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rxqueenotd · 5 months

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The Verdict- Chapter Six

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: sexual content, NSFW‼️, mentions of religion, see prev. tags.

A/N: we’re taking a brief hiatus from Sandra and her drama in The Alps to focus on Leah and Vincent. I’m playing with the timeline at this point, but who really cares? I have a cutesy little playlist I’m cultivating for these two so if anyone has a suggestion or a song that reminds you of our two love birds, please send it my way. As always, I love your comments, the anons, the unhinged way you guys have responded to this fic. I’m humbled and love each and every one of you! And a huge thanks to @luxlisbons for giving this her stamp of approval. This fic would have never happened if it wasn’t for her and the horny lawyer anon.

Leah moaned softly, her hands tightly gripping the headboard, urging him on. Starting initially with her cheek pressed against his pillow and her ass arched ungracefully in the air, Vincent’s assault had caused her to flee, taking purchase against the headboard. She clutched the wood grain with intensity as his nose parted her from behind, eating her as if he were famished.

“Don't stop," she pleaded, her legs trembling as he continued his assault, kneading the tender flesh of her ass as he dipped a finger into her, working the sensitive spot with his long, arched finger.

"Gonna cum," she gasped, and he responded with a satisfied hum against her soaked cunt as she arched her head back, her long hair cascading down her back and brushing against Vincent's forehead. As she released, he eagerly accepted her offering, savoring her taste and the intensity of it all.

Feeling the steady rhythm of Vincent working himself against the back of her thigh, she reached behind and gently stroked his ash-gray hair.

"Come here," she beckoned, rolling over so he could slot himself between her legs. His flushed cheeks and hitched breath betrayed his desire as he gazed down at her.

"Inside," she whispered, guiding his pulsating cock towards her cunt.

He hesitated briefly, his hardened length brushing against her thigh. "Leah," he cautioned, but she shook her head determinedly.

Reaching for the discarded packet on the nightstand, she shook it in reassurance. "It's been five days. We're safe," she declared, tossing the pill packet back casually.

As he reflected on a three weeks filled with shared moments of intimacy, of finger fucking her on the couch, eating her until she cried on the kitchen counter, mutually pleasuring one another in the shower, the nastiest blow job he had ever received when they were alone in his office, he yearned for more than just fleeting encounters. With a silent prayer, he slowly entered her, hoping that five days would be sufficient protection.

As they both sighed in unison, Vincent wrapped a loose hand around her neck, drawing her close for a tender kiss to anchor them together.

"Can you cum again?" he inquired, seeking her confirmation.

"I don't think I've ever stopped," she replied with a hint of amusement.

Nodding, he resumed his movements, each deliberate thrust eliciting a pleasurable response. With a final deep thrust, he stilled, his expression contorted in ecstasy as a soft grunt escaped his lips.

Resting against Leah, he nestled his face against her neck and shoulder. She ran her hands through his hair, savoring the closeness as they lay intertwined, basking in each other's presence without the need for words.

________________________________________

“You’re quiet,” Vincent observed, his gaze drifting over the laptop screen that separated him from Leah as he lounged on the chaise across from her. Engrossed in a stack of case files, he had taken to reviewing a matter one of his associates was handling, offering advice and guidance as needed. With the lack of new evidence and the legal proceedings at a standstill for close to a month in Sandra’s case, he kept his hands occupied, often finding solace in Leah’s presence.

Leah popped an AirPod out and flashed him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, one of my friends is going through a divorce and wanted me to review their custody agreement.”

“I forget you have a life outside of this,” Vincent quipped, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Believe it or not, I do exist outside of this. I have a job, friends, and family,” Leah teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’ll have to return to the real world eventually, you know?”

“International law, huh? Why the sudden interest?” Vincent inquired, choosing to focus on her career shift rather than delve into the aspect of her eventual departure from France.

“I guess I just needed a change of scenery. Besides, with the current state of women’s rights in America, I can't see myself staying there for long,” Leah confessed, her tone tinged with determination.

“Perhaps France would be a nice place to settle,” Vincent suggested with a playful raise of his eyebrow.

Leah countered with a grin, “I was leaning more towards Italy. The termites and bed bugs here are not quite my cup of tea.”

“Not to mention the French being a bit... prickly,” she added, earning a chuckle from Vincent.

“À bon chat, bon rat,” Vincent quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes. It took Leah a moment to decipher the French phrase before she rolled her eyes at his playful banter. To a good cat, a good rat indeed.

“What’s with the French and their obsession with cats?” Leah inquired, genuinely curious.

Vincent’s smile widened as he confessed, “My black cat, perhaps.”

Leah blushed, playfully retorting, “So, are you the rat in this scenario?”

“More like Master Splinter,” Vincent joked, dodging the throw pillow she aimed at him with a laugh.

__________________________________________

"Do you have anything suitable for a dinner party?" Vincent inquired as Leah emerged from around the corner, her hair still damp from a recent shower.

"Maybe?" Leah responded, a hint of confusion in her expression. "Why do you ask?"

Running a hand through his hair, Vincent explained, "My mom is throwing a party for her retirement and has invited us."

"Us?" Leah raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain she meant both of us?"

Vincent nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "She's eager to meet my roommate."

Leah shot him a knowing look. "I'm sure that's exactly what she said."

"Something along those lines," Vincent admitted with a chuckle.

An hour later, Leah made her way into the kitchen where Vincent was seated at the bar. She had opted for a simple black off-the-shoulder dress that fell gracefully just below her knees, paired with ankle boots. Her long hair was elegantly styled in a low bun, with a few loose curls framing her face. Her makeup was understated yet chic, exuding effortless elegance.

Vincent rose from his seat, his gaze appreciative. "You look stunning."

Leah teased, "And you, Mr. Turtleneck. Slacks too? This must be a fancy affair."

"It's always a guessing game with my mother," Vincent remarked, leading Leah out the door as they embarked on their journey into the heart of Paris.

___________________________________________

"This painting used to terrify me when I was a child," Vincent remarked, pointing to the gauche artwork in the foyer as they entered his mother's apartment.

Leah studied the painting, tilting her head in contemplation, trying to decipher its meaning.

"Is this a metaphor for something?" she inquired, and Vincent simply shrugged in response.

On a plain canvas, a woman was depicted writhing in ecstasy while a heavily tentacled squid devoured her body.

"It's a metaphor for my mother's eccentricity," Vincent half-jokingly remarked as he guided Leah further into the apartment.

The opulent apartment buzzed with conversation, guests mingling from one group to the next. The windows were all wide open, allowing the sweet spring breeze to dance through the sheer curtains. The space was a blend of eclectic decor yet exuded the charm of old Parisian elegance.

A meticulously arranged table in the center of the room displayed the books that Vincent's mother had helped edit and publish, surrounded by various awards placed with care.

Vincent handed Leah a glass of champagne, and she took a generous sip. Suddenly, a man appeared, clapping Vincent on the shoulder. They embraced, and Leah discreetly stepped back, observing the moment unfold. As the man extended his hand to Leah, she looked to Vincent, puzzled.

"This is Tim, my stepfather," Vincent introduced.

Tim gallantly kissed Leah's hand, and she stifled a chuckle.

"The American," Tim remarked.

"The German," Leah retorted playfully.

Tim chuckled. "There was a war fought between us once."

"We can take this outside, if you’d like," Leah quipped with a grin.

Vincent redirected the conversation, inquiring, "Where is the guest of honor?"

"I'm not sure," Tim admitted, and Leah detected the scent of vodka on his breath as she subtly stepped back.

"Actually," Tim interjected, leading Vincent away, "come have a look at this." Vincent turned back, throwing Leah an apologetic look which she waved off.

As she made her way through the crowd, stepping out onto one of the balconies, she sighed.

A voice emerged from the shadows behind Leah, speaking quietly in French.

Startled, Leah turned around. "I didn't mean to startle you," the voice apologized.

As she stepped into the light spilling from the party, the woman before her offered an appraising smile. She appeared to be in her sixties, with reddish-tinted hair and a chic wrap dress.

"Is Tim singing yet?" The lady inquired.

"Is he supposed to?" Leah responded.

"He will start. He always does," the lady informed her. "If he's had vodka, he will sing."

Extending her hand, she introduced herself, "Joan Renzi."

Leah shook her hand firmly. "Leah Bardin."

"Funny," Joan remarked as she lit a cigarette, "I pictured you as a blonde."

"Sorry to disappoint," Leah chuckled.

"No, no," Joan replied, handing Leah a cigarette and lighting it for her, "not disappointed in the slightest."

The conversation between the two women flowed effortlessly. An hour had passed as they bantered back and forth, exchanging sarcastic remarks and jokes. Champagne continued to flow, with an unknown lady bringing glass after glass to Leah and Joan. Leah appeared visibly tipsy, while Joan stood firmly at the railing.

"Are you a Virgo?" Joan asked suddenly, squinting at Leah.

"God, no," Leah scoffed, "I'm a Capricorn."

"Ah," Joan nodded, "you know Jesus was a Capricorn. Or an Aries, depending on how you look at it."

Leah shook her head. "You must forgive me, I'm not big on fiction."

"I'm not big on fiction either," Joan remarked, laughing at Leah’s bold response, "or Virgos. Though I've never been into astrology, I do know I don't like Virgos."

"That's fair," Leah replied. "How do you feel about cats?" Leah inquired, eager to share the running joke with Joan.

Joan nodded, taking a sip of her champagne. "I got a cat when Vincent was around six. She was as black as the night sky with piercing green eyes. He carried her everywhere, even attempting to take her to school one day. He cherished her deeply."

"She died after he left for university. She was quite old, maybe fifteen or sixteen," Joan recounted, offering Leah another cigarette, which she accepted with a smile. "He skipped a week's worth of classes to come home and give her a proper burial at our country house."

Leah, taken aback by the sudden shift in the conversation after an hour of light-hearted banter, spoke up, "He refers to me as a black cat. The comparison being that I'm chic, slinky, intimidating, yet ultimately harmless like a black cat."

Joan appeared both puzzled and entertained, "I'd take that as the highest compliment, especially coming from the boy who adored a black cat throughout his adolescence."

Leaning against the railing, mirroring Leah's posture, Joan added, "He is quite smitten with you, you know?"

Leah fell silent, contemplating her response, as Joan smiled knowingly into the Parisian night.

As the singing commenced, Joan rolled her eyes and disappeared between the sheer curtains, making her way towards Tim's swaying figure.

Just then, Vincent appeared in front of Leah. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright and slightly glazed.

"Hi," Leah greeted him with a smile.

"Are you ready to go?" he inquired, "Tim's singing signals that the party is over. My mother will wrangle him to bed and disappear."

Leah chuckled softly. "They're an odd couple."

Vincent nodded in agreement.

"Do you want to walk home? It's a beautiful night," Vincent suggested as he guided Leah towards the door.

"Aren't we going to say goodbye?" Leah glanced back as Joan and Tim twirled away from the prying eyes of their guests.

"I'll call her tomorrow," Vincent assured Leah.

With slightly unsteady steps, Leah walked beside Vincent towards his apartment.

"My feet are always the dead giveaway that I'm drunk," Leah confessed, and Vincent flashed a warm smile at her.

"Yours are your cheeks. They turn the cutest shade of pink," Leah reached over and gently brushed her thumb across his cheek.

He caught her wrist, halting in his tracks. Tenderly, he pressed a kiss on her pulse point, pulling her closer as he leaned against a brick retaining wall. Cupping her face, he traced his thumbs across the curve of her cheeks.

"You just don't see it, do you?" he whispered, his voice filled with emotion, his eyes mirroring the intensity as they locked with hers.

Leah swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

Then, without another word, Vincent stood up, grasping her hand and leading her back to his apartment, the unspoken words lingering in the air between them.

The atmosphere shifted as they stepped into the apartment. Vincent, typically one to tread lightly, to cater to Leah's needs and desires, seized control. He gently pressed her against the closed door, locking eyes with her, intertwining their hands and holding them against his chest.

In a heartbeat, they found themselves on the bed, Leah lying on her back. Vincent, with tenderness, slid one boot off and then the other, caressing her foot with care, planting kisses on her ankle and shin. Leah observed him intently, admiring his carefulness and the admiration he undertook when touching her.

As Leah reached to undo his belt buckle, Vincent delicately redirected her hands, placing them on her chest. "We have all the time in the world," he murmured, his eyes twinkling with affection.

His gentle fingers traced under her dress, skimming along her thighs, deftly removing her thong in one fluid motion, his lips trailing the path where the lace had been. With swift movements, her dress was off her shoulders, revealing her vulnerability to him. Feeling a sudden wave of shyness, she closed her eyes.

"Look at me," he commanded gently as he removed his shirt.

Following his lead, Leah watched as he undid his belt, shedding his slacks and briefs in a single motion.

He was hard, painfully so, his pink tip leaking.

Leah's hips involuntarily arched as he positioned himself above her on the bed, planting a trail of kisses and nibbles along her skin. She anticipated his destination; he had been a constant presence between her legs for nearly three weeks by then.

"No," Leah croaked, her hands bracing against Vincent's shoulders. "I want you. I don't want your hands or your mouth. I need you inside me," she spoke with newfound boldness, fueled by the champagne.

Vincent, taken aback yet pleased by her admission, returned to hover over her, meeting her gaze filled with longing for connection and intimacy.

"You never have to beg," he whispered, tenderly kissing her lips, a gesture she eagerly reciprocated.

Rising to his knees, Vincent gazed down at her before drawing her legs towards him. Methodically, he positioned them over his shoulders, relishing the anticipation reflected in her widened eyes and sly smile.

Leaning in close, his lips brushing hers, he entered her slowly, fully, their bodies merging in a dance of passion and desire. As their rhythm intensified, pleasure and a hint of pain intertwined, pushing them to the brink of ecstasy.

After a fervent exchange, Leah, consumed by a mix of pleasure and tension, released a breathless moan through clenched teeth as she came hard.

Vincent, attuned to her unspoken desires and sensing the tension in her muscles, gently unwound her legs and intertwined them around his waist.

His hand tenderly encircled her throat, a familiar gesture she recognized as his own, as he drew her in for a deep, passionate kiss. Moving with deliberate slowness, he entered her, his hips moving in a mesmerizing rhythm that stroked the sweet spot deep within her.

"Deep," she moaned, guiding his hand to rest atop her lower stomach. "You fill me completely. You make me whole."

In that moment, she surrendered, cumming effortlessly as if she were drifting on a sea of clouds. Witnessing her vulnerability and hearing her heartfelt words, Vincent felt a surge of emotion, pulling her close and letting out a low groan as he reached his peak, spilling deeply inside of her.

They lay entwined, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle as moonlight painted their features in a soft, ethereal glow.

Leah's touch was feather-light as she reached out to caress his cheek, her voice a mere whisper in the stillness. "How am I ever going to leave you?”

Vincent's smile was tender as he reached out to stroke her cheek, “You won’t.”

Taglist: @weakling-grace

#vincent renzi fanfiction #vincent renzi x original female character #maitre vincent renzi #anatomy of a fall vincent #vincent renzi #the verdict

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styleslistic · 2 years

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How it Turned Out - Harry Styles fic Part 4

Y/N and Harry are nominated for the same Grammy and it's just a question of who will win. They finally meet in person but can they get over their phone call? Featuring anxious harry.

This is a much longer installment! I feel like we're really beginning to get into the meat of the story now.

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Taglist: @theekyliepage @sleutherclaw

Y/N wasn't really one to hold a grudge so she was more than happy to put her phone call with Harry behind her. Ultimately, she decided, it wasn't that deep. He'd misjudged where she was at in her career, and was probably not thinking about how the offer would sound from her end. And that was that.

It helped that they'd both been nominated for the same Grammy. Harry for his album Fine Line, and Y/N for hers called Morning Toast. That pretty much solidified that they were on equal footing to the public, and wiped any lingering imposter syndrome from Y/N's mind.

Y/N planned to make good on her promise to actually meet Harry now that she knew they'd be at the same award show. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy and honestly, their fans were right, they cold write an absolutely banging song together one day if they put their minds to it.

So she found herself bringing up their negliected text conversations the day before the award show, to send him a message.

Y/N: This is your 24 hour notice period to let me know if we're gonna end up dressed in the same outfit.

She needn't worry of course, their stylists will have made sure that their outfits were sufficiently unique, but it felt like an easy way to break the ice. Call it an olive branch.

But the hours ticked by, and no response. It was a little embarassing to be ghosted by Harry Styles himself.

Until an hour before she was due to leave, when her phone buzzed with a response.

Harry: okay I was going to send you a photo, but apparently I'm actually legally not allowed to. So I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Y/N smiled to herself. Olive branch successfully received! It was sweet that he'd thought to send a photo.

Y/N: Oof, very suspenseful!

Before she could wait for a reply, her phone was whisked away from her so they could do her final hair and makeup checks.

Red carpets were kind of awful, but since she was nominated, Y/N figured she should make the effort to talk to some reporters.

For obvious reasons, there were more than a few questions about her outfit. Namely who she had to bribe to let her arrive on the red carpet shirtless.

"Well," she told one interviewer. "I had to sign a lot of paper work saying that I would keep my nips covered, and then practice moving without flashing everyone. It took weeks of training." She winked for effect, and to keep the interviewer on her toes. In reality, she was obviously covered up underneath her jacket, and a hand in each pocket did more than enough to keep the lapels in place.

She moved onto the next person, who asked her "do you think you'll win?". It was a slightly cruel question that he seemed to think would trap her. But she'd faced plenty of those in her time.

"I'm up against some really great musicians, I especially love Taylor and Harry's albums. But equally I know I've worked just as hard as they have and I believe that my album is a solid contender. I'll be happy with whoever wins, but I think it'd be really special for an album that openly speaks about being a bisexual woman could get recognised." She felt good about her answer, toeing the line between confident and humble. But equally, she couldn't help but feel a little guilty knowing that not every artist had the luxury of being as open about their sexuality as she was.

She moved to the next person with a microphone, who greeted her warmly before

"Harry over here!" You hadn't noticed him, but he must've arrived while you were being interviewed. He looked up and smiled at the interviewer, mouthing a brief "hello".

"I know him," said the interviewer proudly. Y/N smiled generously.

"That makes one of us!" she joked.

"Oh, you've never met him? We better change that now," he said, beckoning Harry over again. This time Harry nods and makes his way over.

"Hi Harry. Congrats on the nomination. I've got your fellow nominee Y/N here too, and she was just explaining to me that the two of you have never met."

Harry turned to look at Y/N with a smile.

"That's true," he said, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Harry." Y/N took his hand with an amused grin.

"I'm Y/N," she mimicks, keeping up their charade. "Now tell me Harry, are you famous or something, because I feel like I know you from somewhere."

The Harry and the interviewer laugh.

"That's a mighty fine suit you've got there Y/N, almost as good as mine," Harry smiles cheekily.

"Why thank you, although you seem to have been generously provided with a shirt for once, unlike me," Y/N smirks.

"Must be a special occassion."

"Actually," butts in the interviewer. "I'd love to ask you both about that. You're both pretty notorious for doing your shows shirtless, what is that about?"

"Uhhh..." said Harry with a shy laugh. He looked to Y/N for help.

"I can't speak for Harry, but I don't think it should feel all that outrageous for people to be able to see my body. People take it as a statement from me, and to an extent it is, but that's not why I do it. I do it because I like the way it looks, I like that people are seeing me on my terms and maybe a little bit for the drama."

Harry threw her an appreciative smile, before saying "It was nice talking to you," to the interviewer, turning to Y/N to say "Really lovely meeting you," and ducking into the venue.

Y/N said her goodbyes to the papparazzi and made her way in after him, keen to talk more to him. He seemed to have disappeared into the throng of people milling about inside, however, making him difficult to find. Y/N made the rounds, saying hi to friends and congratulating those who had been nominated for awards.

She was, however, determined. She scanned her eyes over the crowds of people making their ways towards their various tables and caught Harry just as he sat himself down on

Harry," she said. "Harry!" she repeated when he continued staring stubbornly in the other direction.

"What!" he finally snapped. Y/N frowned.

"Um, are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said with an eye roll.

"I'm sorry, I thought we agreed that next time we met we would introduce ourselves properly," she said, crossing her arms for dramatic effect. "But if now's a bad time..."

"No it's, uh, thanks for saving me out there, I really did not have an answer to that question."

"No worries," she replied. He still wouldn't look at her. "I thought we could maybe have a chat, if you're interested," she continued.

"That's not necessary, I know where we stand," he said sullenly.

"What do you mean? I thought we had a deal that next time we were in the same room we'd finally have a conversation. Don't tell me that interview was all for show?"

"Well yes we did say that, but that was before-"

"Before I bruised your ego by rejecting your generous offer to make you look good?" she smirked, feeling like she'd hit the nail on the head of what his problem was.

"No I-"

"Relax, I'm a big girl. It's not that deep, Harry." She really meant it as well.

"No that's not what happened okay. That's not what I mean," he pleaded.

"Seriously, let's start over. I hear there's a spare chair at my table, and if you're not here with anyone, I think it's high time we got accquainted, yes?"

"Oh of course," he said, a little confused. "I'd be honoured."

"Honoured? My, aren't we old fashioned," Y/N said. "Alright, well my table is over there." She pointed to her table. "So when you have a moment, pop over and say hi."

Harry's eyes widened in some emotion that looked strangely hopeful given his previous rudeness.

"Yeah, I will be over in a few minutes, I promise," he said with alarming sincerity.

"Alright see you then," Y/N said.

As he had so solemnly promised, Harry did sit down at the spare seat next to her a couple of minutes later.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but found a hand planted over her mouth.

"Please just let me speak, first" Harry implored. "Don't say anything until I've said my piece," he begged. Y/N's eyes widened in confusion, but Harry just waited until she nodded before removing his hand.

"Jesus, take me out to dinner first will you?" Y/N joked, pointing towards his recently moved hand. Harry met her with an irritated look.

"Okay, sorry! Shutting up now." She zipped her lips.

Harry waited a moment as if to check she really was going to stay quiet, and then started speaking.

"I just wanted to to apologise properly for what I asked you. I am so embarrassed about how I treated you on the phone. I was so wrapped up in how great you are, and how great your music is, and I somehow decided that that was something I could use for my own benefit. I wasn't even thinking about how it would seem on the other end. I never meant to imply I thought I was better than you, or more successful or anything, because you're truly one of my favourite artists. And I just think you're so so cool and I'd really like to be friends. And now you think I'm some pretentious dickhead, and maybe you're right, I don't know. And then I was so rude to you earlier. I didn't mean to snap at you I was just so scared I was gonna fuck it up again." He blurted the whole thing out in one breath, staring stubbornly in the other direction and wringing his hands in his lap.

"Harry," Y/N said, cautiously reaching out to stop the movement of his with one of hers, and using her other hand to gently coax his face back in her direction. "You're shaking," she pointed out, concerned."

"Shit, sorry." He snatched his hands away and planted them solidly on his thighs.

"No it's okay, look at me yeah?" She gently pulled his hands away. "Look at me."

With what looked like a concerted effort, he did as she asked. His eyes looked a little glossy.

"God, this is so embarrassing," he said. Y/N shook her head as if to say this won't do.

"Okay, now you be quiet yes?" she said. Harry nodded obediently. "I was very sleep deprived and caught by surprised when you asked me to open for you, so I'm sorry if I came across angrier than I was. I was a little peeved, I'll give you that, but I meant what I said earlier. It's water under the bridge, let's forget the whole thing and be friends okay?"

Harry smiled nervously.

"You're sure you don't secretly hate me?"

Y/N chuckled.

"Course I don't," she smiled. "Now then, what do you say to a drink?" she said, reaching for a two glasses and the bottle of prosecco in the middle of the table. Harry nodded , and watched as she pours them a healthy amount each. She handed him a glass.

"Cheers," she said. "To us." Harry clinked his glass against hers. "And may the best album win."

"Oh please," said Harry. "Everyone knows it'll be yours that wins.

"I don't know... people seem pretty obsessed with Watermelon Sugar."

"Hey, you know for a fact One Time* outstreamed Watermelon Sugar by far," Harry pointed out.

"Youve done your homework, pulled that statistic out of no where didn't you?" Y/N laughed, surprised. "I may have outstreamed you, but only one of us was smart enough to release a song that was appropriate for the radio," Y/N replied, referencing the rather explicit lyrics of her song.

"You so could've come up with a radio appropriate version, surely?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity.

"Oh yeah, tell me how I could've rewritten the lyrics I just wanna take you home and fuck you into something they'd play on the radio without it sounding completely ridiculous."

"Hm, okay let me think," Harry said, taking a sip of his drink. "This is harder than I expected."

"Told you!"

"You could've said, um," he paused again, making Y/N laugh. "How about take you home and screw you, oh no, that's terrible." He shook hid head and laughed. "Yep, you were right." The pair chuckled.

An announcer came onto the stage and asked people to return to their seats.

"That's my cue to go back to my table, I guess," said Harry. "But will I see you at the after party? I'd love to talk more."

"Yeah I will be, I promise," Y/N replied, echoing his earlier words.

"Great." Harry hesitated. "And good luck, you really do deserve it."

"Good luck, Harry. So do you," she said with a smile. With a final nod, Harry made his way back to his seat.

***

The award show was good fun, with great performances from other musicians, including a few of Y/N's friends. But in all honesty, she couldn't really pay attention.

She was nervous about the outcome of her nomination. She wanted to win, or else get the whole thing out of the way. The anticipation was a lot.

But more than that she found that her eyes kept slipping to find Harry's several tables away. From their short conversation earlier, it was clear they had a similar sense of humour, so when a presenter or a winner said something that made her laugh, she looked without thinking to see if he was laughing too. Almost invariably, he was. More important, though, was the fact that more often than not, he was looking at her too. And that meant... well it meant something, she wasn't entirely sure what.

Eventually, the time came for Best Album to be announced, and neither of them could look away from each other for a second. It's you, mouthed Harry. Y/N grinned and shook her head. It's definitely you, she replied.

Then the person on stage started to speak.

"And the winner of this years Best Album goes to..."

The room seemed to close around the two of them, as they waited.

And waited.

On stage, the announcer opened the envelope and took the card out at a glacial pace.

"It goes to Taylor Swift!" The announcer shouted.

Harry and Y/N's eyes widened in joint surprise, and they just sort of stared at one another. Y/N had quite honestly forgotten that other people were nominated for the award at all. She mechanically started to clap, eyes still locked on Harry, who remained as confused looking as ever. An honest to God grin broke out on Y/N's face at the sight of it. It seemed he had forgotten the very same thing.

Harry seemed to knock himself out of his bewildered stage with a chuckle, which caused Y/N to break into a quiet laugh, which made both of them giggle. Y/N took a deep breath in through her nose to try and calm herself, conscious that there were probably cameras on her.

Finally, when Taylor started to speak into the microphone on stage, Y/N dragged her eyes away from Harry. She really owed it to Taylor to give this speech her full attention.

The next chapter will be Harry and Y/N hanging out at the Grammys after party and finally getting to know each other, maybe bumping also into an ex... who's to say.

*Y/N's song One Time is inspired by the song One Time by Chinchilla .I imagine Y/N's version to be a bit more guitar heavy/rock influenced but the vibe of song is just so good I had to use it. Especially those vocals at the end woweeee.

My askbox is open for any questions about the series! And for those wondering, I have deliberately set this series before Harry's House for ~plot reasons~.

#harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #musician!y/n #how it turned out

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lihikainanea · 5 years

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Going off your previous ask about Tiger being self-sufficient and not handling how much she now relies on Bill... How do you imagine things like his money come into it? I've always wondered how those kind of imbalances could affect a relationship between two people and I feel like Tiger would insist on paying for herself everywhere they go much to Bill's displeasure :p Also, is there a specific place you imagine them living? These kind of details always stick around in my head sorry!! X

I still haven’t quite worked out where they live. I mean, I think somewhere like LA or NYC makes sense, but I don’t necessarily HC that tiger is from there. In that case, I suppose they also could be in Sweden. Who knows?

I’ve thought about the imbalance it would pose, because tiger is such a badass bish and not only does she have no use for Bill’s money, but the fact that he’s filthy fucking rich probably outright makes her uncomfortable. But Bill’s a pretty humble dude--if not a bit naive sometimes--and he never acts like he’s loaded, which helps.

He probably balances it out and lets her pay for stuff sometimes, for both of them. Little things like ice cream, coffees, maybe the odd dinner now and then. I don’t think he gives her extravagant gifts (other than a few sundresses he insisted on buying her on vacation, but as he put it--that was purely a selfish gift and more for his benefit. I’m working on an ask about that).

Stuff like plane tickets to come out and see him, it’s not uncommon for actors to include in their negotiations shit like courtesy passes for their spouse or friends or whatever to come visit the set. And Bill made a point to start including it in his contract talks after tiger pitched such a fit when he sporadically bought her a last minute ticket--which cost a small fortune in her terms, it was still minimal to him--to come and visit him in some far away location. Tiger is definitely fine with the courtesy passes, paid for by the production company.

Otherwise I think there have been some instances--only because I love this kind of drama--where they have fought about it. Maybe tiger lost her job and went a few months unemployed, and someone gave her landlord a check for 6 months worth of rent, gave her utilities company a similar sum, and all of a sudden her cell phone bill kept showing a net balance of zero for months. She was livid. Not only because she’s self-sufficient, but because the last thing she ever wants Bill to think is that she wants him in her life for his money. And Bill most definitely doesn’t think that, but when he steps in like ole’ moneybags, she feels like a cheap whore.

It’s probably quite a heated argument, especially after they start sleeping together. And can you imagine? Like what if tiger really did start to feel like maybe...maybe she owed him something. Maybe Bill did something insane like...take her on a really expensive trip, for a monumental birthday or something. Maybe he, very quietly, paid off Granny’s house. And Bill did it out of the kindness of his own heart, to genuinely see tiger (and Granny) happy. And tiger gets that, but she can’t help but feel a little...indebted to him. So for weeks, she does everything for him. Cooks for him, goes to wardrobe fittings he’s always asking her to accompany him to that she almost always refuses, takes vacation and stays with him on his next shoot, blows his mind every night with incredible sex. Except Bill eventually finds out that she’s doing all this not because she wants to, but because she feels like she owes him.

And he is fucking livid.

#Leilani answers #BFF!Bill #BFF!Bill HC #BFF!Bill headcanon

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lavenus79 · 3 years

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The ultimate forgiveness

I bought this painting back in March. I wanted to gift this as a mother's day token for my mother. Unfortunately, the remnants of her reproach towards my lifestyle is still an open sore wound. It wasn't until last week of June 12, I decided to paint it. This painting will be a token of all the memories that could have been. I will hang it up on my wall to remind me that hope remains and forgiveness is everlasting. As I was painting, my mind was ruminating the events that led to every decision I made since I was 7 years old. I refuse to label my mother a narcissist, because I know some where deep in that heart of hers, she is capable of loving others unconditionally. I've seen it long before we moved to Brunei. I've seen it again in the span of 18 years attempting to reconcile our strained relationship. I was 7 when my mother introduced me to Christianity. She said I would go to hell for being disobedient. She proclaimed that I needed Jesus Christ as my lord and savior from going to hell. I believed her. At least, I thought that was how converting to Christianity worked. I've always been loyal. Regardless of my idiosyncrasies and eccentricities, I love her unconditionally. I've never fought back during those incidents she had hit me with objects. Having an industrial stapler thrown across your head or a drafting metal ruler struck across your skull or a frying pan across your side are things you wouldn't think any loving parent would use against a child. People would think me stupid for loving an abusive person, but she is still my mother. I know the difference between discipline and abuse. I know my eccentricities and idiosyncrasies are annoying to most people, but I at least try to make amends. I was never successful until I met my current husband. I was 15 when God revealed himself to me in a dream. I followed His instruction. I was the youngest member to be baptized in Pastor Medina's church. My mother taught me to be self-sufficient, self-reliant and to always lead by example. She encouraged me to be the best in everything that I do. Unfortunately, what my mother wants currently from me is detrimental to my health and my faith. That's not something I am willing to sacrifice for the sake of my family and my steadfast relationship with God. I got married at 21. I got pregnant at 22 and became a young mother at 23. With Christ's guidance, I took parenting and self-help classes to improve my life skills. As much as I love to say I had a perfect marriage with Chris, I cannot. Our marriage ended in abuse much like my parent's household. The only difference is, I was forgiven. God sent me a lot of friends and strangers to help me survive my tribulations. At this point of my life, I finally understood the message. God is merciful (Exodus 34:6-7). God is love (1 John 4:16). God is faithful (Lamentations 3:22-23). The Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath (Matthew12:8; 18:11; Luke 5:24; John 5:19; Colossians 1:17; 1 Thessalonians 5:23; Mark 12:28-34; John 3:36; 6:61-65; 14:28; 20:31) I may not be perfect to my mother, but I have been made perfect in God's eyes. I believe Jesus, who died and rose again, has forgiven all of my sins (Roman 5:10; Acts 2:38). When I committed my life to Christ as a born-again Christian, I struggled to fit in. No matter what church I went to, I was criticized, condemned and rejected. The reasons why I teach instead of evangelizing, is not only because of my experiences growing up in the church of my parents' household, but the way the message was delivered to me by other churches. In lieu of emulating the church, I decided that it would be best to educate those who are weak in faith, to know my story. My hopes that my testament of faith will show them that God's faithfulness to those who are poor in spirit, mourning, meek, hungry, persecuted, and being bullied is a gift of redemption and a gift of miracles. Since my mother is part of my story, I cannot stay silent. Otherwise, I would be fulfilling the prophecy of 2 Corinthians 4:4 which is opposite of Jesus’ instructions in

Matthew 28:19-20. I love my mom a lot. I miss her smile and tender-hearted motherly love. Since she has expressed numerous distaste towards my lifestyle, I can no longer be in her presence. In the span of 18 years of my attempts to reconcile our relationship and bonding, she has continued to exemplify Saul of Tarsus and King Lear. As broken-hearted as I am, I am holding on to the hope that God will heal her unforseen struggles. However, I am letting go of the burden she gave me, which has negatively impacted my health and been oppressing my faith. To know if someone has truly forgiven you, it is by their actions. I have forgiven my mother and will be continuing to do so by imparting wisdom to my own child. With that being said, I have been living by example according to Jesus' teaching. I summarized all of my experiences and lessons in one paragraph: My beautiful child. Be kind. Dream boldly. Love unconditionally. Pursue happiness. Seek truth. Live fully. Don't fret when things don't go your way. Some things aren't meant to be controlled. Forgive genuinely. Appreciate wholeheartedly. Respect humbly. Choose wisely. Fall gracefully. Above all else, Be Free. I'm 42 years old. I'm living the best life any Christian believer could ever ask for. To God be the glory. In Jesus' mighty name, Amen.

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