#he’s been fighting with pure anger and bitterness up until now

[wildsaltair]

husband? husband???

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

What if instead of threatening to take Ford's eyes, Bill just took Fiddleford's?

Tate still remembered the night his father's sight was taken from him.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

He felt the storm coming even before the first lightning struck. From the very moment he opened his eyes that morning until the very moment he lay back down to bed, he could feel a vicious tension brewing in the otherwise serene household.

Storms were very uncommon at Tate's house, and on the rare occasions they did arrive, they never stayed for long.

Yet, after a quiet breakfast full of anxious, unmet glances and clattering cutlery that rang far too loudly in the silence of the table, he knew that this storm was going to be unlike any other storm he'd witnessed before.

A prickling, disquieting static seemed to have made itself at home underneath his skin, that day. It had made every hair on his body stand on end, and an odd stinging sensation to dance across his spine and tongue; an uncomfortable urge to duck and take cover low on the ground nearly overwhelming his every sense. It was like waiting for the shattering thunderclap to sound after the sky turned white with a blinding flash of light. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation was unbearable.

His mother and father had acted as though nothing was wrong; as though they didn't feel the looming presence of the darkening clouds growing like a murky gray forest on the ceiling.

He hadn't been able to fathom at the time how adults could seem so all-knowing, and yet simultaneously be so utterly clueless about the very obvious happenings that surrounded them. Now, though, he just found it strange how adults often tend to assume children don't feel the stifling weight that they hung around themselves; as if children didn't breathe the same bitter choked air as their parents did. It wasn't even as though they did a very good job at pretending; his parents always were terrible liars.

When the lightning finally struck, it set the house ablaze.

He heard the thunder from his room, and felt the crackling heat crawl up the stairs and seep through the gap beneath his door. He'd laid in his bed, hand clasped nervously across his chest and looking up at his room's cloudy, weeping ceiling as a cacophonic explosion of noises came bursting from the living room downstairs. The fight had erupted with such unprecedented force that in Tate's young mind, he'd felt genuine fear of the house collapsing atop them all from the sheer force of the yelling.

The smell of burnt tongues gently wafted through the air, and Tate briefly wondered if it hurt his parents when they scorched their mouths with such scalding words just as much as it hurt for him to hear it.

It was a big fight; a terrible, big fight; so loud, and so very angry, and helpless, and desperate, and betrayed, and sad.

The back and forth screeching seemed endless, and eventually the screaming words began to muddle and merge into one another until they hardly even sounded human anymore. Suddenly there were animals wailing in the living room downstairs, and Tate could do nothing but listen helplessly and grip his interlocked fingers tighter; hoping that if he stayed still enough, then the growling beasts that were shattering plates downstairs wouldn't come upstairs.

But then,

then,

something changed.

The shift was all too sudden; too abrupt; too quick even for the usually sharp witted child to catch on, and before he knew it, the screams of anger suddenly shifted into one of pure, unadulterated horror.

"Fiddleford, your eyes- good lord, your eyes! Let me look at them!" "Don't touch me! I- I must call Stanford, he's done something to me. Him and that demon, they've cursed me." "For Heaven's sake! Please, forget about that damned Stanford of yours for one moment and listen to yourself! My husband's gone mad, mad!"

And suddenly his parents were human again.

Tate was restless in his bed as his heart seemed to beat bruises against his ribs, his sweaty fingers digging crescent shaped grooves into his skin as fear enclosed its frigid claws around his throat in a vice-like grip. He couldn't breathe.

The storm was over, and it should have reassured him, and yet he was anything but.

Curiosity and fear had been what forced him to kick the sheets off himself and creep his way down the rickety wooden steps. He had to know what happened, he had to know what damage the storm had caused, he had to know.

His steps were far from quiet, and the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet hardly did him any favors, but no one answered the calls of the squeaking wood. No one came peeking out from the living room to stop the obviously sneaking presence that was tip toeing through the halls; No one called out to check on their little child; all was silent, and calm, except for his mother's soft sobbing coming from the kitchen.

When Tate eventually found his father, he saw

devastation.

The storm had been merciless. It had left nothing behind but a shuddering husk of a man. His father was shaking like a leaf, shoulders tense and back hunched over as though bowed by an incredible burden. The telephone receiver was held in his hand like a lifeline; as if it was the only thing in the world that was keeping him tethered to sanity, and somehow, Tate didn't doubt that it was.

Curled up on the floor in the dark, muttering and trembling, he dared say his father looked... small.

It almost felt surreal to see his father in such a state, like witnessing a God collapse, or a star's light dim to nothingness. His father had always been a solid, permanent pillar sho seemed able to hold up the whole world on his shoulders, and still stand tall and proud despite the weight.

And yet, the crumbling remains of a once impermeable monolith now lay scattered across the hallway floor and splattered across the walls.

The sight had scared him.

At the time, Tate hadn't known what had happened. Even to this day, he still wasn't too sure he understood what exactly had taken place in that living room for his father to have so sudddenly gone from seeing to blind in the matter of seconds.

His mother had tried, in vain, to explain it to him later, to try and make him understand when he was eventually old enough to hear the gruesome tale; but still, he struggled to fully wrap his head around it.

"It was as though his eyes just sunk into his skull," his mother had recounted to him with a haunted look in her eyes. "They suddenly just vanished into the empty sockets of his face, like someone pulled them out from inside his head. There was no blood, no resistance, no tearing. It was as if his eyes were simply plucked out of sight by some invisible hand."

There had been blood on the walls when he had found father back then, a long trail of gorey wet red smeared all across the lovely yellow wallpaper. He realized only now, recalling the memory, that the blood back then had not been from his father's eyes, but from the deep gouges he had dug into his face with his nails, his searching fingers desperately looking for eyes that weren't there beneath his empty eyelids.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

Tate had never heard his father's voice sound so raw, so afraid. It was so unlike the familiar comforting drawl he'd grown to love and recognize, it almost sounded alien, coming from his father.

"I can't see, Stanford, I can't- my eyes, they're gone. Why are they gone? What have you done?" "Answer me, damnit, what have you done?"

His father never got his answer, because whoever was on the other side of the line soon hung up, and his father was suddenly left blind and alone.

[dutifullynuttywitch]

Daddy Luci

@will-bite-if-given-the-chance had asked for some fluff with Luci and his daughter Levvy. I thought I'd try my hand at a little drabble to thank you for all your lovely art!! 💛

Heaven's Secret

Pairing: Lucifer x Vicky and their daughter Leviathan (Levvy)

Word count: 782

Rating: General (Fluff)

Tags: Friday flash fics @rc-catalog

“What the Hell do you mean, ‘you lost him’? Find him, you incompetent fool!”

Lucifer roars in anger at the diminutive noble cowering in front of him, his voice booming across the marble hall. The demon is trembling so hard the ruler of Hell fears he’ll start crying. Or lose control of his bowels. Or both. A frequent occurrence, that, unfortunately.

“Well, what are you standing around for? Go! Find Belphegor and bring him to me. Any attempts at rebellion will be severely punished, as you well know. OUT OF MY FACE!”

The demon almost sobs with relief at being dismissed. He nearly trips onto himself in his rush to flee the throne room.

Lucifer turns to Belial, who is hiding a smirk.

“Keep tabs on him. I trust the man about as far as I can throw him.”

“As you wish, your highness.”

His counselor and spymaster moves swiftly, giving out orders to his network of agents.

“I’m surrounded by incompetents.” Lucifer mutters, rubbing at his temples, attempting to dispel yet another tension headache.

Being the ruler of Hell was not easy. Constantly fighting with Hell’s elite, with those arrogant Seraphs. Staving off rebellions, maintaining order in his chaotic realm.

At least, his Vicky was working hard at reforming the Council from within. As was angel boy, Dino, he grudgingly admits.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Lucifer’s stern expression softens upon hearing the melodic sound. He steps down from his throne and crouches, opening his arms wide to the incoming mini tornado.

His little Levvy, his greatest treasure, the apple of his eye, runs across the hall and jumps into her daddy’s outstretched arms.

He scoops her up, grinning at his mini-me.

She really did resemble him, with her sharp gaze, raven hair. An air of authority already at 5, bossing around everyone at the palace, from servants to nobles, to Hell’s ruler himself. But she had inherited her mother’s grace and beautiful blue eyes. And artistic inclinations, it seemed.

“Daddy, look at my painting! I made it for you. See, this is you, and me, mommy, and horsey.”

The little girl joyfully hands him a paper with bright, colourful blobs. She’s covered in a rainbow of gouache, which hasn’t dried yet. Lucifer chuckles upon realizing he’s now covered in paint.

“It’s beautiful, my dear. You’re as talented as your mother.”

The demon tenderly ruffles his little girl’s hair. She giggles at the praise, her bright blue eyes gazing up at him with an expression of pure joy and adoration before she buries her face in the crook of his neck.

Lucifer’s heart swells as he holds her close. He had no idea he could feel such love – he simply didn’t think he was capable of it. Until meeting Vicky, that is. She had upended his dark, bitter world with her irreverent attitude, wit, and selflessness. She had been patient with the stubborn, arrogant demon, showing him what unconditional love was. But he hadn’t truly understood it until Leviathan’s birth.

There’s nothing Lucifer wouldn’t do for his little girl.

“Levvy, I told you to wait until daddy had finished his meetings. Now you’ve made a mess of his clothes.”

Vicky gently admonishes the little girl as she walks up, wiping her paint-covered hands with a stained rag, smiling at the tender moment.

“But mommy, I wanted to show daddy his gift now.”

Levvy pouts, peering at her mom from Lucifer’s shoulder before snuggling right back in.

“It’s alright, you know I’m always happy to see you, my little princess.”

“See! Told you so!”

She glances back up and sticks her tongue out at her mom, laughing.

“You need to stop indulging her every whim, Luci, or I’m afraid she’ll become as insufferable as you. I mean, a pony… Truly, does a 5-year-old need a pony?”

Vicky grins as she tenderly kisses her husband and proceeds to tickle the little girl into a giggling fit.

“Of course she needs a pony! If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have asked for one.”

“Luci… that’s… that’s not how this works. Kids are going to want ridiculous, extravagant things, and you can’t always cave in. She’ll never learn that there are limits, or to cherish what she has otherwise.”

“But I do cherish my horsey, just like my puppy, and the kitties, and that baby dragon daddy got me last week. I love all my pets, mommy!”

“See, she’s fine. No harm done.”

“What I see, my dear husband, is that our daughter has you wrapped around her little finger.”

Lucifer chuckles, unable to argue there.

Both of them had him wrapped around their little fingers. His two girls, the loves of his life.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[thunderwetter]

Warden's Pet - Overlord x Prowl - Chapter 1 Pt1

Yup, you read that right, this thing is gonna have multiple chapters and tumblr is getting the first one before I upload the whole thing to Ao3!

WORD COUNT: ~3300

WARNINGS: 18+ NON-CON, Violence

TAGS: Sticky/Valveplug, Torture, Punishment, Revenge, Restricted Movement, Blowjob

Final Warning! Prowl is NOT enjoying this!!!

-----------------------------------------------------

He was just a pile of metal right now, all his major sensors - optical, auditive, tactile - rendered useless by a well-placed blow to his central circuitry, his frame immobilized by a persistent ache that sprung from the same source. Prowl could only barely feel himself being dragged away, his lower half scraping against a metal floor as Overlord’s heavy steps carried him to his doom. What had happened? How? His processor was already cleansed of the memory. Fortress Maximus had something to with it, that much he remembered. It had been an unpleasant miscalculation to expect Garrus-9 to be a finished story. To the ex-warden, this chapter could not be closed until Prowl had gotten a taste of what he had endured for how long?

He didn’t fight back.

“Three years, two months, and ten days, Prowl.”

He heard Fortress’ voice echo in his head, full of suppressed anger, EM field flaring out with nothing but pure hatred as he growled the time, for the second instance in this meeting. Prowl had dismissed the complaints as a personal grievance that should have been forgotten long ago. But Fortress Maximus didn’t forget. And he didn’t forgive either. He gave into the ridiculous prospect of vengeance and unfortunately, he knew exactly who to contact. Fortress Maximus’ grim, sparkless expression as Overlord entered the office was the last thing Prowl remembered, only a blurry haze, traced with the taste of his own energon.

More silence. Even Prowl started to get unnerved by how slowly this conversation was progressing, even more so by the fact that Overlord was very clearly holding back. The smile on his lips had no pleasure to it, his eyes spoke tales of bitterness and impatience, his frame was tensed and the relaxed posture the most blatant lie he could tell. He was aching to hurt Prowl and yet he didn’t. He waited for a reply and it was anxiety-inducing to say the least. “First of all—", Prowl had to clear his vocalizer from the static that was still left in it, “-it’s detective, not officer.” A gunshot to the wall right next to Prowl’s face reminded him that this was neither time nor place for this kind of defiant arrogance. He realigned his thoughts, calmed his spark and spoke again in the same indifferent manner as before: “Second, I have nothing to say to you. There is no logical reason to waste my energy here. You’re going to beat me up either way.”

Prowl felt himself be lifted off the ground and thrown against a wall, meeting it with his back and ragdolling to the side. He still could barely move, there was no resistance met when Overlord ripped away the device in his neck that had dampened his sensory input during their voyage. His captor placed him upright, making sure that the stasis-cuffs on his wrists were still intact and sat himself on an office chair right across, swinging one foot to rest on his thigh and leaning back nonchalantly, patiently waiting for any kind of reaction.

Nothing.

Prowl didn’t give him anything. His expression was, in fact, the very epitome of neutrality, staring blankly at Overlord even as his optics were flickering from the hit and the numbing device’s effects still reverberated through his head in an unpleasant feedback loop. They looked at each other for many moments until Overlord broke the insolent silence with a scoff. “Seriously?”, he began, a mocking disbelief in his voice, “You’re not even trying to stop me? Thought you were more of a talker, little officer.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Overlord let out a faux defeated sigh, hiding hateful disgust behind a self-sufficient smile as he opened his body language to lean forward, resting his elbow articulators on his knees and neatly folding the servos as his red optics gleamed like a beast’s eyes looking at prey. “See, this is why no-one likes you, Prowl.”, he hissed, inching closer and roughly grabbing Prowl’s face by the chin. “You’re so fucking boring, it’s pathetic.”, his grip tightened as he tensed his body, raising his other servo in a balled fist and striking Prowl across the face. The noise of metal being deformed filled the room, most likely the nasal bridge losing its shape, but the experience from years of police and military duty permitted no vocalization of agony to sound. Instead, the blow was welcomed with silence, installing a deep rage within Overlord as he jumped up, grabbed Prowl by the red crest on his helm and threw him to the ground, a furious shout to accompany the motion as there was still no sign of his treatment to have any effect on the bot that was being tossed around like a plaything. Instead, Prowl remained still on his side, spitting out the energon that had pooled in his mouth, the same shade of pink dripping along his damaged nose, slowly covering part of his face.

Prowl knew Overlord. He knew that he wasn’t getting out of this without torture and perhaps, somewhere deep inside, he knew he deserved it.

“Any other mech would be begging and screaming, but you?”, Overlord chided, spitting at the frame lying to his feet, “You’re no fun.” He got down on all fours, resting his cheek on the cold ground, barely allowing any distance to interrupt him from mustering Prowl’s tainted face. A whisper was all that he vocalized, but a terrifying intent wrapped the words as they met audio sensors willing to hear anything but that.

“Let’s waste your precious energy in a different way then, shall we?”, Overlord said, his voice dripping with poisoned sweetness, reminding Prowl of the fact that even he could make mistakes, as rare as that occasion was. Unwillingly, his optics cycled wider, giving his expressionless face some sense of second thought for the first time in a long while. The reaction caused a hollering laughter to escape Overlord, who got back up and pulled Prowl with him by the neck, pushing him against the wall with his weight. He was drinking up the expression with a vile thirst, drawing the glossa over his lips, savoring the terror with every sense he possessed. Just looking at it wasn’t enough, he figured, pulling himself closer and licking the bruised metal of Prowl’s cheek, relishing the suppressed noise of resilience that accompanied the squirming attempts to escape as the mech at his mercy gave in to the primal instinct of fear. Prowl’s mind blanked out upon the prospect of being used by Overlord. Panic began to take over as he desperately tried to ground himself in the knowledge he possessed, yet not even in the space of his rationality he was save.

There was only the truth and the truth had no mercy.

He questioned himself about what he knew for certain, one step after another, he would find a way. He had to find a way. He checked his facts.

Ok Tumblr refuses to post the whole thing so Part 2 in reblog!

[everyones-fangirl]

Delectable Little Pet

Warnings: 18+ This will be about after ascension Astarion so expect some extreme dark romance and future triggers. Stalking. Being super forward/not taking no for an answer. CNC. Edging. Forced Orgasms.

Word Count: 4,213

Chapter 8

Cassara

Astarion’s possession of me only increased by the day; I saw him everywhere, all the time. It felt like his presence was a shadow that never left my side, a constant reminder of the power he held over me. I didn't understand how he managed to do such a thing, but the truth of his nature gradually became clear to me. After that night, the gift he left behind was a grotesque revelation. It didn’t take an expert healer to see that Daeron’s body had been drained of all blood. The implications were obvious and chilling. When I made that connection, the rest came fairly quickly. I realized that Astarion had been a spawn, bound to his master, until he tricked and overthrew him to become one of the most powerful vampires around. The ritual he performed had solidified his ascension, and now, he was using all of that newfound power to weasel his way into politics, consolidating his influence in the city.

I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so hellbent on hating him.

Despite my loathing, I couldn’t deny the effect he had on me. The way his touch lingered on my skin, the echo of his voice in my ears, the memory of his dominance over my body—it all haunted me. My mind was a battleground, constantly fighting against the unwanted desire that flared up whenever I thought of him. Everywhere I turned, he was there. His influence seeped into my daily life, manipulating events and people around me. It was as if he had spun an invisible web, and I was caught at the center, struggling against the silken strands. He appeared in the shadows, in the corners of my vision, always watching, always present. I couldn't escape him, and the constant vigilance was wearing me down. I knew I had to stay strong, to resist the pull he had on me, but it was getting harder with each passing day. The power dynamic between us was suffocating, and yet, a twisted part of me longed for the moments when he would claim me again. I hated myself for that weakness, for the flicker of anticipation that ignited every time I sensed him nearby.

His manipulation extended beyond just physical presence. He was cunning, infiltrating the political arena with a ruthless efficiency. Watching him maneuver through the corridors of power, charming and deceiving with ease, filled me with a bitter mix of anger and admiration. He was building an empire, one that Cazador could have only dreamed of, and he was doing it with a terrifying level of control. I couldn't let him win. I couldn't let him break me. But as I lay awake at night, the memory of his touch burning on my skin, I wondered how long I could hold out. How long before I succumbed to the inevitability of his dominance?

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. His smirk, his predatory gaze, the way his hands felt on my body—it was a waking nightmare that I couldn't escape, and it was tearing me apart from the inside. His presence was an unrelenting torment, a dark shadow that clung to my every thought. Despite my hatred for him, I found myself acting out when he was around, doing reckless things that I knew would catch his attention. I told myself it was purely for defiance, but deep down, I couldn’t deny the twisted satisfaction that came from his focused gaze. Astarion began paying me nightly visits, at least once a week. Each time, he brought me to unbelievable pleasure, pushing my body to its limits but never crossing the final line. His touch was intoxicating, his control absolute. When he told me that he would stop if I asked, I believed him. Yet, every time he asked, I stayed silent, my body betraying my mind. The feelings I had were conflicting. Logically, I knew I shouldn’t fall for whatever trap this might be, but my emotions were a tangled mess of desire and dread.

His visits were a ritual of dominance and surrender. He would appear in my room, his presence overwhelming, and I would brace myself for the inevitable onslaught of sensations. His touch was both a blessing and a curse, each caress igniting a fire within me that I couldn’t extinguish. The pleasure he inflicted was so intense it bordered on pain, leaving me breathless and trembling by the end. Each encounter left me more confused than the last. I was caught in a vicious cycle of yearning and revulsion. My body craved his touch, while my mind screamed for freedom. The internal battle was exhausting, and I felt my resistance weakening with each passing day. His visits were not just about physical pleasure; they were a psychological game. He would talk to me in those moments, his voice a seductive whisper in the darkness. He would tell me how I belonged to him, how I was his to control. His words would seep into my mind, undermining my resolve, making me question my own strength.

Yet, a part of me relished his attention. In those moments, I wasn’t just another face in the crowd; I was the center of his world. The intensity of his focus was intoxicating, and I found myself craving it more and more. I hated myself for it, for the way my body betrayed my mind, for the way I couldn’t help but respond to his touch.

I knew I was playing a dangerous game. Astarion was a predator, and I was his prey. He was slowly breaking down my defenses, one visit at a time. But even as I recognized the trap, I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. I was ensnared, caught in a web of my own making, and the more I struggled, the tighter the bonds became.

In those quiet moments after he left, I would lie in bed, my body aching from the pleasure he had inflicted, my mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. I knew I had to find a way to escape his grasp, but I didn’t know if I had the strength to do it. Astarion was a powerful adversary, and I was just a pawn in his game. But pawns, if played correctly, could become queens. And I was determined to find a way to turn the tables on him, even if it meant losing myself in the process.

Last night, he was particularly rough, but I had been particularly defiant. I had gone as far as sitting in the lap of a particularly drunk but wealthy patron. It was a tactic Caty and I had been noticing—we got more tips if we became a bit friendlier. I would’ve done it whether Astarion was there or not, but the fact that he was made the situation even more charged. I never go as far as outright flirting, just a few lingering touches and sometimes sitting on their laps, letting them feel me against them. It was a calculated move, a little taste to make them want more, to keep them tipping generously. Last night, however, had gotten out of hand. The patron wouldn’t take no for an answer, becoming increasingly aggressive. Eventually, he was kicked out of the tavern for the night. Later, as I went to dump a bucket of dirty water into the street drains, he approached me again. I was sure I could handle myself, but before the guy even finished grabbing me, Astarion was there, ripping him off of me with a ferocity that left me breathless.

"Go back inside," he yelled, his voice a command I couldn't disobey. "You don’t need to see this." The sound of shredding flesh followed me as I ran back inside, my heart pounding in my chest. He was right—I didn’t need to see that.

I didn’t see him again until later that night. I refused to sleep, determined to confront him, to talk to him before the weakness of sleep or pleasure overtook my senses. It was like I blinked, and he was there, standing in front of me, his presence as overwhelming as ever. His eyes bored into mine, a mix of anger and something else—something darker. "You’ve been quite the troublemaker," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Sitting on the lap of another man, flaunting yourself so openly. Do you enjoy testing my patience, Cassara?"

I swallowed hard, trying to muster the courage to speak. "It’s my job," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. "We get more tips if we act friendlier."

"Friendly," he repeated, the word dripping with disdain. "You call that friendly? That man didn’t understand boundaries, and you could have been hurt. Do you understand that?"

I looked away, the weight of his gaze too much to bear. "I can take care of myself," I murmured, though even I didn’t fully believe it after what had happened.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his scent of earth and night enveloping me. "You think you can handle yourself," he said, his voice a dark whisper. "But you forget that you’re mine. Your safety is my concern, whether you like it or not."

My heart raced, a mix of fear and something else—something I couldn’t quite name. "Why do you care?" I asked, my voice trembling.

His hand cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Because you belong to me," he said, his eyes dark and intense. "And I don’t share what’s mine."

The words sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and desire that I couldn’t control. His possessiveness was terrifying, yet a part of me couldn’t help but be drawn to it, to him. A part of me also didn’t fully believe that he didn’t care for me. It wasn’t just about control; there was something deeper, something more complex. He didn’t just want to hurt me, he wanted to please me, to make me crave him as much as he craved me. “I don’t believe you,” I challenged, my voice firmer than I felt. “I can see it in your eyes, Astarion. You care about me. You’re not just using me for your twisted games.”

His expression shifted, a flicker of something—was it vulnerability?—crossing his features before he masked it with a cold smile. "You think you know me so well, Cassara?" he murmured, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. "You think you can see through my darkness to something more? You’re more naive than I thought."

I swallowed hard, my pulse thrumming in my veins. "Maybe I am. Or maybe you’re just afraid to admit that you care."

He laughed, a low, dangerous sound that sent a thrill through me. "Care? For a fragile, defiant little thing like you?" His grip on my chin tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me of his power. "I could crush you, Cassara. I could break you, and yet here you are, challenging me. Begging for my attention.”

I glared at him, refusing to back down. "You won’t break me. I won’t let you."

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "Oh, but I will. And you’ll love every moment of it."

Before I could respond, he had us flipped where he took my seat on the bed and I found myself in his lap, his left thigh positioned between my legs. I let out a gasp as I was only wearing my nightdress, and he had direct contact with my center. The rough fabric of his pants rubbed against my most sensitive spot, sending jolts of pleasure through my body.

“I love the little sounds you make, pup. How easily your body reacts to my touch. It’s a drug and I’m fucking addicted to it. I want to use you all up so no one else can have you. And you think I care about you?” His laugh was dark, vibrating through his chest as he began to force me to grind against his clothed thigh. My humiliation mingled with pleasure as his hands gripped my waist tightly, guiding my movements. Each grind against his thigh made my breath hitch, my body betraying me with every shudder and moan. His eyes bore into mine, a mixture of possessiveness and amusement, as if he was enjoying the sight of me losing control.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “You can’t hide how much you want this, how much you want me. Just admit it, Cassara. Admit that you need me.” I bit my lip, trying to stifle the sounds escaping me, but it was futile. My body was on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation as he continued to guide me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. His grip on my waist was unyielding, his thigh relentless against my aching core. "Say it," he demanded, his voice harsh and commanding. "Say you need me."

My defiance wavered, crumbling under the onslaught of pleasure. "I need you," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"Louder," he ordered, his grip tightening.

"I need you," I repeated, louder this time, my voice trembling with desperation.

A triumphant smile spread across his face. "Good girl. Now come for me." The command sent me spiraling over the edge, my body convulsing in his lap as waves of pleasure crashed over me. I cried out, unable to hold back, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I rode out my release. A trail of dampness followed where I had rode his thigh and I could feel my cheeks turn a deep crimson in embarrassment. But he wasn’t done. He continued to move me against his thigh, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until I was a trembling, gasping mess. Only then did he stop, looking down at me with a satisfied grin.

"You see, Cassara," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear, but I cut him off before he could continue by placing my hand on the growing bulge in his pants. Breath was pulled from my lungs as I felt him twitch under my palm. He froze underneath me, clearly not expecting me to reach for him. His eyes darkened with a mix of surprise and desire, and I could feel the tension radiating from his body. For a moment, the power dynamics shifted, and I reveled in the control I briefly held. My fingers traced the outline of his arousal, feeling the heat and hardness through the fabric. His reaction was immediate, a low growl rumbling from his chest as his hands tightened on my waist.

"Bold move, pet," he murmured, his voice strained with barely controlled desire. "But do you know what you're asking for?"

I bit my lip, my own breath coming in shallow gasps as I felt the intensity of his gaze. "Maybe I do," I whispered, my voice trembling yet defiant. "Maybe I want to know what it feels like to have you lose control."

His eyes blazed with a dark fire, and for a moment, I thought he might actually give in to the temptation. But then he shook his head, a wicked smile curling his lips. "Not tonight, Cassara," he said, his voice a velvet promise of future torment.

I let out a whine before puffing my lips out in a pout. “You get to do whatever you want to me all the time.”

He looked up at me in surprise and it seemed there was a battle raging behind his eyes. Amusement quickly flooded his features and he shook his head as if scolding a child. “My dear, while it is adorable that you pretend to hold the power here it is getting rather old.” With a swift movement, he lifted me off his lap and laid me back on the bed. His fingers traced a lingering path down my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His eyes raked over my spent form one last time before he stood, adjusting his clothes with deliberate slowness. "Rest well, pet," he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr. "I'll be back soon enough."

Despite the terror, despite the danger, a part of me craved more. My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, torn between the fear of his possessiveness and the thrill of his attention. Each encounter with him was a battle, not just of wills, but of my very sense of self. His dark allure was impossible to resist, and as I lay there, the memory of his touch and his dominance etched into my mind, I knew that I was trapped in a web of desire and fear. The realization was frightening, but it also stirred something deep within me, a longing for the next time he would come and remind me of who I belonged to.

If I had to be trapped in that tavern for one more second, I would have hurt someone. Everything was becoming too much, and I knew I couldn’t work my shift today. I needed fresh air. I needed to ground myself. They easily found cover for my shift, considering I never took time off; they seemed surprised but more than willing to offer it to me. So, I found myself outside of the city, in the small forests surrounding it. The air was crisp and filled with the scent of pine and earth, a stark contrast to the stuffy, oppressive atmosphere of the tavern. The rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds provided a soothing soundtrack as I walked deeper into the woods, seeking solace and clarity.

The forest was my refuge, a place where I could breathe and let my guard down, if only for a little while. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, and I found a quiet spot by a bubbling brook. I sat on a moss-covered rock, the coolness of the stone seeping through my clothes, grounding me in the present moment. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to dispel the lingering sensations of Astarion's touch. But even here, far from his reach, I couldn't shake the memory of his hands on my body, the way his eyes burned with dark intent. My heart pounded, a mix of fear and longing coursing through my veins.

As I sat there, I couldn't help but replay our encounters in my mind. Each time, he pushed me to my limits, testing the boundaries of my willpower and desire. His possessiveness was suffocating, yet intoxicating. I was caught in a paradox, yearning for his presence even as I feared it. The forest provided a temporary escape, but it couldn't erase the reality of my situation. I was entangled in a dangerous game, one where the stakes were my very soul. The realization was sobering, and I knew I had to find a way to break free from his hold. But how could I, when a part of me craved his dominance, his control? I dipped my fingers into the cool water of the brook, letting the sensation anchor me. I needed to find strength within myself, to resist the pull of his dark allure. But the path ahead was uncertain, and I didn't know if I had the willpower to withstand his relentless pursuit.

Suddenly, I felt my ear twitching before I could even comprehend that I had heard a sound. My body froze completely, my fingers still submerged in the cool stream. My heart pounded in my chest as I closed my eyes, taking in all the subtle noises around me. It was as if my very being merged with the earth, allowing me to sense each step the group of bandits took toward me. Grabbing some of the water, I used it to aid in the ice spell I cast on the forest floor around me. The spell activated just as the group broke through the tree line of the forest to where I was, tendrils of ice and frost curled menacingly around me. My eyes popped open to meet three pairs of others, and I cocked a brow. Elves. They all seemed vaguely familiar, as if I had seen someone dressed like them recently.

“It isn’t polite to sneak up on people,” I snapped. The forest carried my voice well, making me sound more confident than I felt.

The elves halted, their expressions a mix of surprise and caution. The leader, a tall elf with piercing green eyes and a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward. His hand rested on the hilt of a finely crafted sword, but he made no move to draw it.

"We didn't mean to startle you," he said, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of menace. "We were just passing through and noticed you here, alone. Dangerous place for someone on their own."

I narrowed my eyes, not buying his act for a second. "Passing through? In a place like this? I doubt it. What do you want?"

The leader exchanged glances with his companions, a sly smile playing on his lips. "We’re looking for someone. A friend of ours. Maybe you've seen him?" He described someone who sounded eerily like Astarion, though he didn't mention the name. My pulse quickened, but I kept my face neutral.

"I haven't seen anyone," I lied smoothly. "And I suggest you keep moving. The forest isn't kind to those who linger with ill intentions."

The leader's smile widened, clearly amused by my bravado. "Is that so? Well, we'll just have to take your word for it, won't we?"

Without warning, he lunged forward, sword flashing in the dim light. But I was ready. With a swift motion, I summoned a blast of icy wind, knocking him off balance. His companions hesitated for a split second, and that was all I needed. I unleashed another spell, freezing the feet of the intruders together and caused them to fall.

"You really should have listened," I said, my voice cold as the ice that now encased their feet.

But instead of fear or retreat, the leader let out a long, mocking whistle. The sound echoed through the forest, and moments later, more figures emerged from the shadows, their eyes gleaming with malice. My heart sank as I realized I was now hopelessly outnumbered. As the bandits rushed towards me, their forms distorted by the flickering light filtering through the forest canopy, I steadied myself, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My mind raced, calculating the best course of action as I braced for the imminent clash. The first attacker lunged with a ferocity that took me by surprise, his dagger glinting in the dim light. With reflexes honed by years of secret training, I sidestepped his strike, feeling the rush of air as the blade sliced through the space where I had stood just moments before.

Summoning the power of the elements, I unleashed a blast of icy wind, aiming to knock him off balance. The sudden gust sent leaves swirling and branches creaking, but the bandit managed to keep his footing, his determination evident in the grim set of his jaw. Meanwhile, his companions closed in, their eyes gleaming with malice as they sought to overwhelm me. I felt a surge of panic clawing at the edges of my mind, threatening to overwhelm me, but I forced myself to focus, to block out the fear and hone in on the task at hand. With a swift incantation, I summoned another spell, channeling the frigid energy of the forest floor beneath their feet. Ice began to spread like tendrils, encasing their boots and causing them to slip and stumble. But they were resilient, quickly recovering and pressing their advantage.

The forest echoed with the clash of steel on steel as I fought tooth and nail to defend myself with a stolen short sword from one of their fallen I had empaled with shards of ice moment before, each strike and parry a testament to my determination to survive. The air was thick with tension, the scent of sweat and blood mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest. Despite my best efforts, the odds were stacked against me, the bandits relentless in their assault. With a final, desperate push, I unleashed a surge of energy, hoping to turn the tide in my favor. But it was not enough. With a sickening thud, I felt the impact of a blow against my temple, sending stars dancing behind my eyelids. My vision swam as I stumbled backwards, the world spinning around me. In the chaos of battle, I had left myself vulnerable, and now I paid the price. The leader regained his footing, brushing ice shards off his clothes. "You put up quite a fight," he said, admiration laced with condescension. "But it's over now."

I spat at him, anger flaring. "Never."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, it is. Bind her."

As darkness threatened to claim me, I felt rough hands seize my wrists, dragging me down into the depths of unconsciousness. The last thing I saw before the world faded to black was the mocking grin of the bandit leader, his victory complete.

[revhase]

Amon and Hase.

“Please Amon, Please.”

He never knew that this would be the day where he’s sat at his desk, sat in his chair and facing him. The words burned like hot coals that sat on his tongue, slowly burning their way through his flesh and spilling out. Hase’s eyes burned as he teared up saying those words but unaware that his two ‘kids’ could hear the conversation from the outside. Staring at his face with a sense of desperation just to have his niece back even though she’s already dead.

“Please just give her body back.”

He begged to her killer, he’s begging and if needed he would get on his knees and beg with his hands together and he would weep. Staring at Amon yet he remained silent until he spoke up.

“Oh?”

Is that all he had to say? Just fucking ‘oh’? Sadness and desperation soon vanished and got replaced with bitter anger, the phone call repeating over and over in his mind even if it has been so many days, months, years - he wasn’t sure how long it’s been but he knew, Hase knew that Amon had killed her.

The talk got them nowhere, it ended up in Hase screaming at Amon and him walking out. Sniffling as he wiped his face and calmed himself down and exited the office. As he opened the door he noticed one of his ‘kids’ Miblex - they’re not his kids but they’ve been around since day one so he just.. took them in eventually. Soon enough the lies that had been woven started to snap and the first thing Miblex spoke were:

‘Vents..’

He knew instantly that’s where his niece were and his stomach dropped. Amon had already moved into the cafeteria at this point and in now a hot pursuit- Hase followed. Miblex didn’t ask any questions but just allowed Hase to do his own thing and once Sero appeared. . They all silently understood. He slammed open the doors of the place and scanned the room yet he couldn’t find Amon, scoffing under his breath but somehow caught his eye, the poster on the wall just slightly peeled away- he knew where the bastard were. Rushing head first towards and ripping it off the wall without hesitation and coming face to face with the room. The static filled his ears and he swore his eardrums were about to burst but what got his attention wasn’t the rusted cell in front of him or Amon staring inside tutting at the lack of cleaning, it were seeing the walls covered in missing posters of his niece.

“What..”

Staring in horror as be dragged his fingers across the worn pieces of papers and stared at the blurred photo and smudged name, she’s here. His niece were here. Aimee- she were-

“Where the fuck is Aimee Amon.”

Spoke with nothing but pure anger and spite, he felt a snarl building up and god the anger radiated off him but once Sero and Miblex entered . . He didn’t want to get violent in front of them. Yet Amon feared what they’ll see.

“GET OUT.”

His voice some sort of yelled scream, he had his secret exposed.

“Or what? You going to gut them like you did to her? WHERE THE FUCK IS AIMEE?!”

“SHUT UP HASE.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, it wasn’t a cute little ‘hehe’ or a belly laugh, this were something that made his eyes widen and his mouth expand, the laugh were manic - sounded like something you’d hear on tv when the character goes insane, he were laughing at Amon. He’s scared, the bastard is scared.

“YOU SILLY FUCKING BOY.”

This were definitely Hase’s own adrenaline pumping him right now, it fuelled his body and kept him just on that small brink of fight or flight but in a moment it will be fight. In a split moment Amon got a chance to leave whilst Hase turned his attention to the mechanical screaming of the tubes inside but he now turned to his children and reminded them that they’re safe . . After all, it’s hard watching adult men yell and scream at one another.

That’s when Hase seen it, that’s when he seen him climbing up the ladders like it were just a normal day and so once more he chased after this rabbit like some hellbent dog yet he wasn’t ready for the next scene. Pushing the vent door open and the putrid smell of what he could only describe as rotting flesh and sour milk filled his nose but he climbed in, into the vents and come to a small opening where he seen Amon.

“You bastard, you think you can esc-. . Amon what is this?”

Staring at a gap once again yet his body froze as he stared at the scene below. It looked like a- a-. . Well, someone had painted the town red. His fist turned so quickly and he had made a solid connection with Amon’s face. His hands now gripped his collar as he pushed him against the wall, tears fell down his face as Hase now let go of that anger built up.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?! WHERE IS AIMEE AMON?! GIVE HER BACK GO ME!”

His voice echoed and vibrated off the metal walls, bouncing all over until it screamed back

“SHE’S GONE HASE. I GOT RID OF THAT USELESS THING. SHE WERE A FAILURE.”

“WHAT?! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN?!”

“SHE WERE USELESS. . So I got rid of her. She were a failed test subject for my experiments. A failed test for the beloved.”

And it were at that moment Hase had completely lost it, he had let go of Amon and turned at the scene below. Banging his hands on the metal gate and just letting out sounds of desperation: cries, pleads, begs- yet Amon stood there with a grin on his face, watching this ‘tough old man’ crumble down to a sad little boy.

.

.

Maybe he were right.. maybe Hase is just a sad little boy.

@amonsalvador

@aimeewills

@stillsero

@mibblex

[lieutenantfloyd]

Departure

Pairing: Iceman x Maverick

Summary: When Pete loses Tom, he in turn loses himself.

Warnings: angst, hurt no comfort, canon divergence, major character death.

a/n: This has been sitting in my draft folder since July and today I woke up a 2am to finish it.

read on ao3

The word love was never said aloud. But that’s what it was, wasn't it? Something deeper, maybe, but love at the most basic level.

It’s all too common in their profession to lose a wingman. If not from a mistake in the air, then maybe from reassignment or just the passage of time. What no one prepares for are external causes. When Tom was first diagnosed, Pete was the first person he told. Not his wife, not his children. Pete, his forever wingman.

They’d grown impossibly closer as the years went on. But nonetheless, guilt chipped away at Pete. day by day, year over year it ate at him. Up until a few decades on when Tom’s wife pulled him aside. In the backdrop of the Kazansky family kitchen, she informed him that she knew, she’d always known, and she accepted it.

Yet, they made do on a professional front.

Maverick could lose Iceman, but Pete couldn’t lose Tom.

It was a loss deeper and fuller somehow. A pain spawned only from a love sweet but never quite innocent. It was there in that hotel room so kindly paid for by Big Sam that Maverick realized whatever sadness he was supposed to harbor came to him as nothing but anger. A pure and unbridled rage he’d never felt before or since. Not unlike the way he loved the man who was now both six feet under and an endless height above. It was also in that room, as he shook and writhed between soft white bed linens that he let that same rage take him over. Mad that if the circumstances were just a little bit different, they could’ve had each other in the way everyone knew they should have. He wanted nothing more than to claw out of his skin and join the man who he knew as an extension of himself in that final act of mortal completion. Lay with him one final time.

But time, cruel and bitter, marched on.

In the meantime, he’ll play house. He’ll settle down with that admiral's daughter from that night all those years ago. Long before he was shipped off to foreign lands in just another display of modern imperialism. He’ll convince himself that Penny is “the one”. That her lean frame, when held in his arms, is actually the firm lines he spent the better part of a lifetime chasing.

It took some convincing on everyone’s part, but like always he hoisted himself into that godforsaken craft and returned to the skies. One of only two places he’d ever felt a sense of belonging. He’ll wilt under the click of Polaroid in his ears and the flashes of gray with streaks of blue in his peripheral, and if need be, cash in a lifetime of suffering in return for the boy they did their best to raise.

Everything, in time, left. Although some departures were more permanent than others. Every fiber of him knew he couldn’t stand to lose Bradley twice.

And when it’s finally time to trade his gold wings for ones a little more permanent, he’ll accept it. A final departure from his fighting nature. Then he’ll smile. With a laugh and that look in his eyes that only Maverick has. Because he finally fulfilled his promise to those so dearly departed, and because he always knew it took a force higher than a set of 4 appointed stars to keep him in the air.

And he’ll thank them when he sees them.

His dad will shake his hand. Nick and Carol will thank him for everything, as will everyone else he’d lost in the line of duty.

But Tom will wait patiently for his turn to greet his wingman. What’re a few minutes when you spent decades waiting for him?

When the moment comes, they’ll kiss wholly and without reserve, the way they never quite could bring themselves to down on earth. 

[charmingbrute]

the sound of the saw

must be known by the tree.

small drabble about azem finding out the truth surrounding his sister's death and confronting lahabrea about it

It wasn't always that Azem used his own fist for combat. It's ungraceful, required a lot of useless effort and tiresome. But when he does, it's always bloody. So bloody he could paint the ground without trying. It always led to carnage, the sort of bloodletting that was only possible for a man with war in his eyes.

He was swift and harsh, unleashing all of his pent-up anger and fury onto his unsuspecting colleague. His eyes were wild and his breathing was ragged as he suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Lahabrea by the collar of his robe. Azem was fueled by an intense, irrational rage that had been building inside of him for days, and he was now taking it out on the person he blamed for his own problems. He waited for this moment. A moment wherein they could be alone.

With a strength born of pure malice, Azem raised Lahabrea off the ground and started slamming his fist against the Chief Keyward's jaw with relentless force. He landed blow after blow, not caring if he was causing permanent damage or not. He was completely consumed by his rage, and all he wanted to do was hurt this man who had wronged him. Who had betrayed him.

"You deceitful wretch!" Azem spoke, each word filled with a fiery bite. It's true he had never liked the man and he could even admit to it being unfounded, but such dislike could never compare to the wrath which became him. "Was it for power, for control? Did you take pleasure in her suffering? Did you relish in the thought of snuffing out her life? Was it fun lying to me and everyone? Was it fun lying to your son?"

He knew well Lahabrea could fight back, but the man behaved as though he was no match for the relentless attack. Lahabrea was soon upon the ground, and Azem continued his onslaught until Lahabrea was lying on the floor, gasping for air. The Chief Keyward was covered in sweat and breathing heavily, but Azem was far from finished. He stood over Lahabrea, ready to continue the beating if necessary. Was it guilt preventing Lahabrea from displaying the ever man of strength Azem knew him as? It didn't matter. It'd not save the both of them.

The anger refused to rest. Frustration, bitterness and the drought in his throat helped the situation not. The answers were clear to him. Athena most definitely brought it upon herself and that Lahabrea made the right decision. However, it wasn't the decision that hurt. It cannot be denied that him and Lahabrea were hardly friends, merely tied to each other because of their stations and The Speaker's relationship with his sister. They have naught in common, no matching ideals and convictions. Even so, did he not deserve such honesty? That in spite of their stark differences, of standing on the opposite sides of one another, of never seeing eye to eye... as the brother of the woman he had claimed to love, did he not deserve an explanation?

"You fooled me into thinking you were simply incompetent! That you failed to keep her safe!" He knew Athena his whole life, knew well what hardships she could endure and what struggles she could come out of unscathed. "My sister would never have died in such circumstances, you spineless sack of shite! She wouldn't have any need for your protection to begin with!" A facility she had lorded over, know its every nook and cranny, and how sturdy its very foundation ending up being the cause of her end? A child could come up with a better story than the crap Lahabrea forcefed him and everyone. The lie had given no one comfort.

"I should've never let you in her life!" It's desperate and deranged musings of a brother in agony. It made no sense. It's irrational and betrays the person he is. "You have become the bane of her. Your entire being have put a stop in her breath. Were it not for you and your—" He couldn't finish it. He loved Erichthonios no matter what. The child's circumstance was the cause of it all, but he couldn't find it in him to pin the blame on his sister's son. So someone else must be at fault. Someone else must have been the reason. It just happened to be Lahabrea.

Dying would be too easy. Lahabrea didn't deserve such a respite. He needed to live and endure the agony he brought upon himself, to go about his daily life while carrying the weight of such a decision that he couldn't speak of. To know what it is to live by its difficulty and never find a way out of it. To shoulder the burden of it without end. Just like him. Exactly just like him.

To peak beyond the veil of the future was no gift like the scholars spoke of. The things that the man named Ares have seen have never been a source of joy. Every vision crippled him for it did not provide him answers, only images he couldn't control, tragedies he could not prevent. What would he see on the morrow? What would be the final straw? What loss will he and the Star must endure once more?

I... I saw her die in your arms, Lahabrea.

I saw her... I know what I saw...

I... I saw her...

It was only when he heard someone shouting for him to stop that he finally snapped out of his rage-fueled trance. He looked down at the other man, who was lying on the floor, bleeding and bruised, and suddenly felt a wave of remorse wash over him at the sight of his clueless nephew. He had never felt so ashamed of himself, so afraid of the person he could become.

He slowly backed away from Lahabrea, realizing that he had almost beaten the man to death and yet, the blood on his knuckles felt like it belonged to him.

[ofscalesanddatabanks]

So I’ve been trying all day to write replies to the requests sent but brain be like BRRR talk about Koharu vs Kiko. For context, Koharu is my version of Wanderer and Kiko is a joint version of Wanderer shared by one of my good friends and we have an AU where both of them meet. So Imma just info dump a whole bunch of stuff on you guys bc if this ends up staying around for a bit, they will come up sooner or later.

History: When Scaramouche went into Irumunsul and deleted himself from existence, he accidentally left a wound that festered until the damage was beginning to leak out via the ley lines. To right wrongs, he (now named Koharu) journeyed back into Irmunsul to try and fix the damage. On the way back, he accidentally picked up a traveller - another version of him in an alternative version of history who is now stuck in the main timeline. Eventually, Koharu names him Kiko and the pair’s relationship gradually turns into a sibling-ship.

Koharu is more like Scaramouche, aged, withered, affected by three betrayals and years under the Doctor’s ‘care’. Less likely to trust, more reactive, guarded and always paying back dues - never to be indebted to anyone ever again. More aggressive in his battle style, wanting to leave holes in flesh and stone alike, the only way he feels useful and a means to release all of his pent-up anger. Jealous, protective of the few people he loves oversees, but never lets anyone close. Pessimistic, knows all too well what the world actually holds for people like him. Hides his shame, his ball joints and less-than-human features. Heavily sarcastic, belittles to ensure he can never feel small again. Manipulates so he isn’t manipulated again. Feels and loves so, so deeply but locks it behind so many walls even he has fooled himself into thinking he doesn’t care.

Kiko is more like the Kabukimono. Curious, kind, stuck in a time long since gone. Louder, more willing to trust, and constantly amazed at what humans can do. Is open, with an eagerness to learn that envies any student at the Akademiya. Embraces his otherness, or doesn’t care, leaves his ball joints visible, only to be covered by cloth at Koharu’s insistence. Rarely fights, relying on his words to calm down any form of friction. But, when he does, he’s more graceful, reluctant to harm anyone more than he has to. Optimistic, always assumes the world has the best in store for him. Very literal, always tries to lift people up, wants everyone to feel included and loved. Scared that Koharu is secretly using him or is correct that he is right and his Mother never truly loved him, that he is a burden, and would never be enough for anyone.

Koharu vs. Kiko

‘Bitter foods, after all, sweet is purely a manufactured taste’ vs. ‘Sweet foods, because what about fruits, sweet flowers, and honey ‘Ru?’

Better at cooking, planning, executing orders vs. better at sewing, finding the holes in plans, finding a peaceful way to end conflict

Hates his mother for all she did to him vs. Misses his mother terribly and wishes to see her again

Night terrors from his time as a Harbinger and at Tatarasuna but too proud to ask for help vs. quietly trying to help him sleep better

Worries silently vs. fusses openly

Thinks he doesn’t realise how much he looks out for him vs. knows and appreciates silently for his comfort

Forever tired vs. always energetic

Cold, hissing cat vs. warm, friendly puppy

Wishes his friends were back so he can apologise for failing them vs. constantly forgetting his friends are dead and is stuck in a cycle of mourning them

Annoyed by thunder vs. amazed by the lightning

Acts like everything and everyone is beneath him vs. constantly amazed by the world and the kindness he sees constantly

Always trying to pay off his dues vs. taking kindness at face value and returning it with no strings attached

Wishes to return to a home that never existed vs. wishes to return to a home that he will never reach

[viladlind]

❝ hope is humiliating and exhausting the soul is humiliating and exhausting the body is both but louder— they call it longing because it takes forever ❞

   since her first death, fiyero has not changed her form once. she has the spells for it, could do it at any moment if she wanted to. parts of her journey would have been easier, certainly, if she was willing to compromise even an inch.

   she isn't. her body, sanctioned and holy to her. something she would never allow to be tainted if she can help it.

   what aurelius is doing to her now, it's so intrusive that it goes past destroying her body. he says he's not interested in her soul, but the sentiment rings hollow with a sword halfway buried in her chest, gobs of blood slipping through the broken feathers and bones in her mouth. as much as he wants her quiet, she's still screaming. half-aborted wheezes and groans and yelling.

   she's always been noisy when she's dying. gasping for breath even when her lungs fill with blood, when she's sputtering red liquid between the whining and begging. but this is different, isn't it? the last time she died ... she had friends with her. she had to keep a clear mind even as consciousness slipped from her, instructing wyll to press down on the wound, telling gale where to find the potion in her bag. so that they can bring her back, once she's gone.

   will she come back this time, once she's gone? at nobody's mercy other than the stars. and the angel, tearing into her.

   it's almost calming, if she could feel anything at all other than pain. to not have her mind racing with a million things at once. to simply surrender to it. to give up.

   he rips open her sternum to reach inside and it's once she can feel him pass her spine that something in her breaks. there's no linear thought anymore, no thinking at all. she loses herself in the agonizing slowness of it— the tearing that starts to heal only to be torn back open. she feels her stomach convulse when she finally does throw up, bitter acid and metal liquid coating her tongue, her teeth, the feathers and bones, her lips and chin when it all spills over.

   part of it gets stuck in her throat with no place to go and fiyero makes a horrible choking noise, the first thing that actually makes her heart stop with pure fear.

   she's crying. no sobbing to it, there's no room when her chest is open, when most of it is exposed to more of that blinding light. her heart stuttering in her chest, trying to keep up, pumping more blood through her veins that inevitably gets spilled. aurelius reaches all the way through, until he can grasp two more wings and pull them through. the hand at her side, balancing her, is a laughable softness. to puppeteer her around only to make it easier for him to ...

   the tears spill without her input. she's nothing. she's not even a person anymore. a bag of meat that reacts only to the horrible sensations, a display for him to satisfy his anger.

   she can't hear her own screaming anymore. can only feel that she's still doing it by the strain in her throat, a rattling noise that echoes in her mind. or his words, so awfully put together in the face of all this violence. the wings discarded, he burrows into her chest once more. a hand around her heart, its beat irregular, faint. it's not a strong grip yet, simply resting there.

   fiyero, who leads with her heart first. fiyero, who makes it a point to love, no matter how undeserving those receiving may be.

   nobody has ever gotten this close. nobody ever will again.

   she slumps against aurelius when he releases his telekinetic hold on her. there's no resistance, no stubborn fighting. like the skin of a slain animal, she's slung over his body. her vision is barely there, swimming with tears and fading with blackness at the edges. she's not looking at him, she couldn't— if it weren't for the regenerative powers of a seraph, she'd be long gone.

   cradling her against his chest intimately. between the nothingness in her mind, the pulsing in her ears and mind, the pain so unbearable that she's growing numb with it. there's a flash of a thought manifesting barely, before fizzling out again—

   maybe if she closes her eyes, she can pretend she's cradled against zevran.

𝔍𝔲𝔡𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔲𝔪.

「✧」 Fiyero screams and golden irises flicker, their owner irritated by the noise. Flames flicker from his fingers to burn the wings in his hands—again sluggish, the tips of the feathers barely turning black from the heat. This time Aurelius breaks off a section of wing before tossing the remains of the pair to join the first. Reaching up to Fiyero's face, he forces her jaw open and stuffs the jagged mess of bones and feathers into her mouth after her plea, effectively gagging her.

He next holds out a hand, and the discarded longsword on the sidewalk floats into his fingers. Aurelius tests its weight, runs the edge across his finger—red liquid pools, only to heal a second later—then stabs the blade in Fiyero's chest. He doesn't drive deeply enough for the sword to come out through her back, but only sinks it a few inches in, then drags it down a few inches more. Blood darker than the deepest wine pools out to stain the imposter's chest—and then he's slicing halfway down her torso in a perfect line. There he pauses, hands resting on Isaiah's hilt.

"You may pray for a quick death."

"I have no interest in your soul. It is the body that offends me more."

Releasing the sword, he lays hand on the fresh wound again, catching its edges before it heals to rip, it, apart with his bare hands. Aurelius tears into Fiyero with all the respect one would give to a cardboard box, then sticks his arm precisely into the gaping cavity that now made up her chest. He gropes his way past entrails and spine to the bones on her back, the ones that connect to her wings. Sensitive fingers trace over the nubs, counting the number of joints per section until he finds the right spot, and—

RrrriiipPPP.

Layers of flesh peel themselves apart from the bone under his command, obediently avoiding his fingers and even dragging away the blood she bleeds in the process. When the skin finally thins enough, Aurelius dig in his nails to tear a new wound through her back. His other hand clutches Fiyero's side for balance, the rest of his powers enough to keep her from thrashing in place. For this next part they'll have to be a bit more intimate, but for once Aurelius doesn't shy from physical contact. He presses head and shoulders against her torso, ignoring the blood that plasters itself to his hair and face, and reaches out through the opening in her back to pinch the two center wings still attached to her body.

"Got you."

It's a quiet voice that speaks, before Aurelius begins to tug. The feathers bend and twist, the bones straining and cracking before breaking in successive snaps like popcorn, as he forces the pair of wings into her body and past her insides until they emerge like feathery fingers splaying out from her chest. He lets them sit for a moment, outside-in now inside-out, before ripping them at the base as usual. The bulk of the wings gets tossed on the ground like the others, but bloodier than the rest. His hand slips back inside, climbs its way up her ribcage, and finally comes to rest around her heart.

Still beating.

"The last wing you can keep," he decides after a beat. "as a reminder not to do this again."

He withdraws his hand, stretches out both arms, and catches Fiyero as he lets her fall into his arms. Cradling the fraud against his chest, Aurelius stares at her with eyes so molten that they seemed blank, and greets her with his final words:

"Your judgment begins now."

[suneeater]

making it up to you + bokuto

✉︎request: Konnichiwa! I just stumbled on your blog and slightly stalked it too ^^ I would like to request a few dating headcanons for Bokuto Kotarou and possibly how he would make it up to you after a fight? Thank you mwahh <3 (@satoruswifeyyy)

✎a/n: our very first request omg!!! this made us all so happy to see ilysm <3 im so glad you enjoy our content! we def don't mind stalking our blog lol. also i got like super carried away and this is basically a full on drabble. oops!

✰warnings: cursing, fighting, hurt/comfort

Fighting with Bokuto never happens; the two of you argue, but you don’t fight. Neither of you have it in you to be cruel to the other, and it’s hard to find a reason with Bokuto that you’d really even be mad at him to the point of fighting. On the rare occasion that you are mad at him, it’s easy to sort things out before they even have the chance to escalate

But things had been different recently, and it’s left the both of you stressed and overwhelmed. With his career suddenly skyrocketing, and you facing your own struggles with work, it’s been hard for the two of you to spend any quality time together

You start communicating less and less, focusing purely on making it through the day. It doesn’t help that the limelight has been on him recently, and he’s started to garner all sorts of public attention and cultivate a growing fanbase. You’d love to lie and say you’re happy for him, but the truth is that it leaves you feeling insecure. Now that he’s really becoming someone, will he still need you? 

It’s like he doesn’t even notice that you’re feeling the effects of it all, but you’re not sure if it’s right to blame him. He’s been so absorbed in practices and games and training, learning how to balance it all on top of now having a public reputation to moderate and maintain. He’s always been so good about checking in on you, but everythings changing all at once and it’s like you’ve been cast to the very back of his mind

All the stress and insecurity explodes one night. It begins with a simple conversation, but the bitter undertones of feeling abandoned light a spark that’s never been present in your previous arguments, and with every remark it grows until you’re in a full on fight with each other

Before you know it you’re in a screaming match, “How could you just ignore me? Are you seriously so busy you can’t even answer my phone calls? You’re not like this, why have you changed?”

“Jesus, I thought you’d be supporting me. You know how fucking hard I’ve worked; this is just part of it, why don’t you understand that?”

You go back and forth for what feels like hours, going in circles and repeating yourselves just a little louder each time as if whoever can yell the loudest will be able to get it through the other’s skull

The final straw is when Bokuto has had enough; he’s been exerting himself all day long and simply doesn’t have the energy to continue a fight you picked with him as soon as he walked through the door. There’s a look in his eyes you don’t recognize. “Whether I even met you or not, I’d still be here today. I don’t need you for this”.

Stunned, you freeze. Your next remark dies on your tongue and you feel your heart sink into your stomach. Without another word, you retreat upstairs to the bedroom. 

When he sees the way your face contorts in response to his words is when he knows he messed up. Bad. All of the anger in him is suddenly gone at the realization that he’s hurt you; not just because of what he said, either. Letting it sink in, you had every reason to be upset with him, and he can’t believe he was too dense to even think about how you may be right. God, he’s the worst

He wants to run up after you, but all he can do is sink down to the couch and think about everything he said to you. He can’t get the phrase out of his head. I don’t need you? 

What a lie

You shut the door as softly as you can, occupying yourself with a bedtime routine to keep yourself from crying. Your cheeks aching from the way you bite them when tears prickle the corners of your eyes, you settle into bed when there’s a knock at the door

But you pay it no response, feigning ignorance. You can’t stop thinking about what he said. Your worst fear was just confirmed; he doesn’t need you. Now that he’s on the rise, he doesn’t need you. Not anymore

He comes in anyways, creeping into the bed beside you. You keep your back to him, careful not to move. You know he can tell that you aren’t asleep, but you ignore him anyway. It hurts too much to even be perceived by him

On top of the covers, he stares daggers into the back of your head, pleading with you. “Baby- baby please. I’m so sorry”

The seconds feel like hours. He can’t stop letting it ring in his ears and it’s so shrill, it hurts. What’s going through your mind? Do you hate him now? Are you going to leave him- oh god, it probably sounded like he was breaking up with you. He wants to reach out and touch you so bad, and it’s taking everything in him to restrain himself as to not further disturb you

But when he sees the way your pillow dampens and can finally hear sniffles over his own pounding heart, he breaks. Snatching you into his arms, you see tears pool in his own eyes

“I don’t know why I said that - I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know, I didn’t mean it, god I’m just so stressed. Of fucking course I need you, y/n… I need you like I need air, I don’t know why I said that”. 

Unable to avoid eye contact with him, you can’t hold back anymore. Sobbing, you struggle to choke out your words. “Am I… am I not enough for you anymore?”

Oh my god, is that what he made you think? He’s almost too stunned to respond, his hold on you tightening. He has to momentarily hide his face away in the crook of your neck, ashamed to cry after what he did to you. “Oh god, babe, yes you are. You’re always enough - more than enough. Nothing will change that…”

Wiping his eyes clear, he moves one hand to cup your face, directing your vision to his. “I never meant for any of this; not to leave you so lonely… God, I didn’t mean any of that. You’re what got me through this, please… Even if I were to get here without you I wouldn’t be the same, y/n… I’d be miserable without you”. 

Sighing, avert your gaze from his again. It’s overwhelming. “Kotaro… I didn’t mean to pick a fight. I’ve just been so lonely, you know? And you won’t pick up the phone, and I’ve been so stressed too; except it didn’t feel like you were there for me”.

“I know, I know… I’m so sorry. It was all unintentional… You’re always on the forefront of my mind, I’m just… not thinking. It’s a big change…” He can’t help but sniffle. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Letting his words sink into your eases your tensed muscles, and you fall deeper into his embrace. Truth is, you wanted to forgive him the minute he knocked on the door. You felt in your gut that he’d be taking it all back; after all, this fight was so unlike him. But that’s what made it so scary, too. 

“I think I already have. But hey-” you playfully punch him in the arm. “Don’t ever say some stupid shit like that again, yeah?”

He smiles, but it’s much softer than his typically toothy grin, bittersweet and genuine. You spend the rest of the night trying to make it up to each other, with him rubbing gentle circles on your tear stained cheeks, hoping to ease the raw sensation you’d imposed by wiping so many tears away. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep beside him, Bokuto murmuring in your ear a million apologies he hopes will creep into your subconscious. It’s only in the morning that he can make himself pull away from you for just a second, but the moment he does he’s pulling at his phone and calling in sick. Sure, his job is important, but he’s lovesick and can’t do a damn thing about it

[devildomdisaster]

Can you do the first choice with Satan if possible? Love your work <3

Satan is Mc's first choice

Content warnings: None

Mc/ reader is Gender neutral

Lucifer:

Lucifer is pleased Satan finally has something that is uniquely his. Something he can’t compare to what Lucifer himself has. He sees the way Satan lights up around you. His carefully controlled expression slipping from his face and making Satan look altogether more innocent.

While Lucifer is happy for Satan, he also wishes that you would have chosen him. He knows he isn’t the easiest demon to be around, but Mc, he would have tried for you. But then, that’s the difference, he supposes. Satan doesn’t have to try. It just happens, he becomes free around you in a way no one has ever seen Satan be before.

“Morning Lucifer!” you chirp on your way past him.

He looks at you suspiciously, you are clearly hiding something behind your back and he sighs warningly, “Mc…”

“Have you seen Satan? I have a surprise for him!”

Lucifer knows he is creating more trouble for his future self but points you in Satan’s direction anyway. He regrets his lapse in judgment almost instantly when he hears a distinct meow and your quiet murmurs shushing it in response. You’ve brought Satan a cat. And if it’s a gift from you there is no way Satan is going to give it up.

Mammon:

Ok, Mammon is so in love with you Mc. Everyone knows it. But he also loves his family more than anything. He knows that Satan has always been the odd one out. He didn’t experience the Celestial realm or the rebellion or the fall. There is a lot that the other brothers went through that Satan missed out on. Not all of them were good experiences but still, they were experiences that brought them closer together. So seeing you favor Satan is both a hardship and a relief.

It’s good to see Satan so interested in another’s wellbeing. The way Satan treats you reminds Mammon of the way his brothers behaved when they were angels. He is so soft around you. He could have you wrapped around his finger in an instant but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets himself be wrapped around yours. Mammon knew from the first time he saw you hide behind Satan and watched the protective stance he took in front of you that no matter how much he loved you, for Satan’s sake he would content himself with just being friends.

Levi

Jealous. So very very jealous. He tries not to be but why not him Mc? It’s just not fair! Levi knows how his sin can come across to others so he tends to avoid you. He doesn’t want his jealousy to affect you or your relationship with Satan, so it’s easier to remove himself from the situation. For a while, you think Levi hates you and he’s content to let you think that. But he still cares about you and about Satan, so eventually, he’ll start trying to deal with his jealousy in other ways. If he can’t be your favorite at least he gets to be friends with you.

“Levi! You won’t believe what happened at RAD today! Oh! But I’ve got to tell Satan first!” You are so excited that you don’t stop to realize the effect your words have on Levi. And he has to fight off his envy.

But oh well, at least you want to tell him too. He’ll just have to wait until you find Satan first. “He’s in the library Mc. But once you tell him you’ve got to come back and tell me too, I’m curious now.”

Asmo

Asmo sort of understands why you’d pick Satan. Asmo still thinks he’s the best but Satan isn’t a bad choice either. Plus you do get along surprisingly well with Satan. He's even seen Satan reading aloud to you with your head in his lap! In the middle of the living room no less! No one has ever seen Satan in such a vulnerable position before. What right does Asmo have to interfere with something so unexpected? He gets the feeling, and Asmo is seldom wrong about this sort of thing, that Satan is just as in love with you as you are with him. He finds it part sickening and part adorable.

If you need advice about Satan, Asmo is your demon. He is almost as invested in your relationship as you are. He also loves to help you pick out outfits for dates you or Satan are planning. And you trust him with this, so the way he sees it the two of you still get to spend plenty of time together.

“Oh, Mc!” Asmo sings “Satan would just love to see you in these cat ears!”

“A-Asmo! No way. I can’t just waltz into the house of lamentation with cat ears! It’d be too embarrassing!”

Asmo shrugs but doesn’t miss the fact that you put the cat ear headband in your shopping cart anyways. Nor do you miss the smug look on Asmo's face after you listen to his advice.

Satan

He’s surprised. Most of what he’s known until now has been stained with carefully controlled wrath. His brothers know that his smile is often concealing something much darker, and Satan himself knows exactly how dark his hidden thoughts are. But you come along and change everything. Being born from another’s anger he never expected to be capable of feeling more than surface-level emotions and underlying wrath. And while that initial expectation did fade over time he has always been careful to control his emotions. But around you, he feels so free. Like all the bad, dark feelings he has got replaced by something bright. Satan is often more reserved than his brothers, so he is surprised you know him, understand him, so intimately.

Being your favorite is deeply satisfying. Part of him wants to use this to make his brothers (Lucifer) jealous. But he finds he cares for you too much to use you against Lucifer. Satan revels in the pure feelings of affection you invoke in him. There is very little he won't do for you once he realizes his feelings for you are returned.

He is almost too smug when you skip past all of his brothers after a long day at RAD “Read to me?” you ask curling under the arm he is using to hold his book.

“It’s in Latin,” he murmurs. Eyes barely leaving the page.

“So?”

“So I'll translate for you.” he fake sighs, while stroking your hair. He pointedly ignores the shocked looks his brothers are shooting the two of you and begins reading to you.

Beel

Beel is a little sad, but he is mostly happy for Satan. He, perhaps more than any of the others, realizes that while Satan is as much part of their family as anyone else he has struggled to feel as closely bonded as the rest of them. Beel knows that Satan sometimes feels like he doesn’t belong due to the way he was created. It’s ridiculous, of course, but that doesn’t change the way someone feels.

Beel has a hunch that being your favorite might help Satan stop questioning his worth as part of their family. Beel can’t help but smile when he sees you favor Satan. You’ll wait for him to walk back from RAD, and go straight to him when you have good news. You remind Beel a little bit of a puppy. This isn’t to say Beel doesn’t wish he was your favorite instead, he just thinks you and Satan are cute together.

Belphie:

Didn’t Satan almost kill you once, Mc? Sure Lucifer stopped him in time, but really, have you forgotten that so quickly? Or do you just like Satan enough to ignore it? Belphie is a fair bit upset that you chose Satan despite the fact that he tried to kill you too.

Belphie feels like he missed out on getting to know you while he was in the attic. It’s not fair that his brothers got so much time to win you over. And by the time he left the attic, you had already chosen a favorite. He feels like he didn’t get a fair chance. But oh well, with the amount of time you spend ‘pestering’ Satan perhaps he dodged a bullet, he’d hardly get any time to nap around you.

Truthfully Belphie is a little bitter. But as part of the ‘Lucifer sucks’ club Belphie is begrudgingly happy for Satan. Besides it’s become increasingly easy to rope you into pulling pranks on Lucifer so perhaps Satan being your favorite isn’t so bad.

[angel-wings-and-tattoos]

At some point, I just stopped pulling my punches. I got rageful. I got bitter.

i cannot stop thinking about andrew's line in no way home and the implications of how it would effect peter and wade's relationship.

peter and wade are friends but nothing more since peter is in a healthy relationship and wade respects the hell out of gwen (even if peter insists on keeping them in separate parts of his life, it's so hard not to tell wade everything about her).

at a certain point, wade has done everything in his power to be better. better at non-lethal fighting, better at controlling his tempter, better at taking care of himself- all because of peter.

then, on one cold night in new york, peter watches the love of his life die in his arms. gone is the once pure, honest role model wade has been following around and, in it's place, is an angry, bitter man who is taking his grief out onto criminals.

wade comes back to new york two months later. when he finally finds peter, he is in a fight.

all wade sees is peter brutally beating a man in an alley.

all wade sees is peter doing exactly what he's condemned wade for since the moment they met.

all wade sees is peter continuing to mangle the bones of some random guy who doesn't stand a chance against spiderman's strength

all wade sees is peter killing a man.

wade doesn't stop peter in time, he can't seem to move his feet fast enough, and they both watch silently as the man on the ground takes his last breaths.

wade's first reaction is shock.

wade's second reaction is rage.

because, honestly? fuck peter. this is a man who forced wade to fundamentally change every aspect of his life to make him align with peter's own moral code. wade tried so hard to live up to peter's expectations of him and every time he failed? peter didn't even acknowledge the improvements. he just jumped straight into lecture mode followed by the silent treatment. even when wade did right him, he acted like wade should have just been like that from the start. after all, why should wade be congratulated for not killing a man?

(in peter's defense, he's never been great at reading people, much less people in masks. he truly is proud of the progress that wade has made but never quite conveyed that message adequately.)

i think that, while wade has truly changed in the past year that he's known peter, he flows with the immediate anger anyway and grabs peter, slamming him up against the alley wall. they fight, peter because gwen's dead and wade wasn't there to catch him in the aftermath. they say some truly awful shit to each other until peter overpowers him and then leaves wade laying in that alley mere yards from the man he just killed.

what follows is a complete role reversal from the beginning of their relationship - it's now wade that is pulling peter out of his own self-destructive spiral.

[myristicisms]

Much could be said about the current state he'd been in since his escape from ShinRa, the degradation being an obvious sign that something was wrong with the once proud swordsman but there was a dullness in his gaze that hadn't been there originally, the initial flush of his once lively skin having faded into a pallid hue reminiscent of a stone. Perhaps the fight he'd once had would still be there had he not resigned himself to his fate, Hollander was as useless as anyone else in his fight against his body and Genesis had long since given up hope that he'd ever be able to have back his normalcy.

Angeal's death hadn't helped with his condition either, funny how heartache can lead to the worsening of his body's stability and while Genesis has always been something of a vain man, he's come to loathe catching glances at his reflection as of late. Perhaps death would be a kindness, though it certainly wouldn't be one he deserves. Exhaustion has quite the odd ways of displaying itself, taking a toll on the auburn haired man's ability to focus and really think, impulses and instinct were far easier to follow than listen to whatever it was his foolish heart commanded and in turn he's made choices that he knows he must live with, has to repent for in some way.

Death is too good for a man like Genesis.

“ Perhaps not, but I don't want this to be solely about me either. ” The evasion isn't lost upon the sage eyed man, he knows they're both hurting and to some degree he's aware it's his fault for that. Many nights he'd sit and wonder what this very conversation would look like, expected it to be filled with more anger, more rage, instead it's nothing but resignation and grief. ( What an awful reunion. ) A long leg slowly slides into an upwards position, bent knee resting just shy of his own chest while Genesis tries to bask in the fact that there's some sort of familiarity in their positions, it's not as warm and light-hearted but he appreciates what he can get.

“ I don't think I'll ever have a suitable one for you. ” There was no explanation he could give that he'd deem as satisfactory enough, his motives were purely selfish and driven by a desire to live and the fear of knowing far too much. Hollander had doomed him to this, a game of cat and mouse where no matter where he went he'd be in danger and in a way it's deserved even if the crimson clad man had so desperately wanted to make things right. Everything spiraled far too quickly, too intensely, the bitterness towards his constantly aching body having turned to irritation until he'd lashed out and every poor decision he'd ever thought of making swiftly had been made. “ I'm beyond helping now, I'm afraid. There's nothing to be done about the degradation, it's only a matter of time until I succumb to it. ”

That's what Hollander had shown him anyways, there was no fixing his condition and all he'd done to achieve that goal had been for nothing.

“ Don't be. What could you have done that hasn't already been done? Aside from the obvious, that is. I... I'm sorry for leaving you without a word, I suppose I was afraid if I told you anything it would only further complicate my convictions, or perhaps ShinRa would have caught on and foiled my plans. Foolish, isn't it? ”

The comparison was not lost on Sephiroth. How often had he seen it in the laboratories of Professor Hojo, those poor specimen pushed too far that they cowered away in the corners of their cages to await their slow and inevitable death? How often had he been sent with sword or gun to put short their suffering? And as he looked down at Genesis, he wonders if he shouldn't do the same thing. Should he put an end to his suffering? Should he give him the mercy of a quick death, instead of playing these games of pretending to chase after him by sending Zack on his heels, always letting him slip away because everyone knew Zack couldn't hold a candle to Genesis?

But he is tired of it all, and through these last months, he has grown ever more jaded. The caged bird sees now beyond its cage, and the chained dog is so close to biting the hands that feed it and tell it to heel. His masters are rotten and, by virtue of having followed them so faithfully for so long, he is also rotten.

"This isn't about me." How easy it is to brush that question aside, but the indifference and stoicism finally cracks. He cracks because the facade of distance can only be held up for so long and they are alone now. He has made sure of it. There is no one but his dying friend to witness his sorrow as he slips his sword from his back then lowers himself to sit with legs crossed before Genesis, the sword on the floor next to him.

There will be no fighting. Even if his friend were to take up a weapon against him, Sephiroth had no plans to even defend himself. It won't reflect well on him if he returns to ShinRa. He knows this. He understands this.

But he is so tired.

"I've only ever wanted an explanation." Such a simple thing, isn't it? An explanation as to what was going on when he'd been left in the dark in the absence of his two closest friends, a wedge driven between them by what he'd found to be someone's stupid and pathetic rivalry that they had no part in. "And I've only ever wanted to help." But Hollander had refused his help, had refused any offer of help, and only now did Sephiroth realize that he should have just gone to the source.

Better late than never, but is it too late now? Possibly.

"I'm sorry for not stepping up sooner."

[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!

[sparklysung]

✨SWALLOW YOUR WORDS – l.d.h.✨

© sparklysung – 2021. all rights reserved. no reposts, modifications and/or translations allowed.

pairing – lee donghyuck x female!reader

genre – smut | non-idol!au, enemies to lovers!au

warnings – switch!donghyuck, switch!reader, lap dance, cumming in pants, grinding, dry humping, cum eating, hair pulling (giving and receiving), spanking, mirror sex, protected sex (reader’s on the pill), degradation, dirty talk, bondage (belt), possessiveness (i guess?)

word count – 6.043 words

summary – it only took a couple of words to make the blood boil in your veins and being the competitive individual you are, you had to prove lee donghyuck, your all-time enemy, wrong.

note – not my best, probably could've done better, but oh well. also this was frkng hard to write, damn, and i may have changed things a bit? BUT, i think it's better like this so… hope you enjoy! btw, i got the idea while reading this, so go check it out –it's good–.

taglist – @prvncejxon, @iwishihadabettername

another friday night wasting your time at some random classmate’s party. you were everything but happy to be there. you didn’t even want to go there in the first place, only finding yourself sitting on the kitchen counter, drink in hand and an ugly scowl adorning your face, because of your annoying best friend.

“hey, i get it, you didn’t wanna come here when you could have been peacefully sleeping in the comfort of your room, but come on, at least try to have some fun. you’re already here anyway.” eunbin –aka your annoying best friend– said, pouting her lips in a failed attempt of looking cute.

you kind of felt bad for her, you suppose it wasn’t exactly easy to deal with your lazy ass. but still, she was supposed to love you and appreciate you just the way you were.

and most of the time she did, just not in this specific situation.

“this isn’t fun at all, i just wanna go home. there’s nothing in here for me at all.”

you brought the red plastic cup to your lips, taking a sip of the bitter liquid eunbin had mixed for you. you weren’t lying, there really wasn’t anything that would make you want to stay, only a few friends of yours getting drunk somewhere in the big house you were currently in.

“come on, please, stay for me,” eunbin fake cried, and for a moment you thought she was going to give up and let you go. “in a bit the guys are gonna play something fun! we should join them, please?” as her last resort, she looked at you with puppy eyes. she was playing dirty and she knew it, you both knew you couldn’t resist them.

giving in with an exasperated sigh, you jumped off the counter to get yourself another drink from the bar in the living room. you were minding your own business until you heard him, the last person you wanted to see at the moment.

“so, i’m telling you guys, she was literally begging me to fuck her, she even moaned while sucking me off–,” donghyuck’s obnoxious voice filled your ears, making you roll your eyes. he was surrounded by a couple of other guys you didn’t know so well but were sure you had seen them before around campus hanging out with him.

“shut up already, dongdong, no one wants to hear it.” you interrupted, walking past him and towards the half empty bottle of vodka on the bar counter.

the group of boys stopped abruptly, all of them turning to look at you, ready for the scene that was going to take place in matter of minutes. donghyuck’s attention also turned to you, biting back a triumphant smirk with a raised eyebrow. he could see past you so he didn’t mind the mocking nickname you used; he could tell you were trying to irritate him enough to make him go away. but he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. he had been eyeing you all night, trying to find ways to get under your skin to catch your attention. and finally, after staying at a safe distance for a while to not spark suspicions, he got what he wanted.

“why so feisty, babe.” the cocky smirk he gave you just made your blood boil, the growing desire to punch it off his pretty face only getting stronger the more you stared at him.

“don’t you get tired of talking shit all day?” you barked, eyes trained on his body while pouring yourself a good amount of alcohol.

you were certainly going to need a lot of liquid courage to get through the night.

“you boast about girls begging for you but i think you’re just trying to hide the fact that you’re the one who has to beg to get laid.”

“i don’t beg, baby.” you rolled your eyes and muttered a ‘sure’. “also, if you’re jealous of me fucking other girls you just had to say it. i wouldn’t be against giving it to you instead.” the stupid wink he threw at you made your body shake in anger, already fed up with the conversation.

“you wish, asshole.”

“actually, i do.”

donghyuck was so fucking annoying, always teasing you and never leaving you alone. your personalities clashed constantly resulting in fights filled with screams and curses, sometimes to the extent of interrupting the class and getting the two of you kicked out of it. he enjoyed watching you struggle and suffer due to his awful pranks, so you were his favorite target. you couldn’t even have a proper date with anyone because he made sure to mess it up either by scaring the crap out of the guy or sabotaging your plans. he almost completely ruined your love life and cockblocked you forever.

you did not get along and everyone knew it.

although eunbin thought it was pure sexual tension and you just needed to get your frustrations off of you with a good fuck.

it wasn’t though.

or was it?

“let’s go hang out with the guys,” your best friend nudged your arm excitedly and you sighed, not feeling like playing anything with them. every time you decided to give in and take part in ‘something fun’ with the guys, it always ended up with you either in trouble or scarred for life.

you had a bad feeling about this all.

“ugh, fine.” she cheered and pulled you through the crowd of drunk people until you reached the basement.

the sound of laughter and screams drowned the music blasting upstairs, there were empty bottles of alcohol sprawled all over the floor and tables and a circle of people in the middle of the room. both of you joined the group with you sitting between eunbin and mark, a close friend of yours that you sadly shared with donghyuck. while you casually chatted and played around with the boy, happily laughing the night away, you could feel a pair of eyes burn holes into your skull. you didn’t have to look up to know who those eyes belonged to, as said person wasn’t even trying to dissimulate.

and by said person you meant donghyuck.

donghyuck hated the way you leaned on mark’s body, how you let his friend rest his head on top of yours and wrap his arm around your waist.

he was jealous, really jealous of your close friendship with the older boy.

mark and you had been friends for a long time now and you could even consider him your best friend, so you were comfortable around each other. you usually hugged, held hands and cuddled, he was used to you wearing his clothes –half of your closet were stolen hoodies that once belonged to him–, he even had a spare change of clothes in his room just in case you decided to drop by for an improvised sleepover. so it wasn’t surprising when sometimes when the two of you hung out on your own, people –even your friends in common– mistook you as a couple.

and the idea of you two dating made donghyuck feel sick to the stomach.

“we’re playing truth or dare, who wants to start?” seoyeon, one of your friends, spoke while looking around for someone to volunteer.

“i’ll go.” lucas raised his hand and everyone nodded, not minding.

the game went smoothly for a while and eventually, the more alcohol everybody drank, the crazier things got. mark ended up getting dared to lick whipped cream off of yuta’s chest and xiaojun had to cross-dress and dance on a table. everything was fine, you hadn’t been picked by anyone yet so you were pretty much having fun just enjoying the show.

until someone called your name.

“y/n, truth or dare?” jaehyun asked with a smirk.

he had an evil glint on his eyes making you feel suspicious. you knew you couldn’t choose truth or else everyone would make fun of you for being a pussy. and jaehyun just knew you well enough to know you weren’t going to let that happen.

you weren’t one to back down.

still, the way he stared at you made an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach.

what could he possibly have in mind?

“dare.”

seems like your gut feeling was right after all.

“give hyuck a lap dance,” jaehyun said immediately after the words left you mouth, making everyone in the room shake, some in excitement and some –you– in anger. donghyuck wasn’t expecting to take part in the dare, but he really wasn’t complaining either. “thank me later babe,” his shit-eating grin only adding fuel to the fire.

fuck.

just as eunbin, donghyuck could sense the sexual tension. and unlike you, he acknowledged it.

but for him it wasn’t just that.

you two had known each other –or at least acknowledged each other's existence– for a few years now, since high school. he was forced to see you almost every day at school, so, naturally, fondness for you started growing slowly in his chest. but it wasn’t until you both left for college that your ‘enemies’ label was established.

and if someone thought he may possibly like you, they were damn right.

he did.

it all started during freshman year, when he tried to befriend you during one of the classes you shared. you seemed irritated by his advances and wanted him away from you, so after a few attempts of softening your heart, he resolved that the only way to stay close to you was annoying the hell out of you.

childish? yeah. he cared? not really.

“come here, babe.” donghyuck tongued the inside of his cheek, a smirk forming on his lips. as he saw the grim look on your face, he sprawled his legs, patting his toned thigh invitingly, eager to get things started.

the look jaehyun gave you had ‘you’re not backing down, are you?’ written all over.

“shit, i hate jaehyun, why did he have to do me dirty like that?” you mumbled angrily to eunbin and she just laughed, finding the situation way funnier than you.

“maybe tonight won’t be as boring as you thought? maybe you’ll end up getting laid.” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and you only scoffed, “shut up, dumbass.”

“why did you have to do me like that, huh?!” you almost screamed at the older, taking a mental note to beat him up later. he just shrugged and threw you a wink, “asshole.”

mark patted your back to help you relax, he could see you weren’t exactly happy about your dare.

“come on, which song would you like, my lady?” lucas asked, scrolling through his spotify for suiting songs.

“or nah!” yangyang answered before you could even open your mouth. just as you were about to ask for a less sexual song, cheering erupted through the room.

everyone was pumped, adrenaline running through their veins and pushing them to do stupid stuff they would probably regret the next day after waking up hungover. and things just took a rather interesting turn, so they obviously were excitedly awaiting the next series of events.

yay, more stupid memories to regret later.

on the other hand, donghyuck was as doomed as you. he knew the song well, he knew the lyrics by heart but what he didn’t know was if he could control himself with you basically dry humping him in front of a bunch of people to the rhythm of it.

he wasn’t sure it was a great idea.

as soon as you got up to complete the dare, you heard cheering and clapping. and you weren’t going to lie, you wanted to throw yourself out of a window.

breathing deeply in an attempt of relaxing to just get it over with, you made your way towards donghyuck until you were standing a few feet in front of him.

as the music started playing, you started moving. running your finger on the surface of his clothed shoulder, you walked slowly around him, like a predator circling its prey. he tried not to follow your movements, already getting anxious by your closeness and nervously waiting for your next move.

i’ma smoke this joint then i’ma break you off.

i’d be lying if i said you ain’t the one.

you pushed his legs open and settled between them. your hands rubbed his thighs teasingly, fingers drawing closer to his crotch but not quite getting there. you took your sweet time feeling him up, softly scratching his strong arms and leaving red trails behind. donghyuck was so into it, enjoying the sight of you kneeling before him so much that his pants were already starting to feel tight.

heard you not the type that you take home to mom.

is we fuckin’ when we leave the club or nah?

i ain’t spendin’ cash for nothin’ i wanna see you take it off.

and oh how he wanted to see you take it off. all night he couldn’t take his eyes off of your figure, you looked really good in the outfit eunbin had chosen for you.

so good it was almost making him drool.

you sat on his lap, hands going to caress his toned chest and stomach. it was well-known that donghyuck exercised frequently, but it still surprised you. he felt so good you had to bite your lip to prevent a sound from coming out.

when you shifted to sit closer to him, his hands flew to your hips and you could tell his intention was to move them lower to grope your ass, but you weren’t having it.

do you like the way i flick my tongue or nah?

you can ride my face until you’re drippin’ cum.

“if you try to touch me again, i’ll tie you up,” you said with a sweet smile plastered on your face, grabbing him by the wrists and harshly dropping them away from you. donghyuck let out a startled gasp at that, obviously not expecting your attitude. with his hands twitching to grasp anything, he went to grip tightly the sides of the chair.

can you lick the tip then throat the dick or nah?

can you let me stretch that pussy out or nah?

your hips ground against his crotch at such a slow pace that donghyuck was having trouble not pushing you down on him faster. he was getting embarrassingly hornier as seconds passed and wanted nothing more than to fuck you right then and there, even with his friends’ eyes on you both.

donghyuck tried so hard to restrain himself from touching you. he wasn’t one to follow orders, but he tried just for you, he really did.

i’m not the type to call you back tomorrow.

but the way you wrappin’ ‘round me is a prob.

and everything was fine until you kissed him. synchronized gasps filled the room, the sudden show of affection confusing everybody. not even your intoxicated self could understand what the hell were you doing nor who you were doing it with. his breath got stuck in his throat, heart thumping against his chest at an alarming rate. his hands almost tried to bring you closer, but he realized what he was doing on time to stop himself.

he finally broke down when your mouth sucked on his tongue, making his hips grind up against yours unconsciously as his hands grabbed you by your waist, pressing your body flush against his.

that was it.

“you asked for it,” your movements came to a stop as you took off your black leather belt, sticking to your threat of tying him up if he didn’t quit it.

pussy so good, i had to save that shit for later.

took her to the kitchen, fucked her right there on the table.

“oh shit,” donghyuck stirred under you trying to get out of the situation.

this couldn’t be happening.

“no, please,” he whimpered as you fastened the belt until it was wrapped tightly around his wrists, locking his arms behind his back. your audience was unable to hold in their surprise, some mouths falling open. he fought against the restraints to no avail, desperate to free himself, “please, let me go,” he cried out quietly, not wanting the other occupants in the room to hear him.

“stop complaining or else i’ll also gag you,” you spat harshly in his ear, done with his attitude, and he swallowed hard. as you nibbled on his lobe, you felt a strong sense of confidence. it made your chest swell in pride to see the usual big mouth jerk with a smug grin constantly attached to his face falling apart under your touch.

seems like he was the one to beg, after all.

you moved your hips to the rhythm of the music, making sure to press harder against the sensitive tip of his cock, which was already leaking precum. although you weren’t an expert, you’d given a fair share of lap dances, so you knew what you were doing.

and donghyuck could certainly tell.

don’t play with a boss, girl take it off.

take it for a real one.

you gon’ get it all.

“whose bitch are you now, huh?” donghyuck couldn’t speak properly, way too hot and bothered for his brain to come up with any smart-ass response.

you tsked disapprovingly at his lack of response.

“when i ask you a question, you answer.” your fingers tangled in his hair and with a harsh tug you forced him to look up. donghyuck was dazed, lips swollen from you biting on them, eyes glassy from arousal, and mind clouded with lust.

“yours.” he whimpered quietly, forgetting momentarily about your audience.

“good boy.”

you loved how easy it was for you to break him and leave him wanting more, to have him so putty in your hands. specially since hearing comments of other female classmates about donghyuck teasing them almost till the brim of tears was part of your day-to-day life. it felt like you were getting revenge for all of them, so you were enjoying it a lot more than anyone could imagine.

your plump lips trailed down the length of his neck, leaving wet kisses along his honey-like skin, and he threw his head back to give you more access. as you licked, sucked and bit the flesh, donghyuck could hear his heartbeat loud over the music. he usually wouldn’t let a girl suck hickeys on his skin, but the idea of you marking him while everyone watched was rather exciting.

he swore the seconds passed slower than usual. you were just halfway through the song but he didn’t know if he could survive any longer.

donghyuck felt light-headed and painfully aroused, and he wasn’t going to last long if you kept kissing him and moving your hips the way you were.

“i’ma go as far as you let me,” your movements became slower to tease him, making the poor boy want to cry in agony. his jeans felt way too tight to be comfortable and he hoped everyone could just leave you two alone to take it off.

“shit, please,” donghyuck’s eyes closed, head falling forward and hanging low as drops of sweat slid down his forehead. the room felt like an oven and he didn’t know if it was a result of the significant amount of people in such a small space, the alcohol, his choice of clothing or your body pressed closely against his.

probably the latter.

girl, is you sucking me or fucking me or nah?

can i bring another bitch? let’s have a threesome.

“keep saying you’re a freak, you gon’ prove it or nah?” you quietly sang along, pulling his face closer by his hair and grinding down on him harder.

donghyuck was going crazy, he had never expected you to be so sexy, to behave so dirtily. but he loved it, and by the prominent tent in his pants, everybody could tell he was in for the ride of his life.

you’s a ride-or-die chick, you with this shit or nah?

say you not a side bitch, you all-in or nah?

you gon’ make them eggs cheesy with them grits or nah?

you brought him in for a hot kiss that left his head spinning.

donghyuck was growing restless as his climax neared, he was so close he could almost taste it. he couldn’t remember when the last time he got so close to cumming only from some teasing was.

everything was happening so quickly he wasn’t able to stop himself before giving in to the pleasure.

“h-holy fuck,” with a shaky moan that you swallowed, donghyuck shot his load, staining the crotch of his dark jeans. you could feel the wetness seeping through the piece of clothing and dampening your bottoms. his hips gave a few more sloppy thrusts, legs shaking weakly and cock twitching from the confines of his jeans, before falling limp on the chair.

or nah.

as the song ended, he came down from his high. you freed him from the iron grip of your belt, the skin on his wrists was red and slightly swollen. you may have tightened it too much in the heat of the moment, but you weren’t apologizing after giving him probably the best orgasm of his life.

the bewildered expression on his face quickly turned grim as it hit him.

he came in his pants like a fucking teenager.

in a room full of people.

in front of his friends, yours and you.

his friends stood there, both confused and surprised to see donghyuck so affected by your touch. nobody had expected things to end the way they did.

“damn, are you okay my man?” johnny asked, laughing at his friend’s flustered state.

“shut up,” donghyuck answered bitterly. he shot up from his seat, grabbing your hand and shoving you inside the nearest bathroom in the house. he didn’t even care to cover the wet spot on his pants, walking with his chin up and a scowl plastered on his face.

and blame it on how riled up you had gotten from the feeling of his hard dick pressing against your needy pussy, but damn, he looked good.

“i wanna go next!” hendery spoke excitedly. you couldn’t tell if he was just messing with you or if he actually wanted you to give him a lap dance too. either way, it made your lips turn upwards in a smug grin.

once you both made it to the bathroom, he locked the door before pushing you against it, back pressed flush into the hard piece of wood. the ambience took a 180 turn, your confidence faltered slightly at the sight of his angry form.

“you think it’s funny, yeah?” he hummed angrily in your ear. “you think i’d let you do whatever you want and embarrass me in front of my friends just because you feel like it without payback?” the look on his eyes getting darker as the words left his mouth.

“if so, oh baby, you were so wrong.”

trying to test him, you decided to answer.

“you’re all bark and no bite, what else am i supposed to think?” you smirked devilishly when you saw him clench his jaw.

“you’re gonna regret being a brat,” his slender fingers wrapped themselves around your waist and with a harsh tug, he pulled you closer to attack your lips, biting and sucking on them, making your legs wobbly. he tasted sweet and bitter at the same time, probably from the liquor he had been drinking all night, and you couldn’t seem to get enough. his lips were soft and plush as they mingled with yours, teeth roughly clashing and tongues fighting for dominance, “am i?”

donghyuck hissed through his teeth as he unbuckled his pants, letting his cum-covered shaft spring free. he was already hard and you unconsciously rubbed your thighs together to ease some of the tension building up between them. his hand shot to your throat, tightening his grip until you couldn’t breathe properly, before forcing you on your knees.

donghyuck tapped his hard and heavy cock on your lips a couple of times before speaking. “open up, slut,” and you did as you were told, parting your lips and poking your tongue out, waiting for him to slide in.

but he didn’t.

he wanted you to lick him clean, he wanted to see you do as he said, follow his orders like a good girl without complaints.

“clean the mess you’ve done. now.”

the harsh tone of his voice sent a wave of arousal straight to your core. your hands immediately shot up to grab a hold of his length, but before you got too close he stopped you. confusion was written all over your face and for a moment you worried he had changed his mind.

“no hands, i want you to work on it only with that dirty mouth of yours.”

with your hands gripping onto his thighs, your tongue swiped from the base to the head of his cock, eagerly licking him clean. once you had swallowed every drop of his cum, your mouth took him whole, hollowing your cheeks, one hand massaging his balls. donghyuck threw his head back as yours bobbed at a rapid pace, the tip of his cock reaching the back of your throat as you swallowed around him.

when he was about to cum, he pulled away from your mouth, making you whine at the loss. wrapping his hand once again around your throat like a beautiful necklace, he forced you up on your feet. he turned you around before pulling you closer by a rough tug. your clothed ass pressed against his dick, a mixture of his arousal and your saliva wetting the cloth. your hips ground back to both tease him, desperate to feel something, anything. his hands went to the front of your jeans, rubbing his fingers over your clothed clit and a whimper fell from your lips.

“more, i need more,” you pleaded, the barrier of clothes making the feeling less pleasurable.

he surprisingly complied without resistance, dipping the digits under the restricting cloth. a deep groan vibrated against the side of your neck when he felt the wetness that had been gathering inside your panties since your dare.

“look at you, so damn wet,” his mouth watered at the feeling of your needy heat. at this point, donghyuck knew everyone had an idea of what you two could possibly be doing, and although he would enjoy returning the favour by eating you out to his heart’s content, there wasn’t enough space nor time to do so comfortably. but he swore he would make it up to you some time.

“for who is it, baby?” the answer was obvious, but still, he wanted to hear it directly from you. he inserted one long finger until it was knuckles deep inside of you and you let out a squeak, head falling back onto his shoulder.

“for you donghyuck, all for you.”

“that’s right, slut, only i can make you that wet, only i can touch you like this. you’re mine, don’t forget that,” he inserted a second finger and pumped them deeply into you.

“yes,” you breathed out softly, too far gone to fight back with a snarky remark.

although his fingers felt good and you could possibly –with a bit of an effort– cum just from them, you still wanted more. you wanted to feel the nice stretch of his cock tearing your walls apart.

“please, donghyuck.”

“what do you want?”

donghyuck knew what you wanted. fuck, he wanted it too, so bad. he had been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long time and now that he could finally have it, he was going to make the best out of it.

“fuck me,” your core ached to be filled so you swallowed your pride and spoke out.

“condom?”

“we don’t need it, i’m on the pill,” you rushed, stomach twisting and turning in excitement, “please, just fuck me.”

donghyuck’s eyes turned darker, lust clouding both of your minds with the only desire to fuck each other stupid. he pulled down your jeans so they were pooling on your ankles and went back to pump his fingers inside you to make sure you were ready to take him. as he entered you, you had to lean on the sink in front of you to hold yourself up or else you would have faceplanted the mirror.

“you feel so good, fuck, so fucking tight,” donghyuck growled when he was balls deep in you.

whimpers fell from your lips from the delicious stretch of his thick cock. after a few seconds of you adjusting to his size, you backed your ass into his hips to let him know you wanted him to move. he gave a couple of thrusts to test the waters before picking up his pace and you gripped the sides of the sink as he pounded into you. his mouth worked on your neck while you brought one of his hands under your shirt to play with your breasts.

“such a pretty sight, don’t you think?” he tugged harshly at your hair to force you to look at your reflection on the mirror, thrusts never faltering.

your makeup was ruined; lipstick smeared messily all over your lips from the hot make-out session, neck full of bruises donghyuck left to claim you, shirt pulled above your breasts displaying your puckered nipples while one of his big hands grabbed your boob as they bounced with every hard snap of his hips.

“you have no idea how many times i had to control myself not to pounce on you,” his eyes never left your quivering reflection, completely in love with the way your frame molded with his, “every single time you couldn’t keep that pretty little mouth of yours closed and all i wanted to do was shut you up with my cock.”

“f-fuck,” his thrusts turned rougher as his free hand wrapped around your neck, tightening his grip and amplifying the mind-blowing sensations he was giving you.

your asscheeks slapped against his hips, which drilled against you at an unhuman pace, hitting the right spots with every snap and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, loud moans threatening to fall from your lips so you slapped your palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

“don’t, i want to hear you,” he gave a particularly hard thrust to try and draw a sound out of you, “i want you to be so loud that all of our friends know what we’re doing, i want them to know how good i’m making you feel.”

specially mark.

but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

“h-hyuck,” you couldn’t hold back the broken moan that fell from your lips, pleasure overtaking your body. your hands gave in and you almost fell forward, but donghyuck reacted sooner and pulled you by your hair, holding you up.

“address me properly, brat,” he growled in your ear. you felt a hard slap on your ass, the skin of the abused area stinging from the impact.

“i’m sorry… fuck, donghyuck,” your cries went straight to his dick, urging him to fuck you harder. he kneaded the flesh soothingly before spanking it again and again until you could make out the imprint of his big hand on your asscheek.

“f-faster, please,” you pleaded in a whine and he tsked, shaking his head, “such a greedy little slut.”

“what would everyone think of you if they could see you so eagerly taking my cock, mm?” donghyuck hummed, “begging for me to fuck you until you can’t walk properly?

shocks of pleasure shot through you, his dirty talk helping you reach your release faster than you anticipated. his grip on you was so tight you were sure you were going to be sore the next day. your moans turned pornographic as you neared your release, your walls squeezed around donghyuck to the point he was unable to move, so he started drawing circles over your sensitive clit to help you get off.

“let go, baby.”

and soon, his touch threw you over the edge, causing your body to shake and a broken moan to fall from your lips, legs weak as your whole weight only relied on your arms for support. he followed shortly after, grunting as he filled you up with his warm and sticky essence.

as he pulled out, a mixture of your slick juices and his seed leaked from your abused hole, dripping down your inner thighs. his fingers slid over to gather the drops of cum and opposite to your assumption, he didn’t push it back inside of you but brought the digits to your face, waiting for you to open your mouth.

“suck.”

and you did, eyes locked with his through the mirror as your tongue swirled around his fingers to lick them clean.

“fuck,” donghyuck sighed, “i didn’t know you were so dirty, sweetheart.”

and the teasing comes back.

“do you want me to remind you how i made you cum in your pants back there in a room full of people?” you rolled your eyes in disbelief and he just let out a breathy laugh.

“whatever. either way, even if they didn’t have the pleasure of fucking you or at least seeing you get fucked, they surely could hear you from how loud you were screaming my name.”

“good thing mark now knows who you belong to,” the words slipped out of his mouth before he could think and both of you shared a look of pure shock.

“did you just mention mark?”

“…no?”

“you did! what the fuck? were you jealous of mark?” you asked, eyes wide as you remembered the disgusted look on his face when you and mark got too touchy with each other during the game.

“i am jealous of mark.”

“what? why?”

“oh my god, you’re so dense.”

“shut up, i’m not.”

“yes, you are. i like you dumbass, that’s fucking why. why wouldn’t i be jealous if you two act like you’re dating but always deny it when questioned? i can give you my hoodies, i can cuddle you and hold your hand, i can spoil you with cute stuff. i can be your boyfriend, it doesn’t have to be him.”

everything was so weird.

you were supposed to be enemies for fucks sake.

but he looked cute with pouty lips.

“well, you sure have got a damn weird way of demonstrating it.”

“shut up, okay?” donghyuck snapped, done with trying to get you to shut the fuck up. “i just didn’t know how to approach you or talk to you at all, alright?” he sighed, a scowl forming on his face. “you always seem to be angry when i’m around.” the change in his voice shocked you, it was much softer now, as if he was afraid of you hearing it.

“hey, don’t beat yourself for it, alright?” you sighed, feeling bad for being so mean to him for no reason. because you really didn’t have a reason. whenever you weren’t at each other’s throats and you got time to observe him from afar, you saw how caring he was with his friends, even if most of the time he annoyed the crap out of them.

donghyuck actually seemed like a good guy… if you ignored his teasing.

maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you thought.

“so, would you be my-,”

suddenly, the sound of banging on the door resonated through the room.

“are you done already? i need to pee.”

you quickly fixed your clothes, embarrassed by the presence of someone outside the door waiting for you and donghyuck to get out and momentarily forgetting about the boy’s proposal. just as you were about to open the door and get yourself the fuck out of the situation, his arms wrapped around your waist to pull you closer and whisper to your ear in a way you could feel your panties get damp once again.

“we’re not done yet, princess.”

–lia:)