#but the amount of stuff we’re expected to know and are shamed for not knowing is insane considering it almost never goes both ways

[biscuitdetective]

Man I really gotta get something off my chest here, I debated against reblogging a post I’ve seen going around with this commentary but I really don’t want to invite discourse on my blog. But… American mutuals please realise that your background knowledge and experiences about the USA are actually *not* pre-installed in people in other countries!

Basically there’s a post about how someone made a list of ‘gross sounding American food’ some Brit made and the consensus is that they’re definitely racist because ‘of what a coincidence it’s all soul food from the south’. The thing is this isn’t actually common knowledge outside of the US?? I also had no idea any of those things were from the south, only from the US. And as an Australian my knee jerk reaction to ‘biscuits and gravy’ is pure revulsion…but a big part of that is because my mental map for both of those words are completely different things, the same for probably anyone in the UK. (If there was some dish called ‘cookies and ketchup’ that was actually something different to what you expected, you’d think it’d sound nasty too, but I digress.) I also still don’t know what ‘grits’ is, but it sounds gross. It could be the most delicious thing on earth for all I know but ‘grits’ only reminds me of the word ‘gritty’, which is a nasty texture. I don’t have any other point of reference and I doubt many non-USA English speakers do either.

Like sure maybe the person was racist but there’s this real problem with Americans assuming everyone else has the same knowledge as them and are making statements like that deliberately. Meanwhile, I have absolutely lost COUNT of the amount of posts I’ve seen from white Americans making fun of various words and place names in Australia all ‘omg how is Australia REAL is everyone drunk when they make words and place names LOL’ and then they show a bunch of names and words that are literally from indigenous languages. It would be really easy to make a similar post all ‘wow what a coincidence they make fun of the indigenous words, huh’ but 9 times out of 10 they genuinely had no idea and weren’t being racist on purpose. Like yeah that shits annoying, but it’s important to keep in mind.

Tl;dr the knowledge you take for granted about your country is NOT UNIVERSAL!

[sunniepoo]

Hii sweetie 🫶🏻 I was wondering if you could write something about stepbro!rafe teaching her stepsis about sex and stuff, telling her it's normal to do this thing and everything.. thanks in advance love!!

ugh yess!!thinking about this being a post-sex convo where you start feeling guilty about it and he has to manipulate reassure you

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

you’ve always has an inkling that what you had been doing with your stepbrother was wrong and despite how good he made you feel, how far he made your eyes roll back - there was always a little voice in your head discouraging you; telling you that this wasn’t right

‘th-this is all natural-’ he would ramble, going on about how this is his role and purpose as the man of the house, making sure that you knew all of this and how ‘no one else would understand’

it was hard because as much as you trust rafe’s word, you couldn’t ignore the pit in your stomach, after every long night of him pounding into your cunt, nagging at you that this was disgusting - you were disgusting

and that’s how you found your usual bubbly demeanour gone as the older boys large amount of seed drips out of you, coating your thighs with pale white colour - the warm liquid reminding you of your shame or lack of. you didn’t even register the presence of rafe’s large figure slowly cleaning you up, how could he be so casual?

“what s’mthin wrong?” he queries, large palms coming up to massage your sore body, confused by the sudden change in atmosphere “hm? c’mon kid you gotta talk if you want me to help”

“d’you feel like we’re doing something wrong….something bad” the question blankets the room, clouding the room with a sense of uncertainty

“what” the older cameron deadpans, response coming out more icy than you expected “wh-what wh-where is this coming from…what are you even talking about” eyebrows furrowing with every word, showing his clear confusion and worry, mind lingering on the question ‘why are you having second thoughts?’

“just feels like this is wrong sometimes” hands reaching up to rub at your forehead, eyes planted at the side of the bed “why are you saying this,did someone say something…..hm?” he was stressed now, not at the idea of you two getting caught but more so the idea of you backing out of this situation he had carefully established

“no no no… no one’s said anything,no one knows, just feel like this whole things a bit wrong sometimes - like i should be ashamed for doing this…for doing you”

the room falls into a moment of silence, the blonde in front trying to process what you’ve just said, he can’t help but smirk a little, lips curling upward- you’re worried about being a dirty little girl, it was laughable to him because you don’t understand it like he does, you’re his dirty little girl

“look… this-“ he begins, one hand waving between the two of you signaling his words,as he sits beside you “i-it’s complicated, and people won’t understand cause they j-just can’t think like we do, but what we have- it’s normal”

“without me to teach you all of this kid, shiit, you’d be lost” words coming out with a breathy laugh “you’d be stuck with some loser who wouldn’t know what he’s doing, leaving you all wet and needy” you nearly flinched at the way his hand traced up your thigh fingers toying around with your sensitive clit, causing you to grab his wrists

he shrugs you off with ease, fingers continuing their teasing motion “y’wouldn’t like that, would you kid” you were so so sensitive, his hands causing you to whine and squirm “n-no rafey” your words come out with a moan “yeah you see that’s why i’m here, to teach you - fill my role as a good stepbrother to you..m’kay” and before you could respond, one fingers already made its way knuckles deep into you, torturing your already worn out cunt

“now why don’t we have another lesson?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

[jaynovz]

Expanded Info for Black Sails Kink Meme 2024

Hi there!

Since there has been a sufficient amount of interest for this idea, let me explain a little further how I think this will work and general guidelines–

I’m encouraging as informal and low stress/pressure of an atmosphere as possible here. Back in The Day when LiveJournal Kink Memes were common, it was very typical to see a prompt put up and filled within an hour. It doesn’t have to be polished, it doesn’t have to make logistical sense, it just has to fill the prompt as best as you can, sexily! It’s supposed to be fun. A bunch of fun, raunchy kink and smut to roll around in as a fandom. 🥳 🥳

So yeah, first thing to expect, it’s basically ALL PWP (porn without plot). Not to say that someone can’t write a full plot epic if they like, do whatever you like, but in my experience, a 4am fugue state smut fill written in a sweaty haze is kind of, the spirit of the thing. We’re creating ficlets, snapshots, tasty treats of smut with as little pressure to make it in any way polished as possible. Please think of this as, hmmm, a little fun writing exercise you do before you go back to your Big Serious Work, if that helps. We are letting loose, we are having fun, we are being deliciously, joyously, unrepentantly filthy with it! The tagline for the event is: “Get High, Jerk Off Three Times, and Write Me a Warmup :DD”

A prompt might say, for example– “MaxAnne, s2, would love to see the girls get slippery wet with some period sex, bonus if one or both eats the other out while she’s menstruating.” 

Pretty standard stuff, nothing that off the wall from my perspective, however, some folks might feel shy about asking for it for whatever reasons and so the anonymous format frees ppl up to ask for anything from: “Midshipman James McGraw getting caned in pre-canon by his superiors” to, idk, “full tentacle-y type oviposition porn where someone is being forced to come over and over again while being implanted with eggs by some giant plant beast on Skeleton Island (probably Silver).”

Literally ask for whatever smut you want~~ This is your chance, toss it into the pot! It will be tagged accordingly when posted if it’s filled, so live your truth, chase your bliss, know no shame, no one can see you~~

It is helpful when submitting a prompt to give details that are important to you, and the prompt filler will do their best with it. <3 So, I suggest giving a ship specification up front, maybe a vague timeline (season 1, season 2, etc), and then the kinks you want to see with a short description. Sort of like the MaxAnne period sex I gave an example of above.

Logistics and Structure of Submissions–

I have created a sideblog called @blacksailskmeme through which, once submissions are live (it will be open to accept prompts hopefully in March 2024), you may submit ANON ASK PROMPTS. I will publish them with a number and a link to the collection. If you like one of the prompts, simply post it through the collection with its corresponding number and then that AO3 link to your fill will be reblogged underneath the original ask prompt.

Simple as that! 

Follow the Event Blog, or the tag #2024BSKMemeFills in order to keep tabs on when prompts are filled. 

This makes it very easy for me and yall both, as there is no claiming process to trouble ourselves with. As many fills as are written are allowed for each prompt, simply write whatever speaks to you and I’ll be able to track the fills by the notifs on the collection. :DD

As of now, I’m planning to open prompts in March 2024 and keep the collection and blog running for prompts and fills both up through the end of Summer 2024. To respect the spirit of the event, all fills and prompts MUST be anonymous. Edit for clarification: The entire collection is marked Anonymous, which means any work submitted to it will be posted Anon. There is no option you need to worry about checking to guarantee this. I apologize for the initial confusing language, I have been learning as I go.

It still stands that if, after the event is closed, you want to then de-anon your work, that is your prerogative. However, it will mean you must remove the work from the collection, as the collection itself will forever and always remain anonymous.

Rules–

–This is an 18 plus event, please, as all of the content will be Explicit. 

–It is also a Black Sails Only Event, please no crossover prompts or fills. However, AU of all types are encouraged with our favorite pirates.

–All ships, all kinks, are welcome for submission, and the fill will then be tagged appropriately. If you have any questions on how to tag something, or just want another pair of eyes to confirm, you can always DM me <3

–Fills must be 500 words minimum of fic. There is no maximum and the fill is allowed to be WIP if you intend to write more chapters later. I would encourage that the content of the prompt be IN the first chapter at least before submission to the collection.

–We’re Gonna Be Nice and Civil!! No ship bashing, no kink shaming, we’re all mature adults here. If you don’t like something, then don’t fill it, don’t reblog it, don’t read it, pretend you do not see it. If you don’t like it, it’s not for you! 

If I haven’t covered everything here, or if you’re unsure about something, feel free to reach out to me either through the event blog or through @jaynovz <3 Also, if you’d like to help me out with the event, hit me up as well.

Thank you!

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

So I’ve never been Team Surrogacy (to me it is unfathomable as it requires too many people to cover it up…people who have a lot to lose if the info were ever to get out) but there is something very strange about those Sussex kids. I have a child almost the same age as Archie and right now it’s constant tee ball, soccer, karate, music class, classmate birthday parties…we never hear ANYTHING like that relating to Archie. I know theoretically they have Doria and a nanny or two to help with that…but I live in a community where nannies are quite common, yet the parents all still manage to make it to these sporting practices and events. If the Sussex kids were doing any of this normal kid aged stuff, I would’ve expected some banal leaks relating to it. The absence of this kind of stuff is so suspicious to me. Plus the amount of time H&M spend away from the kids traveling is insane to me. What do you think about all this?

I agree that there’s too many people involved for the Sussexes to have gotten away with surrogacy but it’s mutually-assured nuclear destruction: if the BRF removes the kids from the Line of Succession, then Harry and Meghan will leak who knew, which threatens the entire monarchy and if the Sussexes misbehave to the point that they bring shame on the BRF (worse than they are now), the BRF will leak the surrogacy and push them out once and for all.

I suspect this is why the BRF has been rather…delicate, if you will, in how they’ve handled everything so far. They can’t show their hand too early and risk the Sussexes going scorched earth, bringing them down with them. They have to wait until the Sussexes have hit rock bottom, when the public will be glad to see them go that they won’t care of the BRF’s involvement.

(And note, by “BRF” here, I imagine it’s Charles they’re implicating. Going by all the PR, the body language in old videos, and Harry’s Spare, William and Kate noped out of Harry and Meghan’s lives and just became coworkers, if you will, vs maintaining friendship or a closer sibling relationship so I think they’d be fairly inoculated from any blowback because they can point to all this evidence showing they had no part in a coverup, if there’s a coverup.)

I think the kids not having a “normal” life out and about in community speaks more to Harry and Meghan’s desire to protect their privacy, even if it’s somewhat draconian. There are plenty of other celebrities with kids that we don’t hear about or see and we don’t obsess over them the way we do Archie and Lili. For instance Ryan Gosling and Eva Mendes’s kids - Ryan spent all of 2023 and the Barbie promo cycle talking about his kids but no one judged him the way they judge the Sussexes, and the only photos we have of Ryan and Eva’s kids are pap photos. Same with George and Amal Clooney’s twins; no pictures of them, no gossip from neighbors or sightings in the local community, and yet no one judges them.

Is it unusual for a woman who made so much of her personality about being a mom to not actually show off her kids? No, actually, it isn’t. There’s a lot of momfluencers on social media that don’t share their kids and it’s fine. If we’re not judging them or questioning if their kids exist, then why do we do it to Meghan? It’s different, yes, and it may not be what we’re used to or what we expected, but it’s not that concerning.

Likewise for how much time they spend away from the kids. Families across all income brackets have busy parents that sees them traveling more than being with their kids. If we don’t fault those parents for choosing to work, then why should we fault the Sussexes?

I understand that people are concerned by what they see, or don’t see, but at the end of the day, Harry and Meghan’s parenting decisions aren’t any different than what other celebrity parents have decided and done. If we take that it’s “Harry and Meghan” out of the equation and just saw them as a rich California couple with privilege and some fame from the wife’s Suits acting days, would we react and judge in the same way?

I don’t think so, so I don’t think there’s much to read into.

[wyattjohnston]

need a little company - nick blankenburg

summary: morgan hasn't seen nick in years and her strongest memories of him are the crush he had on her in college. when he gets signed to columbus after years apart, morgan realises that maybe she should have given him a chance.

chapter word count: 3.5k

last < table of contents > next

Nick’s couch was probably the comfiest Morgan had ever sat on, and every minute she was on it, she sank further and further down until she was in a position her PT would shame her for—if she’d seen him in recent memory, anyway. He’d probably just be happy if she made an appointment.

“You remember KJ?” Nick asked, his voice coming from somewhere above her head that was resting in his lap—where it usually ended up.

“Only from Blue Jackets stuff,” she answered. Another image filled her mind, and she added, “and that one time at the restaurant. I graduated before he started.”

It was something Morgan hated thinking about, that anybody younger than her was accomplishing their life’s goals, and she didn’t even know what she wanted to do with hers.

“He was gonna come around later. Is that cool?”

Morgan suppressed her sigh and lifted her phone to read the time—look at it, anyway, no matter what it said she would still have said, “Yeah, I was going to head out soon.”

“You don’t have to go.”

“You don’t want me ruining your time with your friends.”

“We’re probably just going to play some games…” he trailed off as he finished his sentence, starting to frown. “That might be really boring for you.”

“If he’s down for Overcooked or something, I could play, too,” Morgan suggested, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.

Nick perked up instantly, “Yeah? You wanna? Worms maybe?”

She agreed on the proviso that they could practise before KJ arrived because it had been a while since she’d played it. She would embarrass herself without a doubt but knowing what most of the items did before Kent arrived would save her a little bit.

Kent arrived mid-afternoon and did not look the least bit surprised to see Morgan when she answered the door. He greeted her with a head nod and a complicated, one-sided handshake that she abandoned almost as soon as it started

Morgan settled back onto the couch she’d been sharing with Nick while Kent stretched out on the empty couch beside them, swiping up a controller on his way through. It was alarmingly easy to get sucked into the game and ensuing conversation with Nick and Kent, especially when Morgan was left perplexed by many things that came out of Kent’s mouth—there was only four years between them, and she hadn’t expected to feel so out of the loop.

“When’s your mom flying in, KJ?” Nick asked after a hearty laugh at Morgan’s expense.

“Tomorrow morning. She’s not super impressed I told her she should stay at a hotel, but when she sees the state of our place, she will thank me.”

Morgan, perplexed, asked, “Your mom’s coming here, too?”

“Mom’s trip,” KJ said, his eyes not leaving the stream where one of his worms was taking out a baseball bat. “Everyone’s got their mom or an aunt or something coming, and then we’re taking them to Pittsburgh for the game.”

Nick’s last remaining worm was sent flying off the screen to a cacophony of frustrated yelling.

“Oh,” Morgan said, unsure if she actually made a sound.

“Can’t wait to see which guys clean up their act when his mom is around,” KJ continued, unfazed by Morgan’s lack of response or Nick’s declarations that KJ was now his sole target in the next game. “Blanks won’t have to change a thing.”

Morgan couldn’t pinpoint why she was so unsettled that Nick hadn’t said anything about the mom’s trip—whether it was because she was suddenly going to be without Nick or Karin for an amount of time she hadn’t determined, or just because she had assumed Nick was telling her almost everything going on in his life. Not that she had any right to all that information.

Nick spent Sunday at the game, and then on Monday, he and Karin disappeared for the Mom’s trip. Embarrassingly, Karin had sent Morgan home on Sunday evening with enough food to keep her fed while they were gone—a whopping three nights, and not even the longest she had gone without being fed by Karin. Four nights was the record since she’d forced herself back into Nick’s life. She’d survived just fine even if her bank account had looked a little worse for wear.

Not for the first time, Morgan tuned into the game. She supposed she had a small interest in KJ now that she’d spent the afternoon with him. Even if the team as a whole had been disappointing for much of her life. The sweep of Tampa in 2019 notwithstanding.

Something warmed inside her knowing that Nick was there and that he’d finally been able to be on a roadtrip with the team.. He still had his boot on, and the knee scooter had gone with him, but Morgan knew that him going on the road trip meant that he was heading towards a return. Less than a month had gone by since his injury, an impossible timeline for walking, much less a return, it just didn’t take a genius to know that athletes typically had a quicker recovery time.

Professional athletes. Being an athlete hadn’t helped Morgan as much as she would have liked.

Nick had been texting her or sending Snapchats pretty consistently throughout the day, and it was clear that being back with the boys was doing wonders for his mental health even if they were all being supervised. KJ had apparently been right in his prediction that the boys would be cleaning up their acts. Nick proclaimed them Momma’s Boys in a text to Morgan within minutes of getting on the plane. She’d wasted no time, and got endless joy, out of calling him out for being a Momma’s Boy.

His contact with her only increased during the game, with various photos and texts about the box he was sitting in with the moms—and the sisters, aunts, every important person who had been invited along—including the occasional selfie that reminded Morgan that she was supremely affected by his glasses.

And even more impacted by the soft way he said goodnight when he called her from the hotel room later that night.

Morgan hadn’t intended to go for another run after the previous went horribly wrong. She’d been good, truthfully; had been strapping her knee pretty regularly, especially when she couldn’t moocha ride to work, and taking it easy.

The itch was back, though. The need to get outside and run, to feel the cold bite at her skin, wasn’t something she could fight so she strapped up her knee, laced up her ASICS and hit the streets of Columbus.

She felt great for the first ten minutes, a slow jog even on the hard concrete wasn’t too much for her to handle, and it satiated her need for fresh air. The issues came when she decided to push herself because she was feeling so good.

Morgan hadn’t set up a timer, there was no thinking about splits or if she could still make the college team;she was just trying to be in tune with her body. That was the plan anyway.

She felt so good that she picked up speed considerably, oxygen filling her lungs and dopamine—serotonin—hitting her brain for the next five minutes as she pushed through the twinges and the aches not wanting to stop.

It wasn’t until the twinges and aches turned into a sharp pain that she realised she needed to actually call time on her run. Walking wasn’t much easier, a sure-fire sign that she had done far more than she should have, and she couldn’t hide the limp she was sporting because she held too much fear about what would happen if she walked normally. If the pain would even allow her to.

She gathered her bearings, trying to work out the flattest, quickest, quietest route home and realised that Nick’s place was closer. Morgan, on the verge of tears and without much strength or willpower to continue, limped towards Nick’s.

There was no trying to conceal her limp, she just clenched her teeth and more or less dragged her leg along beside her. It was dramatic, and she received more than one concerned, pitying look before she finally ended up at Nick’s door.

She didn’t knock, instead opting to pull out her phone and text Nick to have him answer the door to avoid Karin being the first person to see her. Granted, Nick wasn’t much better as the first line of defence, which Morgan found out when he opened the door.

He opened his mouth to greet her, only to stop instantly; his face had matched those of the people she’d passed on the street. Her name fell softly from his mouth, and he reached out to help her into the house. Any tears she’d been able to fight back—admittedly that wasn’t many—fell from her eyes as she limped into his arms.

Karin asked who was at the door as Nick shut it gingerly behind them and was there to help Morgan within seconds, joining Nick in whispering placations. The couch was a godsend, the weight coming off her knee was instant relief, though the damage had been done and the pain was well and truly settled.

“I thought we didn’t do pity parties,” Morgan said weakly when Karin had hurried away for ice, and Nick was pouting at her.

His expression immediately changed, though not in the way Morgan wanted, the pout transforming into a frown. He sat down on the cushion above Morgan’s head, the frown deepening. They sat in silence when Karin returned with an ice pack, some ibuprofen and fussed about Morgan; the silence was uncomfortable.

“Have you re-injured it?” Nick asked once Karin had left.

“Can I re-injure something that never healed? Or did I just fuck up my recovery?” Morgan retorted. “Again?”

“You need to go back to see the surgeon, or at least a physio, Mo. You can’t keep running on it when it’s clearly not getting any better.”

“Didn’t you keep playing after you broke your ankle?” Morgan gestured to the ankle still encased in a boot, her pain coming out in her voice as nothing but snark. “I’m poor, Nick. I don’t have insurance good enough to keep going back to a surgeon who maybe fucked up my surgery in the first place, and I have less money to start the whole process over again. We’re not all professional athletes with doctors on call.”

“You don’t have to suffer. We can find a way,” he assured her. Morgan stayed silent, not believing that they could find a way. That silence led him to continue, earnestly, “I’ll pay.”

Morgan’s stare was heavy, unable to make direct eye contact but staring at his hairline. She didn’t know what else to do aside from voice the only thought that came to mind, “I can’t ask you to do that for me. We only started talking a month ago.”

He nodded, seemingly agreeing with her and aware that what he’d said was unhinged at best. His shoulders fell—Morgan hadn’t even realised they’d been so high—and he looked up to the ceiling.

“That seemed like a less crazy idea than offering to marry you so you could mooch off my insurance.”

Morgan recoiled as far as she could into the couch, only a little mollified by the embarrassment radiating off him. She had to move on from the idea before she thought about it too long.

“They’re both crazy and off the table,” she told him firmly. He didn’t look like he was about to argue with her. “Like, it’s whatever. I’ll just never run again, and I have to learn to live with that.”

“Do you want to learn to live with that?”

“No. Of course I don’t.”

“Then we’ll find a way, okay?” Nick said, reaching out to place his hand on her arm. “Surely your insurance covers something.”

Morgan hummed, unconvinced, and finally closed her eyes and succumbed to the exhaustion caused by her pain.

Morgan had only barely recovered from the embarrassment of showing up at Nick’s door in tears. Most of that recovery had benefited from Nick deciding he was going to play doctor.

He’d taken excellent care of her, anytime she was over he was plying her with ice packs and ibuprofen and was seconds away from offering her something a little stronger if she needed it. She didn’t, it was just nice that he was thinking about it.

Also on her mind was that Christmas was rapidly approaching. She didn’t dislike Christmas at all—the Christmas carols and lights throughout Columbus were beautiful—there was just something to consider that she’d never had to before.

“Do you think you’ll be here for Christmas?” Morgan asked, staring at the tape Nick had so painstakingly reapplied. She had to sit on her hand to stop herself from picking at the edges and ruining it.

“Trying to work out if I’ll fly back with my mom on Friday or if they’re going to ramp up rehab.”

“Your mom’s leaving?” Morgan asked, looking back over the couch and up the staircase to the spare bedroom Karin had been using even though she wasn’t home at that moment.

“She can’t stay forever,” Nick said, confused. “Dad needs her to help with the business.”

“No, yeah, of course.” Morgan nodded quickly. She knew that.

Nick, still confused, tilted his head. He was still sitting on the coffee table, his hands resting on his knees where they were still bracketing Morgan’s. He wouldn’t have to move them far at all to move them back to her knees.

He kept his hands to himself, though, just nudged her good leg with his knee.

“You’re sadder about her leaving than me leaving.”

“You have to come back, though.” Morgan inhaled, recognising her own petulant tone and reeling it in. “I just—I haven’t spoken to my mother in years, and she was never like Karin anyway. I got used to having a mother figure in my life, and I should have realised that she’d be going home.”

It hadn’t been very long at all, which was perhaps the hardest part for Morgan to reconcile. She’d become attached far quicker than she ever would have imagined.

She tried to relax her face, remove any sign of sadness or discomfort but it was too late; Nick already knew. He looked perplexed yet determined as they sat in silence and returned to watching Bob’s Burgers.

The silence was broken in the last way Morgan would have expected, when Nick asked, “Do you want to come to Michigan for Christmas?”

Stunned, Morgan’s response was delayed and then utterly baffled, “You can’t just invite me to Christmas without talking to your family.”

“They’re not going to care; my mom’ll be thrilled.”

She protested until he dropped it, adamant that she didn’t need an invite to Christmas. She wouldn’t be telling him that her Christmas plans were the same as the Thanksgiving he still didn’t know the details of.

Speaking to Nick every day was becoming Morgan’s normal, so it didn’t surprise her when he called as she was finishing work so he could keep her company on her walk home. He started the conversation by asking how her knee was and accepted her lie when she told him it was fine with a wobbly voice.

“My mom wants to see you before she leaves,” he said, changing topics smoothly and without hesitation.

Morgan spoke around the bubble still stuck in her throat, which wasn’t getting any smaller at the thought of Karin leaving, saying, “I want to see her, too.”

“I’ve booked us a table at a nice place to say thank you for everything she’s done.”

“Oh, Nick,” Morgan sighed. “I can’t crash your thank you dinner for your mom. I’ll just pop by after work to say goodbye quickly sometime this week.”

“Morgan,” Nick said in a tone that Morgan was hopeless to defy. “Please? I want to thank you, too.”

“Don’t do that,” Morgan pouted to herself.

“Do what?”

“Use your captain voice on me.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly. “I don’t do it on purpose. Hard habit to break apparently.”

Morgan hummed. It wasn’t something that he did all that often and, if he did, it was mostly directed towards Kent. It made her feel chastised, mostly, and partly like she didn’t have a choice. The counter to that was Nick as a whole who had never actually made her feel like she had to do anything.

“How nice is nice?” she asked as she reached her front door.

“Nothing ridiculous. Just nice,” he answered quickly. “You can probably just wear what you wore to work.”

She sighed, both exasperated and amused, and didn’t bother moving from the rug inside her front door. She asked, “It’s for tonight, isn’t it?”

Nick confirmed that yes, he had booked the reservation for that night and that, no, he didn’t plan on getting any better at planning anything in advance. Morgan laughed, a deep vibration in her chest, at the admission that soon turned into a flutter when Nick laughed back.

The mirror hanging near her front door reflected what she already knew: she was a goner for Nick Blankenburg.

Very politely, Morgan did not point out that Karin’s absence was already noticeable when she arrived at Nick’s later that week. It wasn’t anything horrendous and was still much cleaner than Morgan’s own place, there were just a few things not where she’d come to expect them—and a few more dishes piled up in his sink than she’d ever seen.

Morgan immediately missed Karin’s presence even if the hovering had been something she had to get used to after not having any parental figures—any real supervision—in her life for just over 4 years. Nick was managing fine, though, and Karin couldn’t be with him until his return, so Morgan had to get used to Karin not being around.

Nick managing fine also meant that he was moving around his own house with minimal difficulty. He still had the scooter nearby in case he needed it to get around; he mostly just hopped along under Morgan’s worried gaze as she expected him to take a tumble any second.

Her own knee was also giving her grief after a slippery patch of sidewalk caught her off guard earlier that day, and their joint solution to their woes was to lay on Nick’s long couch, their legs hanging over the arms and their heads sharing the centre cushion. Elevation and all that.

They had long abandoned trying to watch anything on the television–they’d tried but it wasn’t feasible unless they moved– so they had taken to regaling each other with stories from throughout the years. Morgan assumed that Nick was leaving the particularly scandalous ones out, mostly because she wasn’t quite ready to spill the beans about the many skinny-dipping adventures she’d had during her time at UMich. From what she knew about the hockey team, he wouldn’t bat an eye at that, she was sure.

Midway through a story about his teammates getting thrown out of a bar for drinking underage, Nick started laughing so hard he struggled to get words out, and his breaths were halted and almost became a wheeze. Morgan shuffled to face him; her own breath caught in her throat when she was met with the pure happiness on his face. She had no idea what the end of the story would be, or if it was even worth his laughter, she just knew that she’d let him tell her any story he wanted if she got to see his unbridled joy.

Even after the laughter stopped and Nick caught his breath, Morgan didn’t look away. She wanted to categorise every freckle on his face, every laughter line, exactly where his glasses sat on his nose, and commit it to memory. Nick wasn’t looking away either; he just let his eyes fall shut and a peaceful smile formed.

“Mom’s gone!”

Nick’s eyes snapped open and, simultaneously, both he and Morgan sat up, their chests meeting their knees.

Kent was standing in the doorway, holding a four pack of White Claws in the air like a trophy–it was a trophy that his fake ID worked, or maybe just that he’d conned somebody into buying them for him. They were slowly lowered to his side when he saw Morgan and Nick and the caught-out expressions on their faces.

“It’s a Sunday night,” Morgan managed to get out, her throat tight.

“No weekends in hockey!” Kent shouted, recovering from his shock.

“You have a game tomorrow,” Nick chastised.

Kent grumbled, complained that Nick was no longer his captain, and sat in the seat that had previously been home to Morgan and Nick’s heads.

[dysthanasia-series]

Thin Edge of a Wedge Pt. 1

Summary: Isaac approaches Renato with a surprising request. (Possible future scene taking place shortly after Phagophobia, based loosely on this prompt.)

Words: 2,075

Content Advisory: Sexual themes and situations, consensual vampire hypnosis, angry sexual tension, enemies-to-forced-allies-to-lovers, swearing, kissing, biting, consensual blood-drinking, violent vampire feeding thoughts, enthusiastic consent, fade-to-black ending

Renato turned his head and leaned in a fraction as if his hearing had failed him. “I’m sorry. I thought you said—”

“Hypnotize me. Dorian says it’s possible to learn how to break out of bloodborn trances with practice. So, help me train.” Despite the direct words and his matter-of-fact tone, Soto kept his gaze—usually so bold, so sharp—trained on a far corner of the motel room. An arm crossed over his middle, gripping the opposite as he sat on one of the two shabby beds.

While his body already knew which way to cast its vote, Renato’s finer faculties hesitated. “What prompted this?”

“Hm, gosh, let me think. Oh, right. We’re surrounded by Unseen Hand agents who’d love to stab us in the back.”

“Are you implying you could get lost in another bloodborn’s eyes? Agent Soto, you wound me.”

“Can you give being an asshole a rest for, like, half a second? I’m serious.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable request, truth be told. Quite pragmatic really. Possibly even laudable, given all Soto had recently suffered—no small amount of which sat at the top of Renato’s ever-growing list of mistakes.

That’s precisely what made it so suspicious.

Renato took a seat on the bed across from Soto’s, the rickety frame squeaking as he crossed his legs and leaned back on both hands. “You didn’t have a problem snapping out of my hypnosis the first time. And you seem to have at least some level of immunity to Kinslayer’s version now.”

“That’s not the same as being able to resist questioning in a casual situation I’m not expecting, or with weird soul magic involved. Like you keep pointing out, if Oleander or Motley or any of the Unseen Hand gets wind of what we’re actually up to we’re dead.”

Again, a bit of strategic paranoia worthy of an aquila. Something was definitely off.

“Fine, suppose I agree,” Renato said. “What, exactly, do you expect me to do?”

“I dunno. Ask me stuff I wouldn’t want to answer and I’ll try to resist.”

The sensible thing to do on his end was to walk away, of course. Ignore Soto and whatever strange impulse was driving him for the rest of the evening. Heaven knew there were a hundred and one tasks actually related to their survival that needed his attention.

Only none of those sent a thrill up his spine.

“Okay, let’s do it.” Renato leaned forward and put his hands on his thighs, smiling. He had enjoyed the odd sleepover party—sharing secrets, truth or dare, all that—as a child when they’d been possible. A shame Ollie wasn’t staying in the same motel. He wouldn’t have minded asking for a couple of her facial masks.

With just a trace of trepidation, Soto mirrored his posture. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Released it. Met Renato’s amused gaze with grave determination. “Ready.”

“What’s your name?”

A divot of annoyance appeared on Soto’s brow. “You know it already.”

“Remind me.”

“Isaac Soto Marquez,” he huffed.

“Your birthday?”

“July seventeenth. Which you also know.”

Well, he’d glanced at it in the Coven’s personal file on Soto, although that had been weeks ago. Considering Renato didn’t remember the exact date of his own birth (which might have already passed since he did know it occurred during storm season), he’d have to make a note to write Soto’s down. Get his favorite grumpy researcher a little treat. Speaking of which…

“What sort of cake do you like?”

There. Surprise smoothed out Soto’s expression. Without disapproval or anxiety etched around his mouth or eyes, it was easy to remember he was barely coming up on age thirty. “Cake? Er, tres leches. With fruit on top, not cinnamon.”

“What kind of fruit is your favorite?”

Shoulders relaxed. Pupils dilated slightly. “Well, uh, I like summer ones the most. You know, mangoes, cherries, peaches.” A pause. “That last one’s my favorite, though. I love peaches. Even from a can.”

“Really? I used to love oranges, though of course I can only enjoy them for their smell now. Some of my best memories are of stopping at ports with orchards so I could pick some.” Renato smiled, earning a shy one in return. “Have you ever eaten fruit straight from the tree or vine, Agent Soto?”

“I…yeah. Yeah, a lot of the werecreature communities I’ve visited have gardens. And I did the whole picking strawberries thing during the spring once with Jeremy.” A soft, faraway sheen shone over dark brown eyes.

Renato ran his tongue along the back of one fang. He had Soto now. While their little game hadn’t been Renato’s idea initially, he wasn’t sorry he’d played, whatever the true stakes. “Who’s Jeremy?”

Creaking as weight shifted the other bed. “My ex.”

Careful. The trick was not to let the prey become too distressed. To give him a little guiding nudge here and there along the path, but to always keep him going with the flow of conversation, not against. Not until the trap had sprung and it was too late. “I see. How many relationships have you had, Agent Soto?”

“Just two. Long term ones.”

“Oh, that’s hardly anything to be embarrassed over.” He had one more than Renato under his belt, after all. And, well, he doubted Soto could have done any worse than Ollie and him had. “Even if you’d had hundreds that didn’t last past sunrise it still wouldn’t be.”

“I know. I guess…sometimes I wish I’d been more aggressive or outgoing or whatever. Elfy always gets pissed when we go out and I turn someone down.”

“Elfy? Your friend from the spirits department?”

“Yeah. She’s always telling me to loosen up and stop thinking with the head on my shoulders so much.” A hand flew up to cover a giggle.

As far as life’s little delights went, Renato ranked witnessing the angriest, most stubborn human he’d ever met giggle just below watching his aquarium. “But that’s not really your style?”

“Nope.” A twitch of the fingers, flicker in the eyes. “Well, okay, once in a while—when I’m really drunk—it is.”

This entire situation came into sudden, cold focus. Decades of training kept Renato’s expression, his mask, from slipping, though. “Would you say you’re bashful when it comes to flirting?” He had certainly read Soto that way during their fateful first meeting at that diner. Though he’d swiftly shed whatever reservations he’d had once they crawled into the backseat of the car.

“Mm. Not really. Not after I get what’s going on.”

“No? High standards maybe?”

“Don’t think so. I don’t have a…a type or whatever.”

“Perhaps you have a hard time surrendering control then?”

Another fidgeting ripple disturbed Soto’s reverie. “I…something like that.”

“Is that why you asked me to hypnotize you, Agent Soto? To surrender control?”

With a jerk, his flustered prey wrenched his gaze away, half-collapsing onto the mattress. Soto panted, his skin gleaming from a light coating of sweat, like he’d just finished running a lap. The tart, candy-apple scent of fear wafted over to Renato, prompting a flood of saliva. Swallowing, he let his lips twist into a smirk.

“That’s a failing grade, as far as I’m concerned.”

“What…?”

“Your tactics could use some work,” Renato continued, uncrossing his legs and rising in one smooth, dignified motion. “Also, I don’t appreciate being subjected to hidden tests. I may not have made the best choices in life, but I’m not so despicable as to ravish someone under the influence either.”

Blinking owlishly but stare quite clear, Soto whipped around to gawp at him. “What do you—”

“Good night, Agent Soto.” He could understand, at last, why Ollie and his reluctant human roommate relished their perches atop a high horse. The rush of victory was amazing as he spun on his heel and strode toward the room’s door.

The sound of grating bedsprings warned him before a hand latched onto the back of his shirt. With a deft turn and shrug, Renato broke the laughable hold on him.

“What the hell—” Soto began.

“I understand the need to hold a grudge.”

“—do you mean—”

“What I don’t get is digging for more reasons to fuel it.”

“—by ravish?”

They stared each other down. Any possibility of hypnosis taking hold tore apart in the clashing currents of hot and cold fury radiating between them.

“I wasn’t testing you,” Soto said, breaking first.

“Oh, really? Please do explain. I’m all ears, as they say.”

“I told you, I want to learn—”

“You’re terrible at lying, Agent Soto. Even to yourself.”

He bristled, the all too familiar defiance setting his jaw and sparking in his eyes. “I’m not—”

Renato whirled and reached for the doorknob.

Weak human fingers scrabbled at him once more. “I don’t know how else to talk to you, all right? And I didn’t think you’d pry into my love life, for fuck’s sake!”

The truth at last. Instead of melting, the rage inside of him expanded, sinking fresh, keen icicles deeper into his chest.

Of course Soto couldn’t simply talk to him. Renato was a bloodborn. Worse, he was an aquila. He wasn’t capable of human mistakes. Or emotions like remorse. At best, he could pretend he was. Wear a charming disguise. Beguile. Lure. Distract. But never offer anything permanent. Never anything real.

“Say something already!” The grip on his shirt tugged. “Don’t give me this silent treatment bullshit.”

Whatever mask had settled over his features made Soto let go and take a step back when he turned.

“Do you want me to make you lose control, Isaac?”

Soto stiffened. It didn’t hide the tremor in his limbs. “You conceited prick.”

“Isaac.” He’d forgotten how good the name felt in his mouth. “It’s a yes or no question.”

Narrowed brown eyes spat death curses at him before darting away again. Soto’s tightened lips parted. No sound came forth. They sealed shut again.

Renato sighed. “You’re a bad liar, but I never took you for a coward when it came to being honest.”

He could have dodged, easily. Instead, he allowed Soto to grab his shoulders and bring their mouths crashing together. Let him decide, too, when to break away and stagger back, chest heaving, stare wide at his own daring.

“That’s not an answer, Isaac.”

“You—!”

Renato slipped one hand around the back of Soto’s head, weaving his fingers into careless black curls but not pulling. Not yet. The other cupped Soto’s jaw, pleasantly rough and raspy from a couple day’s worth of stubble. With his thumb Renato wiped the frown from his lips.

“Yes or no.”

Soto closed his eyes, but it was already too late to hide anything going on behind them. A half-choked swallow made his throat flex in the most enticing way. “I…yes. Yes, okay? I want it.”

It. He wanted it, nothing more. Of course. Still, Renato could do better than a grudging confession.

His hand went from cradling Soto’s face to tearing open his shirt—the shirt always fucking buttoned up to the collar. He should have been a priest, truly. Soto gasped from the sudden violence or the air hitting his exposed shoulder and chest or both. Not giving him a chance to recover, Renato leaned in and started sucking on every bit of bared skin he could get at. Not biting, no, never that again, no matter how much he wanted to chew and rip until Soto’s pulse burst in his mouth like a ripe slice of orange. He only let his throbbing fangs graze over warm flesh, press against it to leave imprints of his teeth behind. Maybe prick it here and there so his tongue could lave over the precious ruby beads of blood afterwards. Savor each tiny shock that shot through him and made the world’s colors scintillate for an instant. Soto threw his arms around Renato to stay standing. Each sharp kiss drew a new, delightful prey noise from him.

He was even more intoxicating than memory served.

Pulling back, Renato inspected his work. Half a dozen little reddish-brown bruises trailed from Soto’s neck and skimmed along just above the curve of his collarbone. A satisfactory start.

“Yes?” Renato prompted again.

Eyes still shut, Soto shivered. “Yes.”

Much, much better. Smiling, Renato guided his willing victim back a pace and shoved him onto the nearest bed.

[angsty-violet]

Run (You know what's coming)

Ghost actually did have work to do. It sometimes seemed, after years of having every minute scheduled with work, that he was doing less. And while that was partially true, it didn’t mean he was doing nothing.

He had the original research to get together. His observations of Clone as well as Alice’s neat records. Years of data to compile and put together.

Which is why it took so long for him to find it.

Clone wasn’t aging the way he was supposed to.

All other cloning attempts had aged fast. Going from young man to old in weeks. Some it was less pronounced but the increased aging was always apparent. That’s why they had been confident when they created Clone. Even if he was dangerous, he’d still be dead before long.

But according to Alice’s observations not only was Clone not aging fast, he wasn’t aging at all. His hair was still jet black. There were no wrinkles around his eyes or weakness in his body. Farming was back breaking work. He should’ve long since begun to feel the effects of its impact.

Ghost’s heartrate skyrocketed.

If they had accidentally made something with a longer lifespan or possibly an immortal lifespan they were not going to be kind to Clone. The likely response would be to dissect him to see if they could pin down what had changed.

Ghost cursed internally. How couldn’t he have noticed? When smile lines framed his mouth and grey had started to streak his hair but Clone was still as fresh faced as the day he was created.

Just as beautiful.

They had gone in for testing three days before. If the scientists noticed, they’d come for him as soon as possible. Ghost could admit, to himself, that he didn’t want to lose Clone. Not after he had spent the last few months with him. Not when he was himself, only slightly changed. How can you enable yourself to be killed?

Ghost understood Alice better now than he ever had. He understood why she helped him escape. But helping Clone run away wasn’t enough. They needed to actually get him to safety. Which mean going as soon as possible. Ghost left everything where it was and tore down the stairs.

Clone’s gift for obedience had come in the form of marigolds. A lovely flower that would help protect his crops from bugs. What a shame they’d have to leave them behind. He was digging the holes, spacing them evenly to allow for the greatest impact when Ghost found him.

Ghost yanked him to his feet and started pushing him toward the house. Clone looked panicked, clearly expecting to be punished but not knowing why.

“Go, right now. Into the house. Pack everything you might want or need. Don’t take too much but don’t leave behind anything you can’t live without. As soon as you have, load it into the back of the car.”

Clone sent him a questioning look and signed, “What’s happening?”

“I’ll tell you once we’re away from here. Don’t dawdle. We need as much of a head start as possible.”

Clone took in his serious expression and then he was running toward the house.

The car was loaded down but not nearly as much as Ghost had expected. He had thought that after two and a half years at the farmhouse, they would’ve accumulated a fair amount of stuff. However, most of Alice’s things were still at their home in the city and Clone didn’t really have many keepsakes. It seemed a shame. After three years of being alive, he should have something to show for it.

The marigolds hadn’t been planted yet so Ghost scooped them up, still in the temporary pots, and set them on the floor in the back seat. Alice had packed fast. It was clear she was expecting something like this. Probably because this hadn’t been the first time they had run. Ghost was loath to return to his roots, but he didn’t see much choice. Not if he was going to hide Clone from them.

The last things in were Alice and Clone. Ghost hurried them. He wanted to put both in the back seats with the tinted windows but that wasn’t an option. Not with their stuff spilling from the back and onto the seat next to them. Best to keep the runaway science experiment out of sight then.

“What is happening?” Alice demanded.

Ghost shook his head. He ducked into the house, did one last run through to make sure they had everything necessary, particularly the indicting research and then he took the drivers seat.

“Have you noticed anything about him?”

Alice looked back and then shrugged.

“What about you, baby? Have you noticed what makes you different from daddy and mommy?”

Ghost caught his shrug in the rearview mirror. “Really? You haven’t noticed that he is physically the exact same as he was three years ago? That he hasn’t age a single day? Because he hasn’t not a wrinkle, not a grey hair, not unusual back pain. He’s as perfect as the day he was born.”

Alice went very pale. “They’ll kill him. They’ll cut him up and pull out everything in him and they’ll do it in the name of science. They won’t care.”

Ghost nodded, annoyed at how long it had taken for her to get that.

“If they get their hands on him, that’s it. No more baby. Just a whole bunch of baby bits. Thus, we’re running away. Again.”

Alice twisted in her seat and took Clone’s hand. “It’s going to be okay. We aren’t going to let that happen.”

Clone gazed back, his face unreadable. He shrugged lightly, seemingly unbothered by his impending vivisection. As he signed, Alice narrated for Ghost.

“Something like that was inevitable. You don’t really think they were just going to let me live out my life. Not when I was the only one to actually function.”

Ghost scowled. He didn’t care, it wasn’t happening.

[honeykaes]

—𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

✦ yandere!pantalone x reader

✦ w/c: 1.9k

✦ warning: dark content, 18+ content, minors do not interact

✦ disclaimer: gn!reader, yandere, manipulation, financial manipulation, implied stalking, power imbalances, pantalone uses "songbird" "darling" "doll", reader is a jazz singer in fontaine, may not be lore accurate to fontaine/liyue, morax x guizhong stuff,unedited

Your eyes dulled looking at the red curtain hiding your gaze from the audience. The feeling of shame and disappointment rushing through you. Your nails buried into the pulpy flesh on your hands, lips tugging your lip. Oh, how you were tired of the hustle of downtown. The number of people you had seen shooting up in the park you once adored as a child was astounding. People didn’t flinch if they saw a dead body in an alleyway. Your eyes always saw those bloodstains on the concrete walking around in the area—everyone around you so desperate to forget. This place was the no man’s land no hero would come to.

Your hand shifted to the flower in your hair, gripping the plastic tightly. Things didn’t grow in the area anymore—the pollution from Fontaine’s growing industrial movement had tainted the natural life. 

You had grown accustomed to the thick smog covering the area, filling your lungs with heavy toxic smoke. It wasn’t as though you could leave anymore—money was tight as it is when it wasn’t being scooped by the club owner you were singing for. It’s not like you could go work for most places anyway claiming people would think its a tourist spot since you’re a foreigner—bullshit like that.

“Hey doll, come on...we’re about to start. Stop daydreaming,” a familiar voice shouted. Your eyes snapped back, turning your head to the pianist. He clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed by your doeful expression. The cracks of his knuckles as he prepared to play caused you to turn back to the opening curtains. Once the curtains were pushed back, the bright spotlight illuminated on your skin. 

Watchful eyes, looked upon your form as you steadied your microphone. It was as you expected—low-time criminals and crime bosses. Your eyes even settled by the copious amounts of Fatui in the audience. The foreigners had tried profiting from the slums of Fontaine.

You resisted the spiteful laugh in your chest. You were used to criminals coming in here. All the previous jazz partakers left once the crime edged up and the heroes did nothing about it. If you were being honest with yourself, you would’ve left too if you could.

“You had plenty money, 1922. You let other women make a fool of you…” you sang out to the crowd. You hated the stares—feeling the visitors undress you with your eyes. It was always so intense, never subtle. The intensity burns right through your skin.

“Why don't you do right, like some other men do?” you continued. Your eyes paused staring at two men within the club—a pair of blood-red eyes sneering upon your form, the other filled with an unreadable expression. The man with the amethyst glowing eyes winked, leaning into the table further—a smile creeping on his flawless pale face. Silver-rimmed glinted mischievously at you, his gaze solely on you.

The suit he was wearing told you everything you needed to know about him—he had mora and lots of it. He was a big-time criminal within the area. His associate, with baby blue long wavy hair, skin pale must be as well.

But with the copious amount of Fatui agents in here…it would be reasonable to assume that these two men were their bosses.

Were these the Harbingers that you’d heard about? You had heard the whispers throughout the streets of the Harbingers, so powerful they could rival some archons. No one who the members were or at least remained quiet on the subject. The name brought a chill to anyone within this area. It was said they had some of the most powerful connections—they can do anything, and no one would bat an eye.

“Get out of here, make me some money too,” you sang out. It didn’t matter who they were anyway. You didn’t need to get involved. Why would they be interested in a jazz singer in Fontaine anyway? You continued your song, trying not to feel the gaze of the two men. They felt much more intense than the rest of their eyes. If the patrons’ gazes were considered hot; these two men’s gazes were hellfire itself.

Once you finished your song, a roar of applause echoed through the room. You smiled, waving your hand out pretending as you liked it—pretending that the thrill of music hadn’t died when everything went to shit in this neighborhood. The curtains closed and you sighed, lips immediately formed in a tight line.

You headed to your dressing room and smiled. A glaze lily stood on your vanity mirror—a beautiful symbol of Liyue, whose sweet fragrance wafted through your room. Whenever you sang and returned, it would always be there greeting you. What was the most fascinating part is you could feel the softness of the petals. They were always real, just like your memories told you. You took the plastic rose off placing it beside the lily next to you, gazing at its ethereal beauty.

You’d always admired glaze lilies, hearing the stories of their origins of Liyue. It said that the archon’s beloved admired these flowers before she perished. As beautiful as they were, natural ones in the wild were rare. Liyue locals considered this flower as a symbol of eternal love but an unattainable one.

You suspected someone within the club had been doing this, not a lot of people had access to your dressing room anyway. 

“Unattainable love...it doesn’t have to be that way,” you whispered out, petals brushing your lips. You had hoped this admirer was similar to you—dreaming of a different life. It was silly and made you feel like a child, but dreaming about being whisked away by someone you loved always struck a chord with you. It returned the innocence of childhood in your unhappy life. 

BOOM

The sudden noise made you gasp, head shooting towards the direction of the noise. Your eyes narrowed towards the wardrobe, walking slowly to it. You weren’t a fool, an animal couldn’t make a noise like that.

“(Y/n)! Hurry up! Your shift is up. The next singer needs the dressing room,” a voice yelled out on the other side of the dressing room door. You sighed shouting a curt apology to the person, walking away from your wardrobe. You grabbed your black coat and covered your tight outfit with the lily in your hands as you walked out. 

A cool breeze greeted you, walking into the night. It was relatively quiet out here as opposed to the loud club behind you. A sigh escaped your lips, a puff of visible air floating up. The clicks from your shoes echoed throughout the area, eyes scouring out for anything suspicious in the area. Taking another deep breath, you could feel your anxiety peaking into your system. Did that noise truly startle you that much?

“Well, well. It seems my night is getting better and better. I get to see my lovely little doll,” a deep chuckled echoed. Emerging from the shadows of the alleyway was the man from before, eyes closed to hide that intense look he once shared with you. His hands were placed in his pocket, a smirk dancing on his thin lips. You took a step back, eyebrows furrowing from his confession. He put his hands up, chuckling at your form.

“Aww, aren’t you adorable. Don’t worry...I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to talk to the star of the evening,” he responded. Your breaths began to pick up, shifting your body due to your discomfort. You’re eyes looked toward him, peaking at any sort of way to get out of talking to him. If your suspicions were correct and he was in the League, you were in danger.

“I’m sorry I really need to get home—” The man clicked his tongue, a half-laugh emitting from his lips. 

“Ah, ah! In such a rush now? I figured you’d be a lot more respectful than this. I mean trying to anger Harbinger? I wonder how Dottore would react?” the man teased. Your eye blew wide, back straightening. The image of those red eyes reverberated in your mind. Was that him? The man walked closer, the clicks of his boot echoing out. He leaned down, gloved hand gently touching the skin on your face. 

You wanted to throw up, you wanted to leave. How was this happening?

“...I thought you wanted to meet, huh? I mean I’ve given you that flower for the past few months, catching all of your shows. To hear you finally wanted to meet me, I mean how could I resist?” he whispered into your ear. A violent surge of disgust and rage surged through you as you pushed him away. He grunted taking a few steps back from your push before laughing. The laugh echoed as he put his hand on his face to try to calm himself.

“I didn’t know you also had a feisty side, doll. And to think, I didn’t think you could get cuter in my eyes,” he chuckled. You clenched your jaw, fist tightly formed in a ball.

“If you ever get close to me, I’m calling the police!” you shouted. The man clicked his tongue once more, playfully rolling his eyes.

“Yes, yes I’m sure they’ll be so eager to help, hm? They are seeing a generous donation from me though,” he cooed. Your scowled faltered as helplessness began settling in.

“Desperate times have fallen over many people in Fontaine. I don’t think even justice and triumph over mora. Besides, I’d hate to start off on a bad foot, you’re going to start seeing a lot more of me; I’m going to be your new boss anyway,” he confessed. All the anger left you, the feeling of fear replacing it. The man grabbed a pipe in his large pocket, as a Fatui agent emerged from the ground lighting the pipe with his glowing delusion. He sucked a breath in with a smile before blowing it out, finally opening his eyes once more as the agent disappeared.

He wasn’t smoking for the fun of it.

He was showing off the power he had over people.

Mora, something the God of Contracts, Morax, created. You wondered if he would care about the corruption that came from commerce. He could have people in the palm of his hands from just how much money he had over them. And now, you’d be no different—singing softly there, hoping he wouldn’t clasp his hands together and finally destroy you.

He took a quick drag of his pipe and exhaled the smoke. He lowered his eyes at you, satisfied by your expression.

“As much as I’d love to continue and spoil you a bit, as I’d love to buy you a new outfit for your show tomorrow…more colleague is probably growing listless in my absence. My best advice for you is never make Dottore wait long, that man has no patience,” he sighed with a chuckle, closing his eyes one more time. The mischief appearance he once had vanished to one of annoyance. He turned his back to you, showing off his long, wavy raven hair.

“My songbird, please refer to me as Pantalone. I expect you to remember it when I see you, again,” he announced. In front of him, a deep purple mist began forming a circle. Pantalone began to walk forward. He turned his head back, flashing a cruel grin before the amethyst mist left entirely. 

You stood there alone body shaking. Your knees gave into fear, leaving you crashing onto the concrete sidewalk. You placed your hands onto your trembling face, sweat beginning to develop as tears dripped down your face.

Pantalone was the devil incarnate that you were so seduced by this whole time. You woke up from the innocent fairytale you hoped for, only to remember exactly where you were.

In a nightmarish hellscape.

[nights-at-crystarium]

Fragments - episodes 1-3 author notes

A sort of an analysis post, rambling about the stuff I’m trying to imply in my comic. Read and see how much you’ve noticed or missed :>

Starting with the obvious parallels.

Raha’s expectations vs reality.

Our Warrior is, indeed, unfortunately, not what he seems.

^ In this scene Vivi’s genuinely enjoying himself, getting that sweet revenge on the owner of that disembodied voice.

In this scene, however, he’s not only amused, but also overplaying a bit out of sheer pettiness. “Oh it’s THAT guy again, let’s show him his place”.

It’s not too important to point out in the comic, but the laughter scene does stretch on for long enough to consider that Vivi may not be 100% genuine here.

It goes unnoticed by both parties, but Vivi’s less-than-valiant behavior effectively shatters whatever wall could’ve initially been between them. Now they’re equal.

And not only Raha doesn’t feel any reverent tremble before the hero of Eorzea anymore, he all but hisses at Vivi, scared that he’d go around telling everyone about his shame.

Which never happens!

Everyone around them is confused by Vivi’s sudden outburst and their cryptic exchange of? Threats? Promises? Whatever that was?

Again, they don’t notice that yet but you’re allowed to know that they’re kinda on the same wavelength, sharing one braincell. By “don’t you-” Raha means “don’t you fucking tell them about me landing in the river”, and “shh, we’re good, I’d never” from Vivi is a reassurance that he didn’t, and won’t. A shared secret’s still a bonding material, even if it’s this ridiculous.

Their exchanges overall are rather short during the entire ARR arc because, take it or leave it, they don’t have much in common yet. Not much to talk about. However their sass and mischief are colliding in explosions.

A bit of a break from the lyrical mood, look at these defeated ixal. I’ve looked up their refs, rolled up my sleeves and then decided to just not x’D

I’m incredibly proud of this frame.

Like seriously it turned out so good composition-wise. Also the lance! You won’t find it ingame, not in this game at least - it’s a guild wars sunspear. A bit of an easter egg and a cheeky reference to the sun, Azem, yadda. Vivi doesn’t keep this spear for too long, I’m not even sure if I’ll draw it again. Next time he carries a weapon on-screen it’s a new one, completely original because I don’t like any ingame lance :’>

Also a random semi-related fact: Vivi’s gridanian! So Raha unknowingly chooses the worst possible matchup. Pretending an elemental or whatever he thought he sounded like, should I even mention hiding in the GREEN TREES as a REDHEAD.

The first scene takes place on a summer night.

Not sure if I could convey “summer” somehow but it’s not that important. I just wanted to go all in on the ShB foreshadowing. And I personally associate Vivi with a summer night. Midsummer. Fae. Wait, it’s way too early for that-

Thank you for reading the comic, I’ve been working on it for over a month now, with maybe one day off per week, that’s how excited I am. This workload could be unhealthy in the long run, so I’ll try to keep the updates within 5-6 pages/10-12 frames from now on. Still quite an amount to dish out in one week, but otherwise I wouldn’t reach their “endgame” even in 5 years. Well, I’m just starting out and seeing what works best for me. I took this month off work to fully dedicate to the comic and see where it lands me money-wise, but I’ll have to go back to adoptable-making in September. My monthly needs are ~$1400, comic currently makes ~200 ;w; But again it’s too early to judge, I’m hoping that more people join patreon or kofi.

[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!

[waitimcomingtoo]

Evans

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: Tom gets jealous after he witnesses a moment between you and Chris Evans

Masterlist

As much as you loved filming the movies, your favorite part about being in the MCU was going to the conventions.

You loved getting on stage with your cast mates and answering questions. You especially loved when you got to attend the conventions with your best friend Tom. Your fondest memories with him were made during nights following a convention. You’d always get a joint hotel room and stay up late, too buzzed on adrenaline from the panel to fall asleep.

Going to conventions with Tom usually opened up a whole new debate on the nature of your relationship. Snap chats and Instagram stories made from the same hotel room always set off more theories that you were dating. You weren’t, but you didn’t mind the theories.

The current panel you were at was no different from the others. The whole cast stood in a line, with you sandwiched between Tom and Mackie. You listened along to all the questions asked until you heard your name.

“Chris, you and Y/n worked together in the past on Scott Pilgrim vs The World, where you played one of her evil ex boyfriends.” The journalist said to Chris Evans. “How did you react when you heard she was joining the MCU cast?

“I was really happy about it.” Chris said into his mic. “I’ll admit, I had a bit of a crush on Y/n when we were filming Scott Pilgrim so I was very excited when she got added to the cast.”

Tom felt his ears turn pink when he heard Chris’s confession. It was no secret that he liked you, but he had no idea Chris liked you too. He looked to you to see your reaction, mouth going dry when he saw the shocked smile on your face.

“Are you serious?” You laughed in surprise. “I had a crush on you too.”

Tom turned away a little, suddenly feeling a sick feeling in his stomach. He didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“What?” He raised his eyebrows. “How did I not know?”

“Because I was awkward and shy and didn’t know how to talk to you.” You said sheepishly as you pressed a cold hand to your face. “But I swear, I told Michael and Anna all about it.”

Tom lowered his microphone so the crowd couldn’t hear him gulp. He didn’t know why it bothered him as much as it did to know you and Chris had feelings for each other. You had filmed Scott Pilgrim a few years back, so the feelings were long gone by now. Still, it sent a white hot jealously through Toms veins as he watched you and Chris smile at each other.

“I can’t believe you never told me.” Chris chuckled. “I actually remember being upset that we didn’t have a kiss in the movie. I was like, how am I playing one of her boyfriends but we don’t get to kiss?”

“Aw.” Tom forced a laugh. “Poor you.”

The audience laughed at his joke, but you never took your eyes off Chris.

“I was genuinely upset about it at the time.” Chris continued. “I think I called my mom to complain.”

Tom watched with a tight jaw as you held your hand over your heart and beamed. You were obviously loving the attention from Chris while Tom was hating it.

“Hey, I didn’t write the script.” You shrugged. “I definitely would’ve thrown one in there if I had.”

“I think the movie is perfect as it is.” Tom cut in, earning a few laughs. “I don’t think there needed to be a kiss. Kisses are stupid anyway.”

“Wait a minute, we almost kissed in the last movie too.” Chris remembered. “To like hide our faces from HYDRA agents or something.”

“That’s right.” You gasped. “They took it out before we ever shot it.”

“Such a shame.” Chris clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “Missed you twice now.”

The reaction from the audience made you hide your face in embarrassment, feeling your face hot to the touch.

“I promise, you’re not missing much.” You laughed shyly.

“Yeah, well.” Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “I bet I was.”

Just when Tom thought it couldn’t get any worse, he saw an idea pop into your head.

“Wait, hold my mic.” You said as you handed your microphone to Anthony.

Tom could only watch as you walked across the stage and put your hands on either side of Chris’s face before pulling him into a kiss. The audience was deafening as Chris kissed you back. It didn’t last long, but it was long enough to make all the color drain from Toms face. You both pulled away laughing, Chris with his signature hand over his left side. You clapped your hands as you laughed before walking back to your spot.

“Well damn.” Anthony said into his microphone. “I didn’t get to kiss her either.”

“Yeah.” Sebastian teased. “Do we all get some of that?”

“Shut up.” You laughed shyly as you fixed your hair. “There. Now you got your kiss.”

“Thank you.” Chris laughed into his microphone. “I was not expecting that.”

“Neither was I.” Tom mumbled, his microphone hanging limply at his side. The rest of the panel went by without any further flirtations, but Tom wouldn’t have known if there had been. He had completely zoned out, too upset with what he had seen to focus.

~

You unlocked the door to your shared hotel room and saw Tom sitting at the kitchen table. His face was buried in his phone and he skimmed through the endless amount of tweets about the kiss from earlier. It was only making him more angry to see thousands of gifs and pictures of it, as well as all the messages from fans saying what a cute couple you and Chris made, but he couldn’t stop. He was too busy scrolling to hear you come in.

“Hey.” You smiled at him as you set your stuff down. “You did such a good job out there. I swear, you always get the most laughs. It’s not fair.”

“Hm.” Tom nodded, keeping his eyes on his phone. “Thanks.”

“Is everything okay?” You frowned when you noticed his standoffish behavior. You walked over to him and reached out to touch him, but he moved away.

“Yeah.” He shrugged unconvincingly. “It’s fine. We’re fine.”

“I didn’t ask if we were fine.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “Are we not fine?”

“I said we were fine.” He held up his hands in annoyance. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” You rolled your eyes a little. “Sorry I asked.”

Tom gave you a sarcastic smile and went back to his phone, completely ignoring you now. You didn’t know what his problem was, but you knew you didn’t want to fight.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something? You can pick this time.” You offered, trying to offer an olive branch.

“Actually, I’m kinda tired.” He said faintly. “I think I’m just gonna turn in.”

“Really? It’s so early.” You checked your phone and saw it was only 8 pm. “And I’m bored.”

“Yeah?” He finally looked up at you. “Then why don’t you go see what Evans is up to? I’m sure he’d love to finish what you started on stage today.”

You jutted your head back in surprise, not expecting that to come out of his mouth. He looked partial to guilty for snapping at you, but his anger was the most prominent emotion.

“What?” You laughed in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you kissing Evans in front of all those people.” He snapped. “I didn’t even know you liked him like that.”

You laughed again, thinking he had to be joking. You never said it out loud, but you assumed Tom knew you liked him. After all, you were the only cast mates sharing a hotel room.

“I don’t.” You said, unsure where that accusation came from.

“Yeah?” He cocked his head. “Cause it kinda looked like you did.”

“I don’t.” You repeated. “I used to when we were filming Scott Pilgrim a few years ago but I stopped before we even wrapped.”

“Then why did you kiss him?” Tom asked, his voice wearing thin.

“I don’t know. We were joking around.” You shrugged it off. “It was for the fans, if anything. You know how much they love that stuff.”

“They would’ve loved it just as much if you had just blown him a kiss.” Tom said. “You didn’t have to kiss him.”

“Who cares?” You asked. “Everyone loved it.”

“Not everyone.” He stated, keeping his eyes on the ground. You looked at him for a moment, realizing you had never seen him act like this.

“Why are you getting so upset about this?” You asked calmly, still not understanding.

“Because what you did upset me.” He shouted as he gestured to himself.

“Why?” You raised your voice as well now. “It was just a stupid joke. It had nothing to do with you.”

“It wasn’t a joke to me.” He shook his head. “Watching you practically run across the stage to kiss him in front of all those people was not a joke.”

“I didn’t run across the stage.” You said, starting to get annoyed. “I walked to him and kissed him. That’s it. It’s not a big deal.”

“Did you like it?” He asked with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

“Did you like kissing him?” He repeated as he let out a shaky breath.

“You know how it feels to kiss other actors.” You shrugged. “It just felt like lips on lips.”

“You must have some sort of feelings for him to kiss him like that.” He said, his eyes looking glassy.

“So what if I do?” You retorted, angry with him now for yelling at you.

“What?” His voice came out in a whisper. “Do you?”

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying? I don’t have feelings for Evans. But if I did, it wouldn’t be any of your business. Because maybe you haven’t realized this yet, but you’re not my boyfriend.” You yelled, making him retreat into himself.

The silence that followed was deafening, making you feel guilty for what you said. You felt like you popped the happy bubble that you and Tom lived in, the one where you never confronted your feelings for each other but understood that they were there. Tom sucked in a sharp breath and let out a long sigh as he looked you in the eyes. He gave you a sad smile and nodded his head as if he was reluctantly agreeing with you. You opened your mouth to speak, but Tom was already moving past you. His shoulder brushed yours as he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

You stood there in shock, unsure of what just happened. You felt like you had just broken up with someone you were never actually with. You covered your mouth with your hand, ashamed with what you had said to him. You hit him where you knew it would hurt him and now he was gone.

~

Despite sharing a hotel room, you didn’t see Tom until the next morning. He was eating breakfast at the kitchen counter, not looking at you as you made coffee. You sighed and sat down next to him, knowing you had to make things right before you went out to do press. You didn’t want to spend a full day doing interviews with him without resolving the fight.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday.” You began as you watched his face for his reaction. “It was mean of me to tell you you weren’t my boyfriend like that.”

“It’s okay.” He mumbled as he stirred his tea. “You don’t have to apologize. You were right. I’m not your boyfriend.”

“We need to talk about yesterday.” You said softly as you looked at him. You could tell he was still bitter about the kiss.

“I don’t want-“

“We have to.” You cut him off. “We had a fight and now we need to talk about it.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes before slumping in his seat.

“You start.” You said as you put your folded hands on the table.

“I don’t know where to start.” He mumbled.

“Just tell me how you feel.” You suggested. Tom sighed as he put his words together in his mind, wanting to make things right just as much as you did.

“I didn’t like it even you kissed Chris.” He said softly, keeping his eyes on the table.

“I got that part.” You tried to joke. “Why?”

“Because he’s older and taller and bigger than me.” Tom listed off.

“And?” You were confused.

“And I can’t compete.” Tom whispered, hanging his head in shame. The fragility in his voice made your heart break and you realized he was never angry with you.

He was heartbroken.

“Tommy, you don’t have to compete with anyone.” You said softly as you stroked his cheek with your thumb.

“I didn’t think I had to.” He continued. “I thought I had you. I know we don’t really talk about…us, but I thought we had an unspoken agreement that we liked each other. I know I liked you and I thought you liked me back until you…”

“Until I what?” You asked.

“Kissed another boy.” He laughed sadly. “Sorry. A man. Captain freaking America.”

“You were jealous.” You realized, trying to fight back a smile. “That’s why you threw your little tantrum.”

“How could I not be?” He looked up. “Have you seen how broad his shoulders are?”

You had to laugh, which made him crack a smile. The tension had disappeared and you had entered new territory, so you decided to keep going.

“And have you seen the way I look at you?” You teased him. “Or the way I immediately go to you in a crowded room? Have you seen how I’m always finding a way to touch you? Does any of that sound familiar?”

“Yeah.” Tom smiled sheepishly. “It does.”

“I like you too.” You admitted. “Of course I like you too. But I already told you, that kiss was just a joke. It was just for the fans.”

“I know.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “It just shook my confidence, you know? I figured if he wanted you too, I didn’t stand a chance.”

“I don’t want him.” You assured him. “I want you.”

Toms lips curved into a smile, a proud look coming across his face. He reached over and put his hand on top of yours, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“I never should have yelled at you.” He said quietly as he stared at your hands. “I just hated that he got to kiss you before I did.”

“I get that.” You nodded. “But you can’t flip out and yell at me when you get a little jealous. You have to be okay with me being close to other people.”

“I know. I’m sorry that I got so jealous.” He shook his head at himself. “I’m not that guy. I don’t want you thinking that’s who I am.”

“I know who you are.” You leaned over the table and tilted his chin so he would look at you. “Why do you think I like you as much as I do?”

“I like hearing you say that.” He mumbled, keeping his eyes on your lips.

“I like saying it.” You smirked at him as you began to lean in.

Before your lips could touch, his phone buzzed, making both of you jump. Tom sighed and picked up his phone to see what the interruption was.

“Shoot. That’s Rachel.” He frowned. “She wants me down at hair and makeup. Can we talk about this later? This is really important to me and I don’t want to rush it.”

“Of course.” You nodded. “Go get your hair done. We’ll talk later.”

Tom gave you an apologetic smile before getting up and putting his cup in the sink. He moved to the door but you stood up.

“Tom, wait.” You called, quickly walking to where he was. You put your hands on his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek, letting it linger until you felt his cheeks heat up.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” You told him, making him feel better about missing out on the kiss. He smiled softly and nodded before leaving the hotel room. You left to get your own hair and makeup done, an idea forming in your mind as you sat in your chair.

~

After getting hair and makeup done, you walked down to the lobby and went into one of the conference rooms. You saw the rest of the cast standing in a circle and went up to to them.

“There she is.” Anthony clapped as you walked up to the group. “Mrs. Evans.”

“Don’t start with that. You’re just mad it wasn’t you I was kissing out there.” You teased him, making him laugh.

“Maybe. I have a feeling I know who else is mad.” He said as he nodded his head to gesture to something behind you. You turned around and saw Tom approaching, a smile taking over your features at the sight of him. He gave you a knowing look and stood next to you as he joined the group.

“Hey guys.” He greeted, shooting Chris a quick look.

“There you are.” You smiled a little before grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into a kiss. You felt his wide eyes flutter shut, eyelashes tickling you as he closed his eyes. He stepped forward to get closer to you before bringing his hand to face. The cast exchanged knowing looks right before you pulled away, a smile on both of your faces.

“Woah. When did that happen?” Scarlett nudged you.

“I thought it’d been happening for a while.” Anthony snorted. “Was I the only one?”

“No, I definitely saw something there. That’s why I was so surprised about yesterday.” Chris chuckled. You felt Tom tense up when he mentioned it, so you gave him a look. He relaxed and nodded, reminding himself he had nothing to be jealous of.

“I was surprised too.” He said, keeping his tone playful. “So don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t.” Chris held up his hands. “Dodger and I are very happen on our own. He’s not willing to share me with anyone.”

“He and I have that in common then.” Tom said as draped his arm around your shoulders.

“Whats that?” You asked as you looked at Tom. He gave you a soft smile before pulling you closer to kiss your forehead.

“I don’t like to share.”

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Laisse tomber les filles 6

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; sexual acts and dubcon (not explicitly tagged for a surprise but nothing extreme).

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: We’re in the lion’s den now, thots.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You lost yourself in your notes for your History of Print class. The subject was dull, not true history, more so the anatomy of the press and the amount of prints issued from year to year. It was much unlike the description for the course but it was too late to change now.

You bent over the coffee table as you scribbled in a notebook. You were distracted enough by your effort to understand the significance of all the numbers that you didn’t think much on the noise of dishes in the kitchen. You sat up and yawned as you rubbed your forehead.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Lee intoned and you winced as you noticed his figure in the doorway.

“Hm, what time is it?” you went to check your watch but realised you’d forgotten it.

“Just after five, honey,” he said, “you been working hard.”

“Oh,” you closed your notebook around your ballpoint pen and stood, “is dinner ready then?”

“It is,” he smiled and raised his arm over his head to lean on the wood, “I even made us a special dessert.”

“Really, um, thank you,” you neared and he shifted sideways to let you through, his elbow still planted on the frame. 

You brushed against him as you entered the dining room, the table set for two and the light overhead turned low as a candle burned below. You went to a chair and Lee pulled it out before you could. You sat and looked over the red cloth and shining utensils anxiously. The roasted chicken steamed next to the French cut beans and seasoned potatoes.

“It smells good,” you offered as he sat across from you.

“I hope it is,” he said, “found an old recipe book in the attic and… not as easy as it looks.”

You picked up your fork and knife and cut into the chicken breast. It was juicy despite his doubts and you popped in a chunk of potato as you kept your mouth busy. You didn’t have much to say and you really just wanted to go. It was peaceful enough not studying in your loud dormitory but not much easier given your company.

“You like it?” he asked as he swallowed a mouthful.

“Mmm, very good,” you said behind your napkin, “thank you.”

📚

You finished up the sugary cake topped with strawberries. You stood carefully as you gathered up the dish and fork but Lee was quick. Despite his size, he was around the side of the table in an instant.

“I got it,” he insisted.

You let him take the saucer and he retrieved his own on his way to the kitchen. You stood tenuously by the table and pulled your lip down with your teeth as you thought. Would it be too soon to ask to go home?

You stood in a trance as his shadow blurred in your vision again and you were only shaken as he approached you. He touched your shoulder, his thumb rubbing the blouse as he gazed down at you. You looked up at him for a second then swiftly away.

“Y’alright, honey?” he asked.

“Just thinking,” you said, “sorry.”

“Don’t needa be,” his hand slipped down your arm and covered yours. 

You winced as he led you around the table and sat blindly in his chair. You gawked at him dumbly as he brought the back of your hand to his mouth and kissed it. He kept you in a vice even as you tried to pull away.

“That was sweet cake but not as sweet as you,” he purred.

“It’s late,” you said weakly, “I should pack up my stuff--”

“It’s Saturday,” he tugged on you, “why you in such a hurry?”

“I’m not, I just… don’t want to impose,” you murmured.

“Nah, you ain’t,” he grinned as he grabbed your other hand, “come here.”

“I dont’... what are you--” you gasped as his hands went to your hips and he pulled you closer as he pushed the chair back, “sir, I--”

“Lee, but sir if you must,” he hummed as he guided you closer, his knee pressing between yours, “just sit with me, honey.”

He urged you down and you caught yourself on his shoulders. You straddled his leg awkwardly as you collapsed onto him and found your skirt riding up around his thick thigh. You gasped softly as he framed your chin with his hand but kept his other firmly on your hip.

“S--Lee,” you sputtered, “please…”

“What, I just wanna be close to ya, talk a little,” he said, “this really is nice on ya.”

He played with the little belt loop on the skirt. Your weight rested heavily on your crotch and a peculiar pressure built as you kept your toes on the floor. You tried to ease off of him as much as you could.

“So you readin’ a new book for this club?” he asked as he dragged his fingertips down your cheek and stared at your lips.

“Well, um… can I please get up?” you asked.

“I asked you a question, honey,” his voice hardened, “you might be a quiet one but I do expect some courtesy.”

“I… just a book called The Bell… Jar,” you began, “it’s different, sad, grim.”

You felt awkward, sat on his thigh like you would a horse, and his eyes following the movement of your lips. His tongue poked out as he nodded and his fingertips poked against the skirt. His other hand crept along the top of your blouse and fluttered behind your neck.

“You like sad stories?” he asked.

“They feel real,” you said as he urged you forward and your neck ached as you tried to resist his strength, “but I like other… ones. L--”

He forced you against him, your hands crushed to his chest as he growled along your lips. He nibbled and moved your pelvis back then guided it back forward. The friction along your panties made you squirm and he flicked his tongue along your lips.

You tried to shake your head but he kept your head still and prodded more urgently. He rocked your hips again and you mumbled into his mouth as you opened yours. His tongue dove inside without hesitation and you dug your nails into his button-up. As your crotch rubbed against his thigh, you felt a flurry in your core unlike anything you’d ever felt.

You pushed your hands up to his shoulders and he hugged you closer. His palm slid across your ass and he stretched his fingers along the plaid fabric. He kneaded you hungrily as he tilted your hips more fervently. Tendrils trickled down your thighs and crawled up your spine. 

You moaned around his tongue as you quivered in his grasp. His strength was inescapable and something about the tickle inside you made it even more difficult. He grabbed your chin again and forced your mouth away from his. He gripped you tightly and made you look at him, his blue eyes fiery but dark.

You closed your eyes and groaned. You bit your lip as you tried to resist the building heat and squeezed his thighs between yours. You slapped his shoulder as your stomach pressed to his and he turned his hand to poke a finger in your mouth.

“Look at me, honey,” he rasped.

You shook your head, or tried to, and he pressed down on your tongue.

“Look at me,” he snarled and your lashes snapped open, “that’s it. This isn’t so bad, is it?”

Your lips closed around his finger as you teared up in a panic. Why did you feel like this? Your mind said you didn’t want it and yet your body felt electric. You were confused and horrified by your own flesh.

“Is it, huh?” he cooed, “look at you, riding me like that… I thought you was sweet, girl.”

You panted and sucked on his finger without thinking as your eyes rolled back. He hummed and moved you fast, pushing down so even more pressure settled between your legs. You latched onto his collar and bit down on his finger. He grunted but kept it there.

“Come on, honey,” he said, “you’re almost there.”

You whined and your legs quaked as you were overcome by waves of heat and then a flood of icy waves. You grabbed his wrist and tore his hand from your mouth as you cried out and threw your head back. You rode him on your own will, chasing the high until it faded.

You stilled at last and covered your face. You shook your head and muttered in shame. He lightly took your wrists and drew your hands down. You couldn’t look at him as you felt the wetness in your underwear.

“Why you hidin’?” he asked in a smoky voice.

“What did you--”

“Did it hurt, honey?” he interjected, “did I hurt you?”

“N… no,” you admitted, “but I don’t know… that’s never… happened to me before.”

“You mean, you never… came before?”

“Came?” you squinted.

“Orgasmed,” his lips twitched, “you never even tried to touch yourself?”

“Please, I don’t wanna say,” you gulped.

“You don’t gotta be ashamed, not with me,” he ran his hand up and down your back, “it was nice, right?”

You dropped your chin and nodded. Your lip trembled but you held back the tears. You were humiliated and helpless.

“Can I get up, please?” you asked.

He inhaled and rubbed your arms, “sure, honey, you go on get up… and get cleaned up.”

You stood unsteadily and reached back to hold yourself up against the table. He chuckled and looked down at his slacks. There was a wet smear along his grey pants but more overtly, his crotch was tented as his arousal pressed against the fabric.

“Look at the mess you made,” he touched the spot with his fingers.

“You made me--”

“You let me, honey,” he said as he stood and adjusted his belt, “you want it. We both heard you.”

“I…” you breathed, “but…”

“You hardly tried to get up,” he rebuked, “I’ma show you so much, honey pie, you just gotta relax.”

You stared at him but when his eyes held yours for too long, you had to look away. You squirmed and fixed your skirt.

“May I use your bathroom?” you said.

“Best you do,” he pointed through the front room, “just under the stairs.”

[fairyoftbz]

jealousy | l. hyunjae

🌊 pairing: bf! hyunjae x fem! reader 🌊 wc: 1.9k 🌊 synopsis: at the beach, your mood suddenly swings, and your boyfriend is too oblivious to understand why you're feeling that way. 🌊 genre: angsty fluff, comfort, very cliché, fluffy end 🌊 tw: insecurities, self body-shaming, a petty fight at the beginning 🌊 a/n: yeah I went to the pool the other day and it was pretty much this, except that I didn't have a hyunjae by my side lol... and Spotify played this olivia rodrigo's song a moment after.. but happy birthday to Hyunjae in advance!!! 🥰 🌊 requested: no!

╰☆☆☆☆╮

“What kind of fuckery is that?” you ask yourself when you take a look around you at the beach while Hyunjae was settling your stuff down in the sand, trying not to get too much sand on the cooler. He removed his t-shirt to be more comfortable, girls built like models ogled at your boyfriend’s back and abs, giggling together and biting their lips as they saw his muscles move around.

The beach was filled with slim, fit people, either working out or getting that tan for Instagram. The girls were so pretty and looked like models that could sign with Marc Jacobs, which had the ability to make you even more insecure than you already were. A feeling of uneasiness settled inside your body, especially your heart, who felt heavy with insecurity when you took another great look at the people hanging out around you.

“Here darling, take a seat,” he said as he placed down a wide tablecloth on the sand with your towel on it, thanking him with a brief smile before guiding him to plant the parasol to let you rest in the shade together.

His shoulders and biceps glistened with sweat as he stopped digging to hammer the parasol pole in the sand, rubbing the grains off his fingers to finally sit down next to you. His smile subsided when he noticed you staring into space, gaze on the water, a weary look painted on your face.

“Y/N, is there something wrong? Don’t you want to go in the water?” he quizzed you, not really understanding your mood swing. You were so excited when he offered to go to the beach, and now, you looked sad, almost disappointed to be there.

“You can go ahead, I’ll join you later,” you said as you rested on your back, covering your face with your straw hat.

Hyunjae observed you laying down, frowning as you didn’t even remove your beach dress. Something felt odd, weird. You loved being there and having fun in the water. What was going on?

He looked around to see what could have upset you this much, but he couldn’t find anything. People, friends and couples were laughing and enjoying the sun, just like he had expected you to do with him.

You open your eyes and clench your jaw when Hyunjae lifted your hat off your face, a veil of concern forming in his eyes. Shifting his weight on one hand, the other caressed your upper thigh, the warmness of his palm contrasting with your shivering skin.

“Did I do something that made you mad?” he dared to ask another question, trying to get a glimpse of your thoughts to try to understand what was actually going on. “No you didn’t. I just don’t want to go in the water now, the wind is making me cold,” you lied and Hyunjae sighed, understanding that you wouldn’t share what was on your mind for now.

He kissed your cheek anyway, mouth lingering on your skin a bit longer than usual and stood up, removing his cap and sunglasses while looking at the people around you with a frown. You watch him calmly walk to the water, silently watching the waves crash against his feet, calves and knees the further he walked in the ocean, his glistening back muscles moving as he raised his arms to dive underwater.

You sighed and rolled on your stomach, your back facing the shore as you folded your arms, using the back of your palm as a cheek rest, closing your eyes in the process. A single tear rolled down your cheek, captured by the edge of your sunglasses, followed by many more, letting the insecurities invade your mind. You didn’t even want to look at all the slim, IG models look alike smirking and eyeing your boyfriend up and down as he walked by. You already felt so uneasy to be here, you didn’t want to add fuel to the fire by looking at what you’ve always dreamt to look like being attracted to your partner.

But Hyunjae didn’t even notice those girls. His frown deepened even more when he only saw the back of your body, something quite usual coming from you. You absolutely adored the beach and the ocean, remembering one of your first dates where you told him that the beach - especially at sunset - was your solace, and now you were facing away from this source of comfort. Plus, there were occasions where you came here without really wanting to go in the water, just to enjoy the warmth and the sight of the ocean, happily waving at your boyfriend that was having fun in the water while you stayed in your seat.

He didn’t even notice them looking at him, because his eyes and mind were focused on you and you only, trying to find what had caused you to become this weary and down all of a sudden. He didn’t feel the same when you weren’t looking at him, when you shut yourself out and let your brain overthink on its own, refusing his help. A pinch of discomfort tightened his heart, regretting that he wasn’t as good at reading people as much as he wished to.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, what’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours,” he mumbled under his breath as he got out of the water, still not noticing that the source of your uneasiness were the ones staring at him, a few metres away from him as he walked back to you.

Droplets of salty water landed on your cheek and forearm as Hyunjae bent down to kiss your temple, forcing a tired smile on your face to try and not let anything show on your face.

“Is the water good?” you mindlessly asked as Hyunjae rested on his stomach, just like you, pushing his front pieces of hair back before putting his cap on.

“It’s a bit fresh at first, but once you’re in it, it’s good. You’d love it,” his voice trailed at the end of his sentence, eyes trying to probe your soul and bribe you to join him in the water.

“That’s great,” you nodded and sniffled, handing a bottle of water from the cooler to your boyfriend. He uncapped it but stopped, shifting on his side, resting his weight on his elbow.

“Babe, please, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting strangely since we got here, what’s going on?” he asked, voice ringing with frustration. You briefly looked at him before looking at the ocean, letting out a big sigh.

“Can’t you see anything, Jaehyun? Can’t you see that everyone around me, including you, looks like they just walked out of a Dior photoshoot by how slim and fit and pretty they look? That you have all the girls around us that ogle at you like you’re single? Yes I’m mad, yes I’m insecure, but I have my reasons, don’t you think?” you spat out your insecurities with teary eyes to your boyfriend’s face, who looked at you like he just saw a ghost.

That, was the last thing he had imagined. He never thought that you would get so insecure about this because you looked like the most beautiful girl in his eyes. He was about to speak up, but he placed himself in your shoes for a quick second, insecurities, as well as anger, started boiling in his veins as he imagined men looking at you like a fresh piece of meat.

You started scratching the skin around your thumb, a habit that you picked up when you were stressed and nervous and tears gathered in your eyes as you tried to ignore some girls still looking at and trying to flirt with your man. You wrapped your arms around your knees and pressed your chin on top of it, only to have Hyunjae positioning behind you to have you between his legs, wrapping his arms around your middle to press you against him.

He grabbed your hand to stop you from scratching it and he pressed his mouth against your shoulder, remaining silent as he tried to search for his words.

“No. I didn’t see any of those people, because I don’t care about how they look. I don’t care if the girls look like skinny models or if you find their faces pretty. Do you find the men here handsome ?”

“No,” you said in a wobbly voice, eyes glued to the ocean.

“Why?”

“Because I love you and I only have eyes for you,” you said in a shaky voice and Hyunjae remained in silence for a few seconds, knowing that you were smart enough to get what he was implying.

“So I don’t look at girls because?”

“Because you love me,” you said, voice wavering as tears rolled down your cheeks, Hyunjae holding you close to his chest, trailing salty kisses from your neck up to your cheek.

“Of course I love you, and with all my heart. I wouldn’t be with you if that weren’t the case.”

He grabbed your chin and you shifted to the side, sitting perpendicularly to him. His hands cupped your cheeks to make you look at him and he offered you a gentle smile, his thumbs wiping the paths the tears left on your skin when they rolled down your cheeks.

“I only see you, Y/N. You’re much more than looks, and you can’t say that you are horrible next to them. You are just yourself, someone more honest, prettier and funnier than all those girls around us. They don’t interest me at all, I only care about you. It’s not my problem if they think I’m handsome. As long as you’re in love with me, I'm at my happiest,” he caressed your cheek with tenderness, holding a huge amount of love for you in his eyes. You nodded, trying to make his words imprint in your brain and ignore everything and everyone that was surrounding you, but it was far from being easy.

You delicately touched his cheek and he kissed your inner palm while holding eye contact, assuring you that he only had eyes for you.

“Do you want to go in the water? Yes?” his eyes sparkled with joy as you nodded with a smile, your boyfriend springing to his feet and removed his cap, getting all excited when he watched you remove your beach dress.

“Stop staring at me like that Jae, we’re in public,” you giggled as you threw your dress at him, who hummed your perfume on the fabric before dropping it on your towel.

“I won’t. I want to let everyone know that I only have eyes for you,” he said as he grabbed your hand and started running towards the water, entering it with a big splash and laughter.

You dove underwater to get used to the salty water, reappearing at the surface a few seconds later, Hyunjae smiling at you. He wrapped your legs around his waist and held you close, pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss.

“Chill, chill,” you laughed as you pulled away breathless, Hyunjae’s hands caressing your body.

“No, no, I wanna show them that they don’t have a single chance against you. And that you’re taken,” he grunted the last part of his sentence, making you giggle and hugging him close.

“Thank you, Jae,” you mumbled and your boyfriend stares at you with a reassuring smile, pressing his lips to your temple.

“I love you Y/N,” you held eye contact again and Hyunjae was happy to see your smile, kissing your lips the following second.

Gosh, you were so in love with each other.

[pascalpanic]

Drunk Words (Frankie Catfish Morales x f!Reader)

Drunk Words / Sober Thoughts part one of two

Summary: Frankie’s drunk off his ass and needs a ride home. PART ONE of a two part Frankie fic

W/C: 2.7k+

Warnings: language, copious amounts of alcohol, Frankie is absolutely shitfaced

A/N: THANK U TO MY BABE @sanchosammy for this idea!!! I love it so much I fuckin LOVE my baby frankie

As you roll over in bed, you groan. You’ve been up for about 20 minutes now, unable to return to the blissful sleep that had been enveloping you before. The time on your watch now reads 3:07. You frown and grab your phone, lying on your side. The light is bright enough to make you squint, and you smile at the text thread you’ve received from Frankie tonight.

The man brings nothing but happiness to your life. You really do love Frankie, not just platonically. You want to hold his big and strong hands, want to lift up his ball cap and kiss him on the forehead, want to fluff the hat hair he always gets from that Standard Oil cap. More than anything, you want to softly kiss that little patch in his beard. It’s just existing there, perfectly clean even when he’s almost at a full beard. His tough fingers scratch it and you giggle, looking away when he asks what’s so funny. Nothing, Fish, you immediately reply. Fishie, if you’re feeling a little more flirtatious.

Frankie might be feeling the same, you’ve noticed lately. He’s a little more touchy with you. He hugs you longer than the other men, makes you dance with him when a good song comes on. He lets it happen when you steal his ball cap and wear it, where he’d scold and smack any of the other men for it. He lends you his flannel when you’re cold, wrapping it gingerly around your shoulders.

It’s been a long time that you’ve been friends now. Just recently, you’ve come to appreciate him differently. The way he hugs you warms your heart still, but it makes your heart race and your hands sweat. It makes you want to lift your face from where it rests in his neck and kiss him softly, your fingers working into that little bald patch on his jaw.

Even now, as he’s clearly drunk, you adore him. How can you not?

Frankie 🚁: attachment: one image

You open the photo and laugh. It’s a blurry selfie of Frankie, an arm draped over Santiago’s shoulders. The two men make faces like they’re going to bite the other, and it makes you chuckle aloud. You can see his fluffy curls peeking out from beneath the cap, and you desperately want to play with them. The image is blurry, showing that it must’ve been moving while he took it.

Frankie 🚁: missing u tonight, Santiago says he doesn’t like me when you’re not around

Frankie 🚁: holy fuck their new beer is really good, you gotta try it soon

Frankie 🚁: lol I fuckin love the nachos here

Frankie 🚁: snati is so annoying, pls get him away from me

Frankie 🚁: u r probably sleep sorry :((((

Frankie 🚁: can we got o a zoo soon?? I wanna see animals 🦫🐈🐕‍🦺🦡

You laugh out loud at the words, at Frankie’s terrible typing. He must be shitfaced. He’s hilarious when he’s drunk.

The last text was only four minutes ago.

Me: Alright, Fishie. Stop drinking and eat something. No more beer.

Frankie 🚁: ha I’m drinking that Coffey shit… Kalua?? isk but it’s so gooood

Your phone rings, filling the screen with your profile picture of Frankie. It’s a photo of him smiling, his dimple evident. Your cheek is pressed to his, grinning just as wide. God, he’s so fucking cute. You love him so much.

You take a second and stare at the photo before pressing the answer button and putting it on speaker. “Hey, Fish.”

“Hey,” he laughs, dragging the word out long and slow. “S’a shame you weren’t here, Will’s been buying all night.” His words are slurred and woozy. You can hear the roar of the bar behind him.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re shitfaced,” you laugh into the phone.

“Precisely,” he slurs, a smile clear in his voice. “I can’t drive.”

“I’m glad you realize that. What do you want me to do about that? I can have an Uber coming your way in ten minutes.”

“Will you pick me up?” He asks, his voice like a child’s. “Fuckin’ Ubers cost money, ‘n I just wanna see your pretty face.”

“Frankie,” you warn but feel your body warm at the notion.

“You got a cute little nose,” he laughs. “Just wanna boop it. Can I boop it? Just go… boop, boop boop. Right on the nose.”

You sigh. “Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. You’re so fucking lucky I think you’re cute.”

“Thank you,” he practically sings. “See you then. Mwah.”

You throw on a hoodie and walk to your car, not caring to cover up your patterned flannel shorts that you sleep in. Your hair is messy, you don’t have makeup on, you don’t really give a shit. It’s Frankie.

Once you reach the bar, you shoot him a text, and the four men stumble outside. “Yo!” Benny calls and rushes over to you. It’s clear his normal balance has left his body for the night, his body a little wobbly. He’s an excited drunk. He slams on your window until you lower it. “Hey, you missed out on a good time,” he grins. His words blur together too.

Frankie follows behind him, an arm thrown across him. He’s still got a little balance. “Missed you so much, cariño. Santi’s being an ass.”

You look up at Will. “These fuckers need a ride too?” He’s the responsible one of the men, even when intoxicated.

He shakes his head. “Got an Uber coming. They’re staying at my place tonight.”

Frankie puts a hand on the car to steady himself. “Knew you’d come. Pretty girl always comes through for me, even at 3 A.M., thank you,” he slurs happily, his eyes half open.

Santiago leans against your car. “Hey gorgeous. We missed you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “Get the grizzly bear in the car.”

Frankie laughs at the words. “Ooh, I like that. Big and fluffy but murderous.”

“I’m about to get murderous if you don’t get in the car right now, Francisco Morales.”

“Oh, snap!”

“Shit, man.”

Benny gives a whistle. The men all make noises in commentary and laugh, Will opening the door. Frankie flops down inside. Benny ensures that all of his limbs have made it in and shuts the door. “Don’t party too hard with him tonight,” Santiago calls and you roll your eyes.

The two of you drive off and out of the bar parking lot.

“Hey, Fish,” you say, snapping your fingers in front of his face. “Buckle up. I’m not getting in trouble for your dumb ass.”

“You always do, though,” he mumbles and tilts his head to look at you. “You’re so good to me.”

“I’m a fucking saint,” you sigh sarcastically. “Seriously, buckle up. If you can’t do it yourself, we’re going to the ER for alcohol poisoning.”

“No,” he whines and pouts at you. “Just wanna be close to you. Wanna just…” he trails off and rests his head against your shoulder. “Mm. There. Your skin is so soft.”

“That’s my hoodie, Frankie.”

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, the scent clicking in his addled brain. “No, that’s my hoodie.”

He’s right, you realize. You grabbed a random sweatshirt and pulled it on before leaving. You’re the one who’s always cold at gatherings, leaving Frankie to share one of his many layers with you. You smile a bit. “It’s comfy.”

“I like it better on you. I really like you in my clothes, you know that? Wear them way better than I can. You just look so cute and so little.”

“Frankie, I’m 5’9,” you refute and glare down at him, where he looks up at you with puppy-dog mocha-colored eyes.

“Just look so small in ‘em. I’m like 6’0, you know that.”

“I do know that, Francisco. You remind us all the time,” you laugh, removing his ball cap and tossing it into his lap. “Still shorter than Benny. Get that hat off and I think you’re shorter than Santi.”

“I’m taller than him,” Frankie whines at the reminder. “How come Benny’s the baby and he’s so tall? He’s like a fuckin’ giraffe up there, can never see his stupid face,” he pouts.

“He’s too tall for comfortable hugs,” you nod in agreement. “And Santi is too short. And Will is too fucking awkward,” you laugh. You purposely leave out the bit about how perfect hugs from Frankie are, how much you dream about them and crave them.

His dark brows furrow as he looks up at you with glazed eyes. “Wha’bout me?”

The car stops for a moment as a light in front of you turns red. You smile down at him and push his messy curls from his forehead. “I like hugging you. You’re comfy.”

“Ha, grizzly bear hugs,” he slurs. “Y’should call me that more often. I like it when you call me things the boys don’t. Makes me feel tingly,” he laughs, lovestruck as he looks up at you.

“Tingly?”

“Yeah, like when they put the meds in before they steal your teeth.”

“Steal your teeth?” You laugh loudly, toying with one of the curls. “Do you mean get a tooth removed?”

“Same thing. I don’t like it when they do it then. I like it when you call me stuff though. Fishie makes me laugh and feel happy.”

“Oh yeah?” God, he’s so fucking precious. He looks at you like a puppy stares at their owner, pure and unadulterated love radiating from them. “I’ll need to call you Fishie more often then.”

It’s quiet for a while. Frankie’s head still rests against your shoulder. He can feel all of the tiny muscles move as you steer and navigate the car. He likes the way they move, making his drunken head even more floaty. After a few moments, he shifts to lean against the car door, just watching you.

The music drifting from the radio is soft and quiet. You almost think Frankie’s fallen asleep, since he’s so quiet, but you look over and see him gazing over at you. “Penny for your thoughts, Fish.”

You’re expecting something stupid. Frankie is quite the philosopher when he’s drunk, always asking odd rhetorical questions. ‘Is a muffin an unfrosted cupcake?’ has always been a favorite of his. He’s never quite made up his mind about it, waxing poetic about the difference in the two baked goods.

He always says something stupid, but this time, his sober thoughts become his drunken words. “You’re the most absolute prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he smiles at you, those pink lips curled into a soft smile. It shows off his dimple, and you want to scream from how cute he looks. One of his big hands reaches over and cups your face.

“You’re drunk,” you shake your head, looking back at the road. “Don’t be stupid.”

“No, I mean yeah. Kinda drunk and really stupid, ha, but I mean it. You’re so fuckin’ pretty, cariño.” The backs of his fingers trace across the side of your face, resting on the side of your neck now.

You look down at yourself, still skeptical. “No, I know what you’re gonna say,” he pouts, beating you to the punch. “You’re in your pajamas and your hair is all messy ‘n whatever, but you’re so pretty. Your face is so cute. I love your nose. Just wanna…” he leans over and makes good on his promise for earlier. “Boop,” he coos as he pokes the tip of your nose, smiling wide. “You’re so cute. The guys make fun’a me because I never shut up about it.”

“Oh really?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and laughing.

“Yeah. Santi says I’m in love with you,” he murmurs, sitting back against the car window.

You gulp as you force yourself to grip the steering wheel harder, staring at the white dashes separating the two-lane road. “Yeah? What do you have to say on the matter?”

“I’m kinda thinkin’ he might be right.” His voice is small and quiet.

You shake your head again, eyes watering from the honesty. There’s no way he can think that. He’s shitfaced. He doesn’t mean it, there’s no way. He’s never been more than a friend, done anything to indicate romance.

Or… maybe he has, you reflect. He pays for your drinks most nights. He’ll order something you want and share it with you. He’s always a little touchier than he is with the boys. “You don’t mean that,” you say quietly, swallowing hard.

Whatever common sense he has left tells him to be quiet, so he does. He sits there silently for the rest of the drive, the tension palpable between the two of you. When you finally reach his house and park, you hold your breath. You don’t know what to do, what to say, but you can’t just let him go inside without saying anything. He sits up a little straighter as he realizes he’s come to a stop.

You bite your lip and look over at him. “I should help you inside.”

He nods and you turn off the car, putting the key in the pocket of your hoodie. You get out and walk to Frankie’s side, opening his door. He reaches his arms out to you and you chuckle a little. He looks like a helpless little child.

“Alright, grizzly bear,” you grunt as he swings his feet out and you help lift him to his feet. His arms cling to you tight until he’s standing up.

“Thanks,” he murmurs and wraps an arm around your shoulder when he’s upright.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you chuckle.

Using you as a crutch, he walks alongside you and into his house. He fumbles with the key until you open it for him, then lock it behind you. He leads the way to his room, opening the door and sighing as he sees his bed.

“Not yet,” you say as he tries to get to the bed. “Come on.” You pull his flannel off, leaving him in the t-shirt underneath. “Okay, go on.” He flops down onto his bed with a happy noise. Once he’s down, you unlace his boots and pull them off, then his socks.

Standing at his side, you undo his belt. “Woah,” he laughs. “‘M way too drunk for that, pretty girl. Kinda wanna though.”

“Shut the fuck up, Fish,” you laugh and thread it through the loops, tossing it aside. “I’m getting your clothes off so you can sleep.”

“Oh,” he sighs, giggling drunkenly as you pull his pants off. “Kinda feels like we’re gonna fuck.”

“Maybe another time,” you tease and pull the covers over him. Pushing his curls from his face, you softly kiss his cheek. “Call me when you’re sober, okay?”

He frowns and grabs the hand on his face with both of his rough palms. “Don’t leave me,” he pouts.

“Frankie,” you sigh and look at your watch. “It’s 3:35 in the goddamn morning.”

“Then stay the night,” he begs. “You said you like hugging me. I want you to hug me all night long,” he sighs, kissing your fingertips. You smile softly. It’s a good offer, you have to admit. He makes it even harder to say no. “I won’t be able to sleep if you’re not here when I wake up.”

“Lots of things can happen while you’re asleep, Fishie. I can-”

“Mm, Fishie,” he says with a smile, his eyes fluttering closed. “Come snuggle with me, pretty girl.”

You sigh as you look at the man. It’s not like you haven’t spent time pressed into his side, watching a sports game or a movie. You and Frankie are affectionate friends. He looks so warm and inviting, his body radiating heat. “Fine,” you give in. “Only because I’m cold.”

“Not ‘cause you like me too?” he asks and rolls over, leaving room for you.

“We can discuss that when you’re sober.” The spot he laid is warm and cozy, his body heat making it perfect for you. You slide under the covers next to him and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

Frankie presses a sloppy kiss to your head, smiling. You can hear his slow and steady heartbeat. “G’night cariño,” he mumbles, lips still buried in your hair.

“Goodnight, Frankie,” you whisper.

He falls asleep almost instantly, and you’re close behind him. You’ve never been more at peace than when you fall asleep in Frankie Morales’s arms.

-

read part two: SOBER THOUGHTS

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Writing smut without cringing the whole time? How do you do it.

Writing Smut 101: Overcoming Smut Shame

CONTENT WARNING: NSFW RELATED CONTENT BELOW.

The short answer, nonnie, is: you don’t. 

That is to say, writing smut is always kind of cringe—especially if you’re new to it, or simply “not in the mood” to write. 

But rest assured, feeling embarrassed is completely natural. The trick is learning how to overcome the cringe when it does happen, instead of letting it deter you.

I’m going to break this up into a few sections: 1) Why you might be feeling this way, 2) How I, personally, combat the issue, and 3) Some more tips that might help you get the ball rolling.

1. Why You “Cringe”

It’s important to find the root cause of any form of writer’s block so you can pull the weed out instead of just trimming it back. Smut writer’s block is its own special brand, and generally, the main issue writers have when it comes to smut is stigma.

Speaking openly and honestly about sex, in Western society, is still very much a taboo.

No matter how “progressive” we like to think we are, the inherent shame surrounding pleasure-seeking experiences, and the detailing/consumption of them, has been ground into us since we learned how to understand the concept of gratification.

And I’m not just talking about sexual gratification. This applies to everyday things, as well. Eating, shopping, relaxing (or doing virtually anything in capitalist society that does not directly contribute to capitalism).

So it makes sense that you would feel any amount of embarrassment, awkwardness, or “cringe” when writing smut. It’s something our society teaches us is wrong to want. Unfortunately, that shame translates to writer’s block when we sit down in front of the computer.

A lot of this blockage might stem from not giving ourselves permission to write the thing.

We’re staring at the blank document, knowing we want to write smut, and suddenly the thoughts start streaming in: This feels wrong, is this wrong? What if someone comes in and looks over my shoulder while I’m writing? Am I describing this right? Is this too unrealistic? I have NO idea what I’m doing, and everyone is going to know it.

These are all perfectly normal thoughts, and definitely ones I still have from time to time. But they’re also probably the direct cause of why you feel so blocked. Luckily, I have some bits of advice to give you on how to unblock yourself.

2. How I Combat Smut Block

✦ First, when the intrusive thoughts occur, instead of ruminating on them, think of each one as an impermanent object. You can use any metaphor, but I like to use the imagery of leaves:

Each negative thought is a leaf floating down the river of your mind. If you focus only on the leaf, you’ll exert a lot of energy running to try and keep up with it, consequently miss everything else around you. But if you acknowledge that leaf as a temporary part of the scenery, and let is pass, you can process and appreciate the beauty of your surroundings a whole lot better.

Remember: you are separate from your thoughts. You are not defined by them. The things you think sound stupid might be incredibly exciting to someone else. 

If you can string a sentence together, you can write smut. This is all part of giving yourself permission to write the thing that makes you feel uncomfortable.

✦ Second, I’d suggest giving good thought to how you personally experience embarrassment, how you experience excitement (of the sexual variety), and how those two might sometimes commingle or feel similar.

For me, they are very comparable, like different shades of the same emotion—but there are differences which are important to note. 

If I’m making myself blush from excitement, this is a very good thing for writing smut. It means that what I’m writing feels real enough to evoke something in the reader, even if the reader, like me, knows what’s going to happen.

If I’m making myself cringe, however, it may be time to take a step back and readjust my perspective.

✦ Third, ease yourself into it! Don’t jump straight in the deep end and expect to know how to keep your head above water if you’ve never swum before.

The way I eased myself into smut was first by writing “Steam”—a category of fic I made up because the current vocabulary lacked an efficient term for fics that straddled emotional romance and explicit content. 

Essentially, steam is smut-adjacent but not explicit, and here’s a step-by-step example of how I transitioned myself smoothly from one genre to the next:

I first wrote my fics Wicked Game and You Are (both of which feature either a heavy make out session or teasing + lots of sexual tension) with this “steam” concept in mind.

I wrote the first chapter of Fine Line, which has brief but explicit descriptions of fantasies, framed by a very sexually charged scene.

I released my fic Crashing, which is probably more of a bridge between Steam and Smut, and features soft-focus fingering. Nothing in it is explicit—it focuses more on the emotions than explicit detail—but it’s very clear what is happening.

After I wrote those, I felt just confident enough to make that final stride over the threshold into smut. I wrote my fics Holy, King, and the second chapter of Fine Line all within weeks of each other.

And trust me when I say, once you get the momentum going and receive that validation from people who’ve read your work, it becomes SO much easier to sit down and start writing. 

You just have to finish that first piece.

✦ Finally (and I know I’m going to sound cliche when I say this), just like any other skill, the more you practice the more confident you will feel and the better you will get. 

So practice, practice, practice! 

If you’re nervous about posting smut for the first time, have a trusted friend/mutual Beta read it for you. It’s the online equivalent to someone holding your hand before jumping off the cliff, and works wonders for the nerves.

3. Keep The Smut Rolling

Now that you have some tools to help get you past the blockage of writing smut, here’s how to keep the inspiration flowing.

✦ Start by incorporating smutty fanfiction/erotic fiction into your regular reading rotation- 

Of course AO3 is a fantastic resource for smutty fanfiction. 

If you’re a fan of TFOTA or ACOTAR and want some of my personal fic recs, visit my fic rec masterlist.

In terms of erotic fiction, my personal favourites are anything Anais Nin (specifically Henry & June and Delta of Venus), The Thornchapel series by Sierra Simone, The Godwicks series by Tiffany Reisz, and The Original Sinners series by Tiffany Reisz.

There are also sites like Literotica and sexstories.com, which play host to explicit short fiction (not fandom based).

✦ Next, I’d recommend having a designated digital space for smutspiration- 

This can be a list of “smutty” words/phrases kept on a separate document on your computer, for those days when you just can’t think of the right way to describe something. 

Or you can create a private side-blog or Pinterest board for your favourite smutty fanart or other kinds of visual smutspiration.

✦ For that matter, try following some smutty/18+ blogs (ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+) here on Tumblr-

Many of them have a plethora of what I like to call “lemony snippets”, a.k.a. short text posts that describe (usually in conversational language) explicit scenarios. 

This is useful because it will normalise the concept of sexual fantasies in your brain, making it less weird for you when you try to come up with ones of your own to write into smut. 

Not to mention, your dash will be rife with inspiration.

✦ I would also suggest checking out 18+ ASMR on YouTube (AGAIN, ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+). 

My favourite account is Professor Cal Official, but Auralescent also has some good content. 

Headphones are highly advisable for this, as their stuff is very dangerous for work.

So, nonnie, I hope this has provided you with at least one helpful tip. Whether you took anything away from this or not, just know that the feelings of embarrassment when it comes to writing smut are entirely normal. And the best way to keep those feelings at bay is to confront them head on. 

-Em 🖤🗡

Writing Advice Masterlist

Writing Masterlist

2K Celebration!

[thesmilingfish]

It was super busy at work today. Lots of returns, as expected, but also just a huge amount of customers, which wasn’t really. We had a lot of upset people who were like ‘why don’t you have more sizes available’ and ‘why don’t you have more colors available’ and I just kind of looked at them. It’s December 26th and we haven’t actually had any shipments yet so there’s that. And, uh, you know that huge winter storm we’ve been reading about here in California that’s hitting the East Coast and the Midwest and the Northwest and the South... well, those are all places where our stuff is shipped from so while the Interstates are shut down and they’ve got snow up to their nose so we’re probably not getting that fleece you want for a while. So sorry. Pretty much everyone looked at me with an ‘oh yeah’ kind of expression when they thought about it for two seconds.

Argh.

It’s up there with people doing returns without a receipt and insisting they paid a certain amount for the item and wanting that amount back even though they don’t have a receipt to show how much they paid. I was called up to the register to help an associate for one of those today, we actually only had a few that were problems, and the woman actually said ‘don’t you trust me to remember what I paid?’  With a straight face I said ‘No. <insert long pause here> But even if I did that’s not how this works.’ The line for the register was nearly to the front door of the store and I think she thought I’d just give her whatever to make her go away but boy was she wrong. She ended up taking her fleece home to find her receipt and got glared at by everyone in line - because she had to do the walk of shame past them all to get to the door.