betrayal, cheating, smut, fluff, arguments, Steve being a jerk, stupid Steve, fighting, jealousy

A/N: This is a revised copy of my oc fic. It is still written in 1st & 3rd person. 18+ only due to smut. No stealing, no reposts, no translations, no feeding to AIs. Comments, reblogs and likes are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 5 Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Chapter 6

Saturday came too fast. This is hell, I'm in hell...Steve was leaving with Sharon for the gala. I watched them walk out of the lobby, looking like two gorgeous cake toppers.

I went over to the window, waiting for them to get in the limousine. Silently, Bucky appeared beside me. It was going to be just him and me tonight. He never goes to these big parties, they make him uncomfortable.

"That was supposed to be our limo. We were going to go together."

Bucky looked at me with sympathy, "I know."

"I thought we were telling everyone tonight. I spent an obscene amount of money on this wonderful dress. I had the shoes and the makeup and hairstyle picked out. I wanted to look as good as possible, so it looked like we belonged together. So he wouldn't be afraid to tell people I was his... I should have known better…. Look at them, they look like they were made for each other."

Bucky's face hardened as Steve's head dipped into the car, "He loves you Y/N. I know he does. I don't know what has gotten into him. I want to kick his ass myself, believe me. Screw his head back on straight."

"Is that why I had to be a secret all this time? Cause he loves me so much? You know, he only ever said he loved me during or immediately after sex. Never even on one of our dates. I may be dumb but I’m not dumb enough to think he ever meant it." I took a shaky breath as the first salty drops slid down my cheeks.

"Doll…"

I plopped down on the nearest chair, burying my face in my hands. "I’m so stupid... He was ashamed of me this whole time. That's why he insisted I hide, but he paraded her around the second she arrived."

Bucky remained silent, walking over to me, putting his hand on my shoulder reassuringly.

"He didn't even bother breaking up with me first. I wasn’t worth a goodbye, or a get lost... I get it, why date the gullible thief when you can have the smart, beautiful, badass agent... Can't blame him though, can I? I wouldn't pick me either."

Bucky had enough, his voice stern, "Get up!"

I was startled, "Why?"

He leaned over the chair, putting his face at level with mine. "Because you are going to go to your room, put on that dress, get dolled up and we are going to the gala together. I refuse to let you sit here and cry. Now get up!"

I stared at him in disbelief. He couldn't be serious. "It's starting in 23 mins."

"Yes, but if we take the orb express you will have plenty of time to get ready and we'll only show up fashionably late. So get a move on," he barked.

---------------

We stood outside the event's entrance, this place was impressive. Majestic, ornate and humongous. Bucky looked handsome. His short hair styled, his facial hair trimmed, his dark grey suit fit perfectly. I didn't even know he owned one. I wore a dress that cost more than I care to admit. Spent weeks agonizing over my choices at different shops, before finding the right one. The gown was beautiful, my favorite color and fit like it was made just for me. I felt pretty… and terrified.

Bucky noticed I was rubbing my bracelet so he linked his arm with mine. "You have nothing to be nervous about. You're drop dead gorgeous. Steve's not going to know what hit him."

"I doubt he'll even notice," I answered morosely.

"You're wrong about that," he stated as he led me through the doors.

-

Sharon was the first to spot the new arrivals entering the party. She smacked Steve's chest, "See, I told you they were a couple."

Steve turned his head to see who Sharon was referring to. He felt the wind get knocked out of him. Y/N was here, looking incredible. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Before he could stop himself, he started walking over. That's when he noticed the arm she was gripping tightly to, Bucky’s. Was Sharon correct? He swiftly retreated back to the bar. What the hell was going on?

---------------

As the night wore on, Steve became more sullen. He tried to will Y/N to look at him. He waited for an opening, but she never looked his way and Bucky never left her side. He watched them all night, seething.

Sharon led Steve to the dance floor. A slow melody playing. She held Steve close and swayed to the music. "This has been an amazing date, Steve. I'm having a wonderful time."

"Me too." He twirled her and pulled her back to him.

"You've been practicing."

Steve smiled wistfully, "Something like that."

Steve couldn't say what was on his mind. And Sharon didn't inquire further. They continued dancing through to the next song.

-

Bucky was doing an excellent job as my date. Throughout the night he was attentive and affectionate. He stayed close to me, making sure I was okay, listening to everything I said. He helped me avoid Steve, he accompanied me on each trip to the bar or restroom, just in case. He held my hand or kept his hand on my lower back at all times, keeping me grounded. He'd throw in kisses to my cheeks, temple and hand whenever he deemed it appropriate. I guess we were believable because no one questioned it.

Things were going well. I was actually starting to have fun.... Until I saw them. Steve and Sharon dancing, staring lovingly at one another. Like no one else in the room existed.

Bucky noticed I was starting to get upset, his eyes followed mine. He slammed his drink down on the table, growling.

He offered me his hand, "May I have this dance?"

I looked away, "You know I don't dance, Bucky."

"You should," he replied with a smile.

Two could play at that game, "You don't dance either."

"I will for you. Let's go." He pulled me into the mass of moving bodies. When he found a desired spot, he wrapped his arms around my waist.

I tried to enjoy our dance, but every time Bucky turned us, I saw them. Seeing Steve hold someone else like that broke my heart all over again. I tried closing my eyes, but the image remained.

Bucky tried reassuring me, but as Steve leaned in to kiss Sharon, I lost my resolve. I buried my head in Bucky's chest, trying to stifle my sobs.

Bucky moved his arms higher, embracing me fully. He was furious with Steve. That punk was making a huge mistake. He made sure he caught Steve's eye before slowly lifting my head and kissing my lips.

I pulled away gently, "Bucky, I can't. I don't play these kinds of games. I wouldn't do that to him."

"I know doll, you're too good of a person to mess with someone's feelings. I'm sorry for doing that." Bucky looked genuinely apologetic. "I hope I didn't make things awkward between us."

I shook my head and hugged him. He escorted me out to the balcony for some fresh air. I needed it, it was getting harder to breathe the longer I stayed inside.

---------------

Bucky removed his jacket, wrapping it around me. We stood at the railing, looking down to the street below. I don't know how long we were out there, but he continued to stay by my side until I found my voice again.

"I was never going to be enough for him, was I? I never loved anyone as much as him... I thought this was it, I found my forever. Guess we weren't on the same page." I looked at Bucky who was graciously allowing me to vent.

"The fucked up part is, more than anything, I just want him to be happy. As much as I want to confront him and scream and let everyone know the truth. Another part wants to make sure he doesn't screw it up with her, wants him to live happily ever after." A hollow laugh flew out of my mouth. "Like I said before," I pointed to myself, "stupid!"

Bucky turned my body to face him. "You're not stupid, Y/N. You love him. People do crazy things for love, including forsaking their own happiness for another's... You have the biggest heart and you don't deserve to be taken for granted."

He hugged me tight and continued, "I thought you two were perfect together. You made each other happy. I've never seen him so happy till he found you. I don't know why he's acting this way. I don't recognize the man in there. I know you don't believe me, but he does love you."

"Am I just supposed to wait on the sidelines until he decides to come back to me? It won't happen, Bucky. I have to face reality. He doesn't want me. I'm not good enough. He's made that very clear." I choked back tears, I had to stop crying.

Bucky cupped my cheek, "You're freezing, let's get you back inside."

"I can't go back in there, Bucky. I'm just going to orb back to headquarters and resign. It's killing me seeing them together. I couldn't bear having it rubbed in my face day after day. It will be better for everyone if I just go."

"Then take me with you." He smiled when I looked at him, puzzled. "You shouldn't be alone right now. And you most certainly shouldn't quit. Please stay. Let's go home and talk more. You're a part of this team, you're family. Don't leave us. Please."

I nodded, orbing us back to my room.

---------------

The rest of my night was rough. Bucky held me through my tears and my outbursts. We talked about everything. All about my relationship with Steve. My current feelings, how much of an asshole Steve was. He convinced me that I shouldn't be resigning, that it will all work out. I just had to be patient. And in that moment, I believed him.

Chapter 7