#random weeks here and there that I Do Not Feel like Myself

[maudie-duan]

Series Summary: Harry has been fighting to keep his relationship with Olivia afloat for nearly two years. At what point do you choose to either endure or let the strain of the world defeat his ambitious hopes of a lasting relationship? Or will a single night and a fleeting encounter be enough to change the projection of Harry’s path? Maybe our ‘Mystery Girl,’ Shiloh, will just happen to be in the right place at the right time. 

All Chapters Here <-

A/N: Harry's always in his feels! Hope you guys are having a wonderful week, enjoy the update!!

Tag List: @howling-wolf97 @sassamanda77 @babegoalsreads @palmettogal508 @indierockgirrl

@lizsogolden @sexymfharriet @pologoonies

Word Count: 3.4K

Warning: Strong Language, Major Angst, Eventual Smut, Emotional.

Hi

That was all she sent. I’ve waited months to hear a single word from Shiloh, and that was it. It made me laugh, the universe poking fun, a literal manifestation sent in a text, so I really couldn’t complain, right?

She sent the message at seven in the morning, which made it even more random. I felt like I needed context; was this the door opening? I ended up locking myself in my hotel room for hours, staring at that one word until my phone died, switching between apps on my phone. Trying to figure out what she was up to, sitting there at a loss of how to reply because what did she want? Could it really be that simple?

All day, I never messaged her back. That night, we had our NYC movie premiere, so I switched into “go mode” and put all thoughts of Shiloh on the back burner, thinking I just needed to make it through the evening, then she could have all my time. I could reach out tomorrow; maybe we could unpack everything and have a fresh start, but what did I tell you about the universe?

There I was, trying to bail out of the after-party, making a list of faces I needed to say my goodbyes to, and just as I turned my head to plot my escape, in walks Shiloah and Timothee. I kid you not—Shiloh was the last person I expected to show up. There I was, thinking I had a better chance of running into her in LA than in New York City, thinking I had more time, and what a fucking site to behold. 

Silly me for thinking we didn’t run in the same circle these days. It was crazy how impenetrable Shiloh was becoming in such a short time, and yes, I know a lot of it was my own doing because maybe she had always been there, but I was too caught up in my own world to pay attention. Isn’t it funny how the things we avoid seem to find us no matter what…and in seeps the regret of my avoidance, the universe laughing in my face?

I watched as she spotted Florence standing idle at the end of the bar. She must have been waiting for them because she already had drinks, shoving drinks into their empty hands while they gave their greetings and god, Shiloh looked amazing. She looked like she had just walked off a 90’s runway—sexy silver knee-high boots that reflected the light every time she moved an inch, her Gucci back tights a second skin, flush against her toned legs that looked like they went for miles, under a tight black mini skirt. I don’t know how she did it—Make her short stature stretch like that, but it was nothing short of impressive; she had me choking on my drink, disoriented as soon as we locked eyes, finding me in seconds, intuitively searching the room for my gaze, her green eyes shooting a spark down my spine as all the noise in the crowded bar overwhelmed my senses.

She saw me, but did she see me? It was the same question I would ask myself the rest of the night. The whole interaction reminded me of the first time we crossed paths, the way her eyes moved past me without a second thought. This time, our eyes met, and without hesitation, she was turning to look over her shoulder. Catching Timothee’s eyes, who turned my way, his stare lingering longer than Shiloh’s, and when he met her eyes again. I swear he gave the slightest nod; something about the gesture left me unsettled—the two of them sharing a communicative look that made me desperate for even a semblance of the bond they so clearly had.

What would my next move be? When now, I looked like a complete idiot for not texting back, behaving like I haven’t just spent months in therapy trying to get my shit together, and then I ordered another drink. I stood there at the bar, knowing that someone was bound to approach me if I just waited long enough, and to my dismay, of course, it would be Olivia:

“Negroni, please…” She says, lifting a hand to get the bartender’s attention. I already know what this is about; the gull this woman has sometimes really is beside me. Maybe this is what I liked about her at one point, but I’ve lost patience for it altogether, and now she feels like a stray cat trying to mark her territory, except that ship has long sailed, and I don’t have the energy for it. I truly am over it this time; I swear I’ve learned my lesson, and there will be no more weak-hearted temptation on my behalf—Vinece was embarrassing enough.

“I don’t want to do this with you, Olivia…” I tell her, not even looking her way as I bring my drink to my mouth. 

She laughs, fainting innocence, and I can tell it’s all an act, “Oh, please, get over yourself…I’m just ordering a drink—”

“Yeah—I’m sure…” 

“I see your bell of the ball just walked through the doors,” She laughs, “And is she with Timothee Chalamet? I’ve heard he has a way of charming the masses…” 

I laugh, “It’s none of my business…and it’s definitely not yours…” and I grab my drink and walk off, not giving her the satisfaction of me just on the cusp of groveling because I think I would do it. If Shiloh waved me over, I have a feeling I would say and do anything, and that’s just too fucking messy right now, so what do I do?

When I look back over, Shiloh is propped against a stool, Timothee beside her, his arm stretched behind her, resting on the bar. It’s very buddy, buddy, very hmmmm….is there something more there? But is there? And really, it isn’t my business, but if there was, why would she send me that message?

I listened to her Howard Stern interview on my way over from Italy. She has a way of talking about him, not nervous or dodging very many questions; they know each other. I’m practically a stranger in her eyes, so if there were something there, it would be perfectly understandable, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m jealous, that I wish it were me standing there, and as I get caught up in a conversation with one of my cast mates it doesn’t stop me from watching, from observing their progression.

At one point, I spotted her chatting it up with Chris Pine, honestly, longer than expected, long enough for him to order her a drink. What were they even talking about? Was this another one of those mysterious connections, or was it just her networking? 

Everything about her was perplexing; was it all an act, or would I ever have the chance to find out for myself? Then she crossed her long legs in front of her, lifting her glass to Chris’s—that’s when I thought I would lose it—the power she held over me was mystifying, a gravitational pull I could feel from every corner of the room. When she stood from the bar stool to excuse herself, she pulled at the hem of her tiny black skirt, I saw Chris’s eyes drop for a split second, and I had to excuse myself from the room because what the fuck am I doing?

And then I’m literally forcing myself to hide.

I’ve been on the verge of making a fool of myself all night, unable to hold a basic conversation for more than five minutes without my wondering eye getting the best of me. Maybe this is turning into a problem because I’m losing focus, losing sight of my life. She is all too consuming, and there seems to be no running, so what do I do? How long could I stay here, locked in this stall? If I leave without saying goodbye or making an attempt to be polite, am I an asshole? Does she already think I’m an asshole? Was she mad at me earlier, that passive glance? I can see why she’s avoiding me, but can’t she just understand? Is this a game? Did she come here with Timothee just to prove that she can, fuck, what is wrong with me? 

We’re both grown-ups. I can do this: march out there and say Hi. I can be casual, I can play it cool, I can play whatever game this is because my end game is Shiloh, and if I have to wait around for her and Timothee to play out whatever it is that is happening, the best I can hope that it’s quick, and of course, I’m assuming the worst. I need to get over myself, and as I walk out of the stall, there’s Timothee, washing his hands, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror, and there’s that smile, that sweet, innocent grin of his, and how does he do it?

“If it isn’t Harry freaking Styles…What’s up, dude…” He laughs, “I’ve been rocking your nail polish… I love it, man.” then he holds up a wet hand, his green-painted nails speckled with water spots.

And I nod my head with approval, his gesture making me laugh. “I thought that was you…”

“You’re nails look great.” I tell him, “That’s probably my favorite collection so far…” This comment makes Timothee shy away, smirking at the ground as he shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“Mmmm…” Timothes hums, eyes flicking to mine, and I smile. This time, I’m the one shying away as I finish rinsing the soap from my hands.

Timothee clears his throat, the echo sounding around us, “I’m here with a friend. I’m pretty sure you guys know each other…would you want to join us for a drink?” 

“Oh—like join you guys for a drink?” I ask, feeling caught off-guard. The thought of being that close to Shiloh is stirring my thoughts already.

He laughs, “Well yeah…”

“Mmm…” I nod, staring back at Timothee, confused, thinking maybe he has no idea, “I wouldn’t want to impose…” I tell him, searching his face for any clues.

“I’m not normally a name dropper, but is there ever a time that Harry Styles’s presence is an imposition?” He asks, placing a hand on my shoulder. I’ve never been this close to him before, seen his face this close and personal as I take in the details that probably draw Shiloh in. 

And all I can do is smile, “I could think of a few times…trust me…” I answer, and this makes Timothee laugh, his eyes flitting over my face, and when he realizes his hand is still on my shoulder, he drops it. 

“Sorry…I’m not gunna lie…I’m a little drunk—” Timothee confesses, pinching two fingers together. 

I laugh, feeling my drinks catching up as Timothee’s close proximity makes me light-head, his closeness meaning Shiloh is even closer.

“Come on—” and he nudges his head toward the door, and without thought, I’m following, my feet treading lightly like air collecting under my feet, and I’m sailing, my feet moving in stride with Timothee, my thoughts moving closer and closer to Shiloh. 

My head is spinning on a new high, a birds-eye view, and when we finally make our way to Florence, Shiloah is nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Shi?” Timothee asks, gutting me, a nickname, god what else will slice me open?

Florence looks around, “I think…” and I follow her line of sight, “Ah…yes, she still there…” She points over at Shiloh, who is awkwardly sandwiched between Oliva and Chris, and when she meets my eyes from across the room, they linger as she brings her glass to her mouth. Then Olivia places a hand on Shiloh’s forearm, trying to hold her attention, and I see what she’s doing.

My hands break into a cold sweat, my heart thudding against my sternum. Olivia has my blood boiling, pissed because she knows she’s crossing the line. It’s not like I have any claim to Shiloh, but I know she’s only talking to her to make me mad, and it’s fucking working. I take one last glance and turn away to order another drink; that’s when Timothee puts an arm around my shoulder, asking me to take a shot with him.

Florence joins in, the two of them keeping my attention, even though a piece of me wants to look over my shoulder any chance I get, wondering how long Shiloh could end up being held hostage. If there’s anything Olivia is best at, it’s fucking talking, and I’m sure Shiloh is kind enough to stick it out: One shot goes down and I swipe my drink off the bar top, needing something to hold, something to distract me and I risk another glance, catching Shiloh mid smile as she nods her head, a look on her face like she’s actually enjoying the conversation, and the thought makes my stomach stir, a knot of nerves tightening as I take a drink. 

 It’s like Shiloh can detect my stare because her eyes sweep to mine, and I turn away quickly, downing the rest of my drink, like a dummy, afraid of getting caught, but maybe I don’t care anymore, and I look again, watching as Shiloh excuses herself. Then she’s moving through the crowd, her eyes trained on me, and it’s too much, my heart pounding, the excitement racing through every limb in my body, and when she smiles, I have to look away, smiling down at my lap, all-knowing, and I wait.

I can’t look as she closes the gap between us, knowing she’s mere seconds away from being here, right next to me, a foot, maybe inches apart because how many times have I daydreamed about this moment, the chance to look into those eyes again, capture her smile again, refresh the tiny details that seem to be slipping—slipping away with every negative thought, every self-doubt because she just smiled, that smile was for me, that smile making my whole body tingle, a chill humming down my spine, just waiting for her to pass behind me, and I’m listening, waiting for Timothee or Florence to yell out her name, to hear the sound of her familiar voice.

And then there’s nothing, and when I look over at Timothee and Florence, they’re still caught up in their conversation, no Shiloh, and when I look back in Shiloh’s direction, someone’s drawing her into another conversation, my heart dropping when she looks over, her eyes shifting past me and calls out for Timothee, gaining his attention. She waves him over, turning her back to me as soon as Timothee joins them, shutting me out, and I’m ordering another drink, sinking into the disappointment. 

“I’ll see you in California, Harry,” Florance tells me, placing a hand on my back as she pushes past me to join Shiloh and Timothee. 

When Florence ventures over, it’s clear that she’s making her exit, taking with her the guests she so graciously invited, and I force my eyes away, guessing by their actions that they’re forming a game plan for the rest of their night because it’s obvious that it isn’t over. I can feel their excitement from here, from where I’m sitting all alone. 

I don’t even watch them leave. I just finish my drink and call my car service, giving them a head start because, at the rate in which I’m falling under, descending into the pity party that I know awaits me back at my hotel, I don’t want to risk running into them. When I finally collect myself, I slip out, my bodyguard waiting for me just outside the doors, and slide into the back seat, exhaling a long breath until I feel my body decompress, my lungs emptying as I stare out the window, the New York nightscape passing me by, the city alive, even though I’m slowly fading.

The car stops at a red light at the corner of an empty block, my eyes barely grazing over the three people standing on the corner until I see the silver boots. Then Timothee’s face comes into focus, snapping me out of my haze. Florence parts ways with them, laughing about something over her shoulder, then runs up the stairs into the brownstone, so random building, and it must be where she’s staying.

“Can you pull over, maybe across the street over there?” I ask the driver, and he flicks the blinker, slowly turning onto the street and parks. 

He parks a few cars down, and I turn to peer through the back window; Shiloh and Timothee lit up under the street light hanging tall above their heads, the two of them going back and forth, a pleading look on Timothee’s face—and before I continue. I want you to know this wasn’t my finest hour—I just had to see it for myself. Know what they were when the world wasn’t watching. 

I couldn’t tell if it was an argument or just a discussion. It seemed private by the way they didn’t follow Florence into the building. So they wanted to be alone, but what were they talking about, and why did it seem like Timothee was trying to convince her of something? His mouth moved a mile a minute, talking with his hand like he was trying to stress a point, his face giving him away the entire time, and then Shiloh shifted her body, giving me the perfect view of their side profiles, a better idea of her reaction in all of this.

Timothee says something, signaling a pause between them both, his eyes trained on her face, and it has to be a question because Shiloh is just there standing there, gazing up at him, her arms hugging tight around to her body. I can’t read her expression, but when her eyes dart to the ground, and she shakes her head, Timothee throws his hands up in the air, a fit of frustration sweeping between them both. 

That’s when Shiloh reaches for his arm, mouthing the word, “Please,” because I see it plain as day, my heart sinking with the plea because she’s pleading with him now, both hands wrapped around his forearm, trying to keep him there. Timothee readying himself to walk away from whatever this was because it was obviously something, and then Shiloh is grabbing his shirt, her eyes seeking his, that same pleading look that Timothee had now taking Shiloah’s features, and I’m sick with it, that last drink churning in my stomach realizing he’s about to get my girl, she’s about to be his, because it couldn’t be more evident what this conversation is about.

Timothee turns back to face her, Shiloh pulling at his shirt, drawing him closer as a warm smile plays on her lips—it’s like watching a movie—a tale as old as time, who will get the girl. It’s like a strange sense of Deja Vu because maybe deep down, I always knew I would never get the girl because I never deserved her. Then Timothee is cupping her cheek, Shiloh’s hand coming up to his, and they both laugh as Timothee utters the words that I know are about to be my ending.

And it’s devastatingly beautiful, the smile that spreads on her face, because this is it, because when she nods her head, “Yes,” gripping his wrist as he slowly leans in to press his lips to hers, she wants it. After all, she’s grabbing his face, coming up to the tips of her toes as Timothee wraps his arms around her body, closing the gap between them, a gasp leaving my mouth when I realize I’m witnessing their first kiss.

Devastating doesn’t even begin to describe the depth to which I’ve fallen, the sinking feeling that I may never have my chance or that any chance I would have had in the past was completely ruined. Tell me to beg. I’ll do it; tell me to grovel, to crawl on my knees and plead for it because I’m burning for it, on fire for a love I know is mine. Tell me to reason; I’ll find reasons to fight, lay claim to a person I barely even know, but my soul knows because I’m not a godly man, but I’ve been praying, I’ve been praying ever since New York.

A/N: Honestly, I laughed out loud when I wrote that very last line with no intention of doing it, and then I just couldn't help myself! So then it had to become the title.

[bread-of-death]

Chat I think I need a psychiatrist

[itspileofgoodthings]

ALSO I am learning how to teach very introverted students, something my natural skillset as a teacher does not help me with.

[mylove-thresher]

I keep trying to post shit I been drawing lately BUT I CANT. I CANNOT BRING MYSELF TO. THE WORMS INSIDE MY HEAD DO NOT APPROVE OF THEM. I CANNOT FUCKING DRAW. PUT ME DOWN. I DONT FEEL THE SILLY IN ME.

[lemonynuggets]

if I don’t headcanon all my favorite characters as aspec I’m gonna die

[sskk-manifesto]

Finally got around to watching ep 11 (´；ω；｀)

[dbphantom]

How its been going if I'm being quite honest

[hplonesomeart]

We did it folks graduation achievement unlocked >:D

[redflannelsheets]

.

[sunlightfeeling]

gonna maybe be away for a lil bit (I say maybe because it really depends on my brain’s temperment)

currently fighting some darkness atm that won’t fucking stop (I’m okay, though, I swear, but its been all fucking day and I need to sleep and I can’t because thoughts)

leave a message after the beep

[rainbow-burst]

I being so fucking normal about this fit on him rn I'm beingsofuckingnormal I'm beingsofuckin nor-

[loumauve]

-

[larryjohnsoncosplayonthursday]

last

for realsies

[unfamiliaris]

growing to hate one of your coworkers at your full time job is honestly one of the bottom ten experiences any human being can have and yes its lower than torture and death

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x wife!reader

contents: fluff, suggestive. arranged marriage au. hints of slow burn. you like playing hard to get and he loves calling you his wife. 1.4k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ I had to deposit my messy thoughts somewhere and this headcanon post was the result.

part two here. ꒱

⭒ Arranged marriage with Sylus where he prefers to call it a “strategic partnership” as a means of appearances to flaunt that he has it all—an empire, riches, strength, influence and now a darling wife who waits for him at home. You’re not so much as a random choice, Sylus had been watching you from afar for a while and in exchange for his protection in the N109 zone he strikes a deal with you to play a simple role. You have every reason to be wary of him and know to keep your wits about yourself, but even you acknowledge that your chances are better with him. Though, if you asked him how he was so certain you’d agree to his proposal he’d admit that he wasn’t but he knew you’d consider it if he had an advantage over you.

⭒ He sets his terms and conditions—you reside in his humble abode, wedding ring always worn on your finger, and attend events with him as a pretty accessory on his arm to contribute to his image. But he’ll never admit that he actually enjoys your company at business functions that often feel dull to him. You are more than welcome to spend your days as you please so long you don’t cause him trouble, and that also means you have his black card privileges to spoil yourself rotten. Of course, he accommodates most requests you may have like sleeping in separate rooms if that’s what you wish (and redecorating because his furnishing decisions are quite bleak).

⭒ Luke and Kieran can sense that their boss feels something for you despite his nonchalance toward this little arrangement. It starts off small, it always does—Sylus takes note of your morning and night routine, your picky eating habits and has the chef make adjustments to your preference, how he sees you out in the gardens and come back with spring tulips to brighten the space and the next week he already replaced the slowly withering flowers with fresh ones. The twins whisper among themselves that he’s often less annoyed and irritated when you’re around, and their boss wouldn’t go through the trouble of being considerate unless he cares for you. It’s almost exciting for them both to witness a budding romance unfold before their very eyes and they do offer a helping hand here and there to keep things interesting.

⭒ Sylus thinks it’s adorable how you keep trying to resist him and that’s precisely the reason he loves seeking you out just to watch your resolve crumble under his touch. He finds you in the kitchen preparing a snack and cages you from behind with his hands planted on either side of you against the counter. “Hey kitten, I thought I’d find you in here.” You feel his hot breath down your neck as he pushes your hair aside just enough to lay a soft kiss on your shoulder. He chuckles when you comment that he’s being awfully touchy with you, and he purposely moves closer so that his chest is pressing against your back. “Perhaps I just can’t keep my hands to myself where you’re involved. Besides, you’re my wife now. I think I have the right to touch you whenever I like.”

⭒ You remind him that you’re his wife in title only, but that doesn’t discourage his flirtation and teasing as he allows you to nudge past him. He follows you into the common area and takes a seat on the couch, spreading his legs wide and taking up a lot of space. His gaze is settled on you as he pats his thigh and his lips curl into a smirk. “Come here, wife.” You naturally scoff meanwhile you place the plate of seasonal fruits on the side table and situate yourself closest to the armrest, taking a bite into a juicy red strawberry as you ignore his piercing stare.

⭒ For someone who always gets what he wants, Sylus isn’t used to being defied like this. And had it been anyone else his patience would wear dangerously thin, but he supposes that you’re a special exception because he seems to enjoy the chase and claiming its reward. With one small gesture, he drags you across the couch by a gravitational pull and you squeal when the swirling red easily turn and maneuver you so you’re forced to straddle him and your hands prop on his shoulders for support. “There, much better. Comfy? This is the best seat in the house.” His gaze locks with yours, and he thinks you huffing and frowning at him is simply cute. He firmly grabs your wrist with the bitten strawberry in your hand and lifts it to his mouth for a sweet taste.

⭒ “No fair… using your Evol against me like this.” You grumble under your breath as you gently trail your thumb from his chin to the corner of his mouth where the strawberry juices began to spill. Then an impulsive thought takes over and you pinch his cheek between your fingers, creating a sticky mess on his face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. That’s for treating me like a sack of potatoes.” He chuckles once more, his hand falling on your hip and he gives you a light squeeze. “Oh, I do have every intention of fully enjoying my wife tonight.” And by that, he means taking you out for a joyride on his motorbike and feeling your arms wrapped around him tightly as the engine roars through the streets under the night sky and sinking moon. Sylus would never engage in any intimate acts you weren’t ready for, but he loves seeing you fluster at his suggestive remarks.

⭒ As the weeks cross over into months, you never imagined that you’d be spending so much time with Sylus outside of your agreed terms. He’s everywhere in every waking moment of your life even when he’s not there physically. You’re learning new things about him each day and you (begrudgingly) like being around him—even when he can sometimes be a playful bully toward you. When he’s gone for long stretches of time to deal with negotiations and other important matters in the N109 zone, you can feel your heart yearning for him but you’d never say that you miss him out loud when you think he's still toying with you. But with the way he cares for you like you’re both in a real and genuine relationship, it’s hard to know his true intentions and keep your feelings buried deep inside your chest for long.

⭒ You accidentally confirm that Sylus does harbor romantic feelings for you when you carelessly bring up your replacement in a lighthearted joke. You’ve never seen his face falter so quickly at your words as he averts his gaze for a moment to collect himself—a hint of vulnerability in his crimson hues. “I wouldn’t have found a new wife.” He shakes his head and tells you, his voice a little rougher than before. You don’t know what to say, but you manage a soft “No?” that reaches his ears. “No. I wouldn’t have been able to replace you, kitten. You’re it for me. The only one. No one could fill the void you’d leave behind.”

⭒ You and Sylus have kissed before, but this is the first time you’re initiating it. As you brush your lips against his, there’s a softness you never noticed. His hand slips around the small of your back and he pulls you close against him, returning your kiss with the same tenderness as though savoring the taste of you. You lean back after a moment, your palm meeting his cheek in a sweet embrace. “You know, I'm still getting used to the idea that I’ve fallen for you.” You can see him returning back to normal when he offers you a cocky smirk. “And yet here you are. In my arms, with your lips on mine. I think you’re not being entirely honest, my beautiful wife.” Sylus has waited a long time to hear those words from you but you don’t need to know that right now.

[h0neyfreak]

….