#so many tall beautiful women at this convention

[puppmeo]

I love formative lesbian experiences at the anime convention

[fozmeadows]

TERFism really is just white beauty politics in a pseudo-feminist hat, because there's simply no escaping the fact that every concern-trolling argument TERFs make against transition, and particularly towards trans men, boils down to the worst thing you can be is an ugly woman, where "ugly" is code for "insufficiently young, white and/or traditionally feminine."

The ridiculing of trans women, for instance, centers disgust at the idea of anyone with traditionally "masculine" features attempting to pass as female, which - as has been well-documented by this point - frequently sees butch women, women of colour, older women, tall women, strong women, and any other woman who doesn't fit this dogwhistle standard of prettiness caught in the crossfire. Masculinity is incompatible with beauty, this logic goes, and all women must be beautiful. Ergo, the more masculine you appear, the less female you are. TERFs, of course, will try to deny their active participation in anything so ragingly unfeminist as policing women's bodies in pursuit of a narrow physical ideal, and yet, as the recent furor over Imane Khalif has roundly shown, this is exactly what they end up doing: an endless reinvention of new and shittier forms of phrenology to explain why this woman or that is not, in fact, really a woman.

Accepting trans women who don't, by conventional standards, pass, means accepting the femininity of women - both cis and trans - who diverge from these beauty standards: who have facial hair or receding hairlines, deep voices or big hands and feet, who are muscular or tall or strong-jawed, who are either incapable or undesirous of pregnancy, or one of a thousand other things we're told (despite the fact that humans are not a strongly dimorphic species) are exclusively masculine traits. But trans women who do pass engender a different terror: the fear that beauty is not an exclusively "feminine" inheritance, such that someone deemed a man might natively posses it and thereby render "real" feminine beauty somehow less special.

And then we have the scaremongering around trans men, which frequently presents as "concern" over, specifically, impressionable girls and young women being tricked into harming their healthy bodies by the nefarious Trans Cabal. That this same concern is never extended to adult women is the giveaway, because adult women are, by this reckoning, inherently less valuable, being neither as pretty nor as fertile as their younger counterparts. It's already too late to prevent their inevitable descent into the ugliness of ageing, and either they're parents already (in which case, their biological purpose has been served, thus rendering their identities past that point moot) or else have been written off as too old for childbearing anyway (which adds to their irrelevance).

Which makes it all the more ironic how many of the stated negatives of transition for trans men dovetails with things the cis female body normally does as it ages and/or postpartum. Long-term binding is decried for the way it causes the breasts to sag or deform and the nipples to enlarge, for instance, when this is exactly what happens as a consequence of pregnancy and breastfeeding. An increase in facial and body hair is common for post-menopausal women, let alone those with PCOS. Plenty of women naturally have deep voices, with many growing raspier regardless with age, while both ageing and childbirth inevitably alter the appearance of genitalia, sometimes radically. Even top surgery, the procedure most maligned as "butchery," has its cis analogues: not only for survivors of breast cancer or those who, due to genetic predisposition towards aggressive forms of it, opt for preventative mastectomies, but those who undergo breast reduction surgery, whether for cosmetic or health reasons - while some women, on yet a third hand, are natively flat-chested.

Taken together, then, what unifies the demonizing fear of trans women and the infantilizing dismissal of trans men by TERFs is an obsession with a specific, youth-and-Eurocentric-based notion of female beauty, where being deemed too masculine in either direction is the disqualifying factor. In TERFlandia, masculinity therefore becomes a synonym for ugliness: trans women can't shed it sufficiently to be counted at any age (unless they pass, which is a prospect too terrifying to countenance), while trans men must be stopped at all costs from embracing it (unless they're already old, in which case they no longer matter). Which is not to say that transphobia more broadly lacks for other avenues of attack; it's just that concern around trans bodies and the necessity of controlling them inevitably circles back to beauty, youth and fertility as the abiding hallmarks of womanhood, and as soon as you point this out, all the other arguments start to unravel.

[missmarveledsblog]

Flumpy ( jake seresin x reader) part 8

summary : the moment he was dreading came jake got his deployment papers , terrified since this is first time he's been in love while on deployment , he self sabotages everything maybe even losing the best thing he's ever had in his life can he make it right in four weeks before he's to leave for three months

warning : angst . jakes a bit of a dick in this one ( don't kill me ) hurt

a.n. : i know i said last part would be part 8 but i can't leave it at that so i'll be posting new parts over the next few days <3

The hard deck  was busier than usual  as it was convention season  meaning people all over the US and even abroad coming to san diego trying to get a room and good night out experience while they were there .   many woman and men flocking in as a chance to bed a man in a uniform like it was a universal bucket  list goal .  This used to be a prime time for jake seresin like his own personal christmas in the past to bed these women with no expectations of anything else giving  they would be go by end of the weekend back to where ever they came from .  But now it was different it was just another weekend at the hard deck since he got the girl of his dreams even if said girl was currently dressed up as some game character having an intense argument  or  “ discussion” with fanboy about some sci fi show he’s never seen  or was it a game  he was unsure after  half hour .  He wasn’t going to lie when he discovered his girl was a major nerd fully into the whole dress up thing was probably the hottest thing especially when it was his beautiful girl .  her wig long forgot tuck in his truck safely but the costume she had on made him strain in his pants most of the night . the downside of  it was he wasn’t the only one that thought she looked good , guys asking if they could take picture with his girl , his flumpy well it brought out  the jealous side in jake . he watched every time she went to the bar or if she was playing pool how the eyes lingered on her  a little too long .  he found himself standing behind wrapping his arm around her waist , placing kisses on her neck  letting them all see she was his  not that she was complaining at all . 

It also didn’t help he got those dread papers that told him he was to spend three months away from the woman he love. He never had this before , he never gotten to the stage with women to wait for him while he was deployed , he was going to let her enjoy the weekend let her  have her fun , he could tell her while she was so excited and so happy it would crush her. But he wouldn’t be lying if  it wasn’t driving him more crazy knowing he’d be away for three months and guys would be looking at her like that when he’s not around it wasn’t that he didn’t trust her , he didn’t trust his fellow men .  the dagger squad would be there to be there for her , it was just all new for him  and it scared the hell out of him . 

She loved convention week  truly she got to let her nerd side run free  and even more so having a friend like fanboy to join her and an amazing boyfriend who hyped her up even if he’d no clue who the character was . what she didn’t like though was the base bunnies  that came from all over looking at her man like he was some sort of prize to attain .  how their hungry eyes tried devour him when he was playing darts or heading to the bar . she couldn’t blame them though jake in his uniform was drool inducing material . how big his arms looked almost straining in the khakis  or how he stood tall like a tree but at end of the day that was her tree . winning her debate with fanboy she sat with nat as the guys teamed up  on game of pool  , the weird addition to the squad and one man she didn’t see coming was kyle. Turns out he wasn’t such a bad guy after all just a dumb guy trying to make an impression but learning a lesson and knowing the right way to go about thing or was it the brunette beside her that had him changing his ways . like a different man altogether  to prove he was worth a chance he and nat hit it off . took them all awhile to get used to  come around especially jake but even he ended up giving the guy a chance .   the two watched their men team up against fanboy and payback on the pool table shamelessly ogling their men  and they weren’t the only ones . 

“ god if they don’t stop i think i may end up in a cell tonight” y/n huffed  eyes glaring around the bar. 

“ down girl , nothing to worry about plus jakes been staking his claim all  night and kyles not far behind him  but it is slightly annoying” nat agreed. 

“ ugh i need a drink you want one?” she hopped off stool . 

“ nah but the boys look like their beers need a refill” . 

“On it lieutenant trace” she saluted making nat snort out laughing. 

It was hard to manoeuvre  almost bumping into everyone on the way  . she finally reached the front of the bar almost dramatically as penny came over taking her order she sat waiting for the drink feeling someone bump into her harshly . 

“ hey watch it asshole… mark?” her head tilted seeing an old college buddy last she heard he was across the pond . 

“ hey short stuff what you doing here” he cheered almost lifting her up in a hug. 

“ erm i could say the same thing mr i moved to the uk” she laughed. 

“ my husband got transferred to a firm here in san diego so boom here we are” he chuckled . 

“  i knew it lizzy and kelly thought i was full of shit but the gaydar is never wrong” she jumped excitedly.  

“ i mean it was very obvious  i don’t know how i was blind myself to it” he rolled his eyes . 

“ well i went through something like that myself .. i mean not sexuality but i was totally blind to see my boyfriend was in love with me … long story” she snorted . 

“ oh well since  we should meet up for coffee and share the long storie , here put your number in  and we’ll sort the detail” he smiled handing her his phone. 

“ who hell is talking to , why is she taking his phone ?” jake frowned watching the scene  transpire  usually his rational side would chalk down to something reasonable but he never seen this guy before nor has she mention a friend in the hard deck and he knew all her friend hell the were sitting with him in that moment. 

“ ask her  and you’ll see  its nothing” phoenix rolled her eyes knowing it was nothing. 

“ dude looks like a male model or some shit”  kyle spoke up . 

“ not helping newbie” fanboy winced. Jake was pissed  the attention she’d been getting all day and night pissing him off , maybe he wasn’t thinking right or maybe it would be easier not to have her waiting for him , to worry about if he was going to be coming back or not .  it was stupid idea but maybe it was the right one . 

“ hey jake thought i might find you here” a voice purred . 

“ hey cassie not the time” he huffed  she was probably  the only regular he had when it came to convention time. 

“ looks like i came right  time , you look all tense maybe we could head to my hotel i can help you out” she smiled fingers dancing up his chest . 

“ yeah not happening “ a voice called pulling her hand away . 

“ and why wouldn’t it sorry little girl i got here first and we go way back” cassie smiled clinging to jakes arm. 

“ i’d suggest you get yourself off my boyfriend before you get a reservation in the hospital lady” y/n almost growled. 

“ wasn’t your boyfriend when you were getting that dudes number” he scoffed. 

“ doesn’t seem like your boyfriend want me to leave” cassie smirked as y/n furrowed while jakes made no  way to move the woman.  Why wasn’t he moving the woman from his arm. 

“ actually i was going to ask you to come to dinner with that dude and his husband during week but i can see your busy,  can’t believe you thought i would do something like that to you ” she placed the drinks down and grab her coat and bag rushing through the crowd not caring who she hit on her way   . 

“ shit y/n wait   ..get off me “ he moved  pushing through the crowd  realising this wasn’t the right idea it wasn’t even close to the right idea.  By the time he got out of the bar she was long gone , pulling his phone out trying to call her but it just kept going to voicemail .  he just maybe fucked up the best thing that had happened to him all because of his own fears and stupidity .  his head hung low he called a cab to take him home try and see if he could fix the whole mess  that’s even if she would hear him out. 

She felt sick to her stomach , how could he not trust her , how could he think she would do something like that to him when she spent majority of her time showing him he was the love of her life maybe he was bored with her. Maybe after it all he just wasn’t ready to be in a committed relationship god she felt so stupid  and even worse they lived together how the hell was she going to navigate it all . she couldn’t even think of that now everything hurt  from a migraine to the feeling of her heart hurting like it that tramp at the bar  took it from her chest and stomped on it . maybe they rushed into things and he changed his mind on how he feels now she was crying in the back  of an uber while the poor driver didn’t know what to say he probably thought she was a nut job in her costume  and make up that was definitely down her face now. Her phone kept buzzing and beeping between jake and nat calling her non stop . she text nat to let her know she got uber home and she’d ring when she was better as for jake she didn’t even bother to text or ring him well she did telling him to leave her alone. 

The moment she got home she headed straight her room thankfully roo was out or else it would be world war three in the house she knew that much for sure . she grabbed the clothes jake left in her room and through them into the hall before locking her bedroom door heading to the shower needing to wash away the night , hoping the hot water would help relax her now tense muscles so she could go sleep . she was too mentally exhausted to even bare confronting him .  she heard the front door open  , she heard the footstep running down the hall , she heard the banging on her door and his pleading to  talk to him . 

He felt sick seeing his thing thrown to the floor ,  the door to her room locked  and it broke his heart when he could hear her crying . he did that , he hurt her because he was a coward  . self sabotaging the best thing that he ever had . he felt his own tears coming falling down his cheek  ,  he felt his back hitting the door and sliding to the floor hoping this was some sort nightmare he was going to wake up from .  he would wake and she would be wrapped in his arms and yet he knew it wasn’t the case he knew he truly well and truly fucked up . but he wasn’t going to give up til he made it right , show her he made a stupid mistake his deployment was four weeks he could do it right?.

part 9

taglist : @harrysgothicbitch @djs8891 @darksparklesficrecs @emma8895eb

[sailorgundam308]

Random ppl saying Karlach is “conventionally” attractive must live in an alternative reality I’m unaware of.

Is she stunning? Yes. But she does NOT fit into conventionally beauty standards for women (yes, even after her face change from EA).

Say you see a woman of color, way WAY taller than the average - let’s say 1.90m tall. She is visibly bulkier, has thick thighs, prominent abs. Wider shoulders than average.

Then, her skin (which again, isn’t white), is covered in marks. Scars, tattoos, discolorations and other “uneven” tones and textures.

On top of that, her entire right side is covered in ‘hideous’ burnt skin tissue. From her fingers to her ribs and half her chest.

But not all. She has metal pins and bits protruding from her due to some medical procedure you’re not familiar with.

And she might have facial scars too. On her very non-white facial features. Imagine she’s not only Asian - but the “wrong” kind of Asian (aka the darker side of Asia- not the mainstream-approved Japan or Korea). Maybe she’s even from the South Pacific islands.

Her hair is thicker, choppier.

And, beyond her appearance, she curses. She laughs loudly. She doesn’t act demure or quiet or feminine. She’s unapologetic about it, too. Proud of being physically stronger than most.

What an affront.

That is all to say… yes, she is stunning (to me and many of us). She’s especially more stunning BECAUSE she’s so off the scale of conventional beauty for women. You might have lived in a beautiful social bubble where women like Karlach are considered the prettiest there are, but even so, that’s not what the world at large sees as ideal beauty - for any gender, but more so for women.

That’s one of the big reasons I’m so into Karlach (and also why I have always had a soft spot for laezel too). They stick out like a sore thumb but they dgaf.

And to top it all, it’s one extra reason for me to ship the shit out of her and Astarion.

Astarion isn’t the conventional male handsomness but he does fall in a wider category of male beauty. He is the most popular male character and attracts both male and female fans.

I like him to fall for characters that would be considered way off the mainstream beauty scale. One thing I haven’t seen yet and want to do one day is make a half orc character to pair with him. Because fuck yes. And also because for me, Astarion does understand where beauty standards lay, but that lost meaning to him long ago. He’s capable of being petty and shallow but when push comes to shove, that’s not it for him.

Again, another reason as to why I’d think he’d fall head over heels for Karlach despite himself.

But yea. Going back to my point, no matter that WE think Karlach is pretty, cute, beautiful and gorgeous. That’s us being ::cough:: superior. But it doesn’t make her mainstream digestible beauty material (that’s lame shadowheart lol - sorry guys, sh is so boring to me).

Which in turn makes Karlach even more precious to me (and her and Astarion in love even more special 🖤).

Thats all the rant, for now.

[saintsenara]

I need your thoughts on aunt petunia/rita skeeter

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and i think... hot. entirely on "incredibly niche moments in british pop-culture" grounds...

by which i mean, when i try to imagine what rita looks like, she always takes a form vaguely similar to a journalist named samantha brick, who went viral in 2012 when she published an article in the daily mail entitled why do women hate me for being beautiful?

brick's article was typical, boring misogyny - and so was the response to it, which all centred on the idea that she didn't actually have any right to call herself attractive - but the relevant point here is that i can guarantee that petunia hate-read it literally a thousand times, that she told anyone who'd listen that she thought brick was a delusional tart who should stay away from other people's husbands [especially when they're fine british beef, like vernon], and that she was secretly quite jealous of brick for proclaiming loudly that she thinks herself beautiful.

the way that jkr uses physical appearance - and, especially, the way that women we aren't supposed to like are described either as fat or as unfemininely thin - has always annoyed me [even though i recognise it's a trope borrowed from many of the children's literature influences upon the series].

when it comes to petunia, so much of her physical description is intended to hint at her villainy. that she's unfemininely tall and thin, that she has a harsh, slightly equine appearance serves as a visual metaphor for her lack of the feminine characteristics the series considers admirable - she's cold, unnurturing, brittle, sterile, nosy, obsessed with how she's perceived, performative, cowardly, and so on. lily - with whom she's always contrasted - is a good woman - the ultimate mother - because she's real. and she's also - as the text tells us on several occasions - beautiful.

but if one wants to be more sympathetic, petunia's brittleness can be read instead as fragility. after all, she's a woman who - by the time she's twenty-four at most - is caring for two toddlers [one more than she was expecting], has lost her parents and sister, appears to be at home all day without much social support, is hyper-focused on not embarrassing a husband who appears to be quite a few years older than her by fucking up the class performance he expects but she's not completely familiar with... the list goes on.

what this must do to petunia's understanding of her own embodiment is really interesting to me. the entirety of the person she presents to the world is a fiction - she's a working-class girl with a sister who was a witch, who lives behind a thoroughly mundane and middle-class mask. this concealment will have an impact on how she understands herself as a physical creature - the petunia dursley she's created will not sweat or cry or shit or have body hair or devour or laugh until she can't stand or take or bleed or want or fuck.

and so, when she's alone and the mask comes off, can she think that the real woman who lurks underneath - whose body does all of these things she tries to hide - is beautiful?

i imagine petunia as being prone to a sort of obsessive, corrosive jealousy in her attitude towards women who are more defiant of social convention - especially women who reject the expectation that they will be meek, humble, self-deprecating, and demure.

which brings us onto...

rita skeeter is another character whose physical description in the text is something i think it's important to unpick. she's an example of the second technique which jkr uses when describing women the narrative doesn't wish us to be sympathetic to - that their gender expression has an exaggerated, hyper-feminine aesthetic.

jkr clearly thinks that this aesthetic is unnatural - in that it only belongs to women who have to play up a pantomime of femininity because they are improperly feminine in any "innate" way. dolores umbridge's girlish, pastel looks, for example, are horrifying because the person beneath them is sociopathic in her cruelty to children.

with rita, i am always struck - especially given the turn jkr has taken in recent years - that she is described in goblet of fire as someone with a hyper-feminine aesthetic which fails [in the text's eyes] to mask that she is physically unfeminine.

she is described as having "hair ... set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face", and "thick fingers [which] ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson", and "large, mannish hands", and she's caked in make-up, and she likes her accessories with a slightly tacky vibe.

she's described - in short - in ways which are intended to make her seem ridiculous [cheap, brassy, mutton-dressed-as-lamb] within the confines of how the text [and the world] thinks cisgender women should properly perform femininity.

but she's also described in ways which suggest that we're supposed to think that she looks like someone who is not a cisgender woman trying - and failing - to "pass". the text is of the tedious opinion that we should think less of her because of this.

but fuck that!

what i like about rita is the fact that she takes this treatment by the text and... doesn't give a shit about it. she's loud and eye-catching and caustic and rude and grasping and a complete hack. what you see with her is what you get - nobody thinks she's a good or impartial journalist, including her, and she simply doesn't care! and she thinks she looks hot as hell while doing it. after all, she has her quill describe her as an "attractive blonde". harry thinks that's an offensive suggestion - but she doesn't have to.

do i think rita is a straightforwardly admirable person? no. do i think that she doesn't mask and conceal her insecurities from the world? also no.

but i think she has that self-belief which petunia would pretend she thought was disgusting but which she secretly envied rita for. and i think this - someone like petunia, repressed and concealed, meeting someone who has no shame in immoderation and who gives them permission to exist greedily - is a trope which always hits.

do i think it would last? no. i think it's a wild fling and then they go their separate ways - and i also think, as i know i say ad nauseam, that this matters. the harry potter series thinks of love as something which endures for years in solemn silence, which sacrifices and which suffers.

but sometimes love is a week of getting your nails done, sunning yourself in a leopard-print thong bikini, being trashy and immodest and demanding, and eating ice-cream out of the navel of a blonde who doesn't give a fuck what people say about her. nothing more, nothing less.

good for them.

[amitiel-truth]

Trick the Devil (Part 2)

Where does the Jujutsu Society get their dough?

(Not proof read, too lazy, lore dump)

Part 1

"The Seven Sponsors, it's unknown if they're cursed users or not, but what's known is that they are one of the most prominent members in Society as a whole, a group of people who promised secrecy of the Jujutsu World and fund our conquest in vanquishing curses as long as we keep the World of the Non-Sorcerers safe as best as we could.

They used to go under one single surname, until the heir women of their clan broke off, and married off into prestigious families, the main 3 are the Daigo's, each perspective head handles Pharmaceuticals, Police, and Military.

the Sada's, their territory is Shinjuku, not only do they have control of the brothels, but they're a great source of information, especially when getting dirt on certain politicians.

the Yoshikawa's, they handle the Entertainment Industry, but there are rumors their control runs deeper than what they Televise.

the Yamazaki's, they handle businesses of excess, such as restaurants, shopping centers, and banks.

lastly, the Chiyoya's, their main focus are Integrated Resorts, a hotel with a casino, together with conventional facilities such as entertainment, shows, theme parks, luxury retail, and fine dining. they're the ones who give the biggest funds amongst the seven of them."

"So you three better be on your best behavior! Usually, they only invite the most prominent Sorcerers to their Yearly Appreciation Party, but this year they're expanding their invites, better look good while you're at it." Yaga explains to them after their suspension, Shoko was a bit peeved off for Gojo getting her smoke confiscated, but not a little bit of replacement cigs to satiate her anger.

Satoru yawns in exaggeration, sitting cross-legged on his chair, looking and sounding bored out of his mind "Why do we have to attend something so boring? I could be doing so many things than attending some stupid party..."

"Like getting into a date with Chiyoya" Satoru thinks to himself, letting out a small snicker.

"This year isn't just about the Appreciation Party, they're introducing their Heirs that will soon take over the old Sponsors." Yaga added.

"And one of them is the girl you fought, Gojo Satoru, so you better prepare an apology speech!"

For a moment, Satoru appears somewhat serious, but the moment he hears that Chiyoya will be there, a mischievous smirk spreads across his face. "Oh? is that so?"

"You should have said so from the start. the only parties I'm going to are the ones that she's in." He remarks with a hint of flirtatiousness in his tone, which got him a bit of discipline on the head after finally getting excused.

"Satoru, didn't I warn you not to fool around with that girl?" Suguru asked, as they began walking to their dorms to get ready.

Satoru rolls his eyes "Listen Suguru, if I see an opportunity to have fun, I'm going to take it. Besides, I can't really help myself when it comes to gorgeous women now, can I?" He smirks cheekily

"What do you see in her anyway? I get that she's pretty and all, but she doesn't seem like your type, tall and slim, she doesn't even have any curves to show off, not that's wrong or anything" Suguru tries his best to sway his best friend's attention from the Heiress, something about her doesn't sit right with him

Satou appears slightly annoyed at Suguru's comment "Damn it Suguru, not every girl has to have the exact same kind of figure for me to like them" Satoru crosses his arms, pouting

"Well, it's not just her beauty that catches my attention, despite not even being a Sorcerer, she's an incredible hand-to-hand fighter...it's quite attractive, honestly." Satoru admits, a small blush creeping onto his cheeks as he thinks about Chiyoya, making Suguru gasp in shock.

"Are you serious about this one, Satoru?" Suguru asked, watching his friend's reaction

Satoru's blush deepens slightly at Suguru's question. "I...might be. Usually, women bore me pretty quickly but...this one seem different somehow. I feel this weird, indescribable draw to her...it's hard to explain, but I've never felt this way about anyone else before" He confesses, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

"Like a Non-Sorcerer equal?" Suguru points out, curious about his sudden interest

Satoru nods, looking thoughtful as he contemplates Suguru's question "Yeah...I guess you could say that, In a way, Chiyoya represents something refreshing and new for me, something that isn't directly connected to this whole cursed society. She feels like a breath of fresh air in a world that reeks of sorcery."

He pauses for a moment before continuing "She makes me feel...alive in a way that I've never felt before. It's exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time."

Suguru looks at him in shock, raising an eyebrow "You saw a pretty girl with deep pockets who managed to hold you off for at least half an hour...and she got you this whipped? This is a moment in History."

Satoru scoffs, rolling his eyes "Oh please, 'whipped'? Let's be serious now, Suguru. I'm not some fool for just any pretty girl with money. Chiyoya is different, she has this...undeniable allure that I just can't seem to resist. It's not just her physical appearance or her wealth that draws me in, It's her entire presence. She's confident, strong-willed, and captivating, in a way that I can't help but feel completely drawn to."

"Yep, definitely whipped" Suguru confirms, continuing to walk to their dorm.

Satoru sighed heavily, but he couldn't help but chuckle at Suguru's teasing "Fine fine, you got me. I may be a little, teeny bit, slightly whipped for this girl. but can you blame me? She's unlike any woman I've ever met before. She's...intoxicating." Satoru mutters a small smile forms on his lips as he remembers how confident Chiyoya looked at him during their sparing match

"So much so that she managed to threaten you into pulling out your domain?" Suguru points out.

Satoru's expression softens slightly as he recalls the sparring match "It wasn't just the fact that she managed to corner me, It's her confidence, determination, and fearlessness. She was willing to face down the Strongest Sorcerer of the Modern Age without even as much as a cursed weapon. I have to admit, it was pretty damn impressive...and incredibly attractive."

Suguru's face looks judgemental "Whatever Mr. Whipped, just make sure to not cause a scene at the Party"

"Well this is quite a grand place" Shoko commented, looking around the place in a simple black cocktail dress.

"What did you expect? all of the Sponsors are gonna be here, of course, it's gonna be grand" Suguru replies to Shoko in a black suit, but Satoru only looks around blankly, already used to the Luxurious surroundings, he only had one thing in his mind.

" Ah, there's those finger foods, come on let's get some." Shoko points as they begin to walk towards the table, clearly this party is for an older audience.

"Hey, you think they'll let us drink alcohol here?" Suguru asked Shoko eyeing the waiter passing around the champagne but they all became background noises to Satoru, he only had one person in his mind as he tried to look for her.

until he found her.

the Heiress conversing with a group of people, 6 of them in fact, all varying in different personalities, refreshingly, Chiyoya wears a blue halter backless white beaded trumpet gown, showing off her slim and tall figure, her hair tied in a small bun.

Satoru's breath hitched as his eyes landed on Chiyoya, his heartbeat quickened slightly in his chest. She looks ethereal "Damn...she looks even prettier than before." He thinks to himself, watching her interact with the group.

As Chiyoya covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, another man suddenly walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and making Satoru clench his fist.

"Who does this jackass think he is? Touching her without her permission? It was clear that she was uncomfortable with the display" Satoru thought, instinctively sneering as he took a step to walk up to them.

"Oi, what do you think you're doing?" Suguru stops him with a hand on his shoulder, managing to snag a flute of champagne on the other.

Satoru turns to Suguru, a mixture of anger and disappointment evident on his face. "What does it look like I'm doing? That jackass has his hands all over her when she clearly doesn't want him to. I'm about to put him in his place" Satoru shrugs off his hand before trying once more to march up to Chiyoya.

"You can't just jump to conclusions, what if that's her date?" Suguru asked, as Chiyoya began conversing with the man, her smile spells indifference.

"That's her DATE!?" Satoru scoffed, irritation evident in his voice "She doesn't look very pleased to be in his presence, not to mention he's forcing himself onto her" Satoru pointed out before gasping, the man suddenly kissed her neck out of nowhere.

"He just suddenly kissed her neck! No one who has a date with her would do something so disrespectful!"

"Satoru, you're being dramatic, why are you even obsessing over her? you aren't even a thing." Suguru points out, unsure how to waver through his best friend's burst of emotions

Satoru takes a deep breath, trying to control his emotions as he looks at Chiyoya once more. "You're right, Suguru...I don't know why I'm feeling this way about her. she's just a girl I had one sparring match with... it's just...she gets under my skin like no one else does. there's something about her that I can't explain, that makes me want to protect her, care for her...even if she doesn't feel the same." Satoru frowns, looking at the floor in defeat

Suguru looks at him in worry, before sighing, "Satoru, just enjoy the party, okay? that's why we're invited here, remember?" Suguru says as the initial six people began walking away, but one stayed for a bit, a teenage boy wearing a black kimono. he whispers something into Chiyoya's ear while her date is conversing with someone else on his phone, the teen seems to have the same aura as Chiyoya, but more authoritative.

Satoru reluctantly agrees, forcing himself to focus on the party instead of his feelings for Chiyoya. "Yeah, you're right. We're here to enjoy ourselves, not get caught up in some girl's business. Let's just have fun tonight and forget about everything else." Satoru nodded, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

"Good, just have fun tonight." Suguru agrees, turning to look at Shoko who enjoys herself with champagne and finger food.

As the teen in the kimono finished whispering to Chiyoya, she nodded before pulling on her date's arm, a seductive smile on her lips, leading him outside the venue into the Hallway. Satoru knows it's not his business.

"Satoru?"

But he can't help himself.

Like a Sailor to a Siren, Satoru follows her giggles through the Hall, whispers play against his ear, as he continues following them, until he hears something odd.

was the gurgling?

The sound led him into a private room, where he saw Chiyoya's date slumped against the wall, his throat slit open, his blood pooling onto the floor.

"Oh...I've failed..." Gojo flinches as he quickly turns his head to where the voice is coming from, there he sees Chiyoya standing next to the body, a bloody knife in her hand, dripping onto the floor.

"Oh well, there's always next time." Chiyoya shrugs, unbothered by her actions.

Satoru's expression doesn't change as he witnesses a crime before him, he should either be horrified or disgusted, and threaten to report her to the authorities...yet he's completely unfazed by the gruesomeness of her actions. somehow his idea of her doesn't waver, it only gets more intense.

"Let me guess, that man wasn't really your date." Satoru asked, walking over the blood to get closer to Chiyoya, his eyes never leaving her.

"No, not really, but he proclaims he was cause he's a big shot son of a mining company, too bad his business is going under because Mr. Yamazaki bought them all out, now he clung onto me like a last resort, too bad he's one of the chosen uninvited guest." Chiyoya answers, cleaning her knife with a handkerchief.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, intrigued by Chiyoya's words, It seemed she had a specific target in mind, and he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of admiration for her quirks.

"Chosen, you say? Is that what that man in the black kimono whispered to you at the party?" He asked, leaning against the wall beside her.

Chiyoya looks at him, her smile never leaving her lips. "You mean one of the Heirs? Daigo-san?" Chiyoya asked, pocketing her knife back onto her blue clutch.

Satoru nods, his gaze never leaving hers. "Yes, him. I saw how he spoke to you, and then you suddenly pulled your so-called 'date' here. Seemed like you had a clear plan."

He leans closer to her, his voice lowering to barely a whisper. "You're quite intriguing, Chiyoya, a blossoming woman with a killer smile and a deadly charm, I can see why I'm so enchanted by you."

Chiyoya looks at him blankly, before scoffing. "You just saw me murder a man in cold blood, yet you're still enchanted by me? you sorcerers sure are strange."

Satoru chuckles, a small smirk playing on his lips. "What can I say? I've always enjoyed the darker things in life. and watching you work...It's an art form, really. There's a certain allure to your ruthlessness that speaks to the dangerous side of me."

He steps closer to her, his voice sultry and mesmerizing. "I have to admit, I find danger and chaos quite...enticing."

"And who's to say you're only saying that? what happens if you go behind my back and report me to the Police?" Chiyoya asked, tilting her head, clearly not drawn to Satoru's attraction, but she didn't seem worried if he did.

Satoru laughs heartily, finding her question amusing. "You really think I'd report you to the police? You truly underestimate me, Chiyoya. I have no interest in something as mundane as reporting you. Why would I snitch on a creature as magnificent as you?" Satoru asked, reaching out to trace her jawline, his touch should send shivers down her spine.

"Besides, I have much more interesting things in mind."

"And what would that be?" Chiyoya asked, her eyes unyielding, pink hues clashing with blue ones.

A mischievous glint sparks in his eyes as he leans in closer, his lips hovering millimeters away from hers. His voice drops to a seductive whisper.

"I have the sudden urge to test my limits and see just how far you're willing to go, Chiyoya. I want to push every boundary, explore every hidden desire you possess. And I'm eager to see how far this dangerous game of ours will take us, my dear. Are you ready to dance with the devil?" Satoru asked, his eyes widening in anticipation.

"Let's play a game, shall we?"

"Oh, What kind of game?" Chiyoya asked in interest but her pink hues show indifference, but he has her attention.

"A game of trust and thrill. We'll take turns daring each other to do things, starting with small, harmless challenges, but gradually getting more daring. We'll push each other's boundaries until we reach our limits."

He leans closer to her ear, his breath warm against it. "The first one to tap out losses."

as Satoru backed away, all he saw was that she was already looking at him, interested "What is the Prize and Punishment?"

Satoru's eyes gleam mischievously, excitement coursing through his veins. He hadn't expected her to agree so quickly, his touch feather-light, leaving a trail of tingles on her skin. "Let's make it interesting. The Prize for the winner will be anything they want, no strings attached. As for the punishment...let's say the rules of the game state the loser has to do whatever the winner demands, within reasonable bounds, of course."

"It sounds to me you have an agenda of bringing up this deal, Gojo-san...a dark desire." Chiyoya points out with a smile, her stare unwavering.

His eyes gleam almost sinisterly, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He fixes a stray hair to the back of her ear. "My darkest desires, you say? I have many, but let's list a few."

Satoru turns to look at her, sky-blue eyes full of hidden desires. "To taste your lips...to explore the depths of your mind...to push my limits and see just how far you'll let me go" he murmurs as he suddenly remembered that her 'date' kissed her neck, leaning in to place a kiss of his own over it, making his point.

Chiyoya looked at him blankly with a small smile on her lips, before a group suddenly flooded into the room. "Oh, the cleaners are here" Chiyoya backed away from Satoru, as one of them approached her.

"Mistress." cleaning her hand.

Satoru watches the interaction between Chiyoya and the cleaners, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He knew she was privileged, but this level of service seemed excessive even by his standards. His gaze lingers on her, taking in every graceful movement she makes, admiring her poise and control, realizing how meticulous she is, he would have thought these cleaners were also part of the venue's staff with their uniforms.

"You must go back to the party, now, Mistress, they are just about to be the Heirs of the Sponsors" The cleaner stated after cleaning her hand.

"Very well then, I'll leave everything to you" Chiyoya stated as she began to leave, as the cleaners began bagging the body.

"Gojo-san, do you plan to stand there for the whole party?" Satoru snaps out of his trance as Chiyoya addresses him, a small smile never leaving her lips.

"I was planning to admire the view just a bit longer. you look captivating as always, it's hard not to stare." He strides towards her, a confident smile on his face.

"I was just admiring your work here one last time before it gets cleaned up, but remind me to stay in your good graces with how capable you are."

"Dully noted." Chiyoya smiled as they began to walk through the halls back into the party.

As they began to walk back into the party, Satoru cast glanced at Chiyoya, studying her demeanor closely. He couldn't help but feel intrigued by her composure; her movements so fluid, her grace so captivating. It was almost as if she was completely unaffected by the events that just occurred only a moment ago.

His mind raced with questions but he knew better than to bring them up immediately. After all, he was the one who initiated this little endeavor of theirs, and he wasn't about to ruin the excitement so soon.

"You're quiet, that's very unlike you, why? Have I pushed you to the limit already, Gojo-san?" Chiyoya teases, her pink hues glancing up at him.

Satoru chuckles, and a low, velvety sound reverberates through the air. "Oh, my dear Chiyoya, If you think I've reached my limits already, you underestimate me. I was simply savoring the moment, observing the intricate web you weave with each step you take."

His gaze meets hers, a small smirk playing on his lips. " Besides, I couldn't help but be captivated by your beauty. Sometimes silence is the only appropriate response to admiring such an ethereal specimen"

"I bet you say that to every girl you come across, Gojo-san." Chiyoya points out with a teasing scoff.

Satoru let out a hearty laugh, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and mild irritation, he had known that remark was coming. She was as sharp as a tack, and he loved it.

"Ah, you got me there, Chiyoya. You're not wrong to assume that I say that to anyone I find attractive. But there's something about you; your fierce independence, your unapologetic nature, and the way you refuse to be caged that draws me to you."

Chiyoya chuckles before walking up a bit further front, her hands behind her back as she leans forward "Why? Do you wanna tie me down, Gojo-san? Turn me into one of your pretty armrests?" Chiyoya asked, tilting her head.

Satoru's eyes, a sultry smile on his lips. The way she teased and toyed with him sent a shiver down his spine. He loved it. Her boldness, her wit, and her charm were all a dangerous addiction he didn't want to get rid of. He walked closer, closing the distance between them.

"Oh, Chiyoya, as tempting as that sound..." Satoru caresses her cheek.

"It would be a grave sin to reduce you into an accessory" Satoru stated, admiring her eyes.

"And why is that?" Chiyoya presses, wanting to hear his reasoning as he looks at her with admiration and desire.

"Because My dear, you're a force to be reckoned with. Your power, your confidence, your unapologetic nature..they're all qualities that I find incredibly attractive. I have no desire to chain you down or clip your wings. No..." He moved closer, pinning her onto a wall, his words filled with raw honesty.

"I want to watch you soar."

Chiyoya simply continues to look at him, her smile growing sinister under his gaze. "That's what you saw in me? We've barely met, and we've only interacted for half an hour at best, What if I'm not the kind of person you perceive me to be?"

He chuckles lowly, his eyes unwavering as he meets her gaze head-on "Oh, Chiyoya, the beauty in life is discovering the unexpected hidden layers, uncovering the unexpected truths hidden beneath the surface. You may not be exactly who I perceive you to be, and that's precisely what excites me. The thrill of discovering the true nature behind your mask, and understanding the depth of your character that's all part of the dance." He reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face once more.

Chiyoya simply stares at him as he slowly leans towards her.

"I advise you not to fornicate in the halls, Chiyoya Satsujin, if you value our names." a voice interrupted them, it was the teen in the black kimono, upon closer look, he had long black hair tied into a high ponytail, golden eyes looking at them with authority.

"Ah! Daigo-san! Did you come out here just to get me? you shouldn't have!" Chiyoya gently pushed away Satoru as if they weren't doing anything wrong, smiling innocently.

Satoru raises an eyebrow at the newcomer, amused by the interruption. "Well, look who decided to join the party. Daigo, was it? Quite the entrance you made there. Am I interrupting something important, or just your attempt to ruin the fun?"

"Who is this?" Daigo asked, turning his gaze to Chiyoya.

"The Strongest Sorcerer of the Modern age, I met him at Jujutsu Tech, he's quite an interesting character." Chiyoya introduces, making Daigo look at him blankly.

Satoru's smirk widens as he meets Daigo's gaze, his eyes gleaming with a mix of confidence and mischief. "Interesting, huh? Well, I'll take that as a compliment. Gojo Satoru, the honored one, at your service." He gives a small bow, the motion filled with mockery.

one Daigo couldn't care for "For your information, you are interrupting something important, they're about to introduce us, Chiyoya." Daigo turns to Chiyoya, staring blankly at her.

"Huh? Why didn't you say so? Let's go! Let's go!" Chiyoya pulls on Daigo's wrist, leading him back into the party, seemingly forgetting Satoru.

"Satoru, where have you been!? you just upped and disappeared!" Suguru found Satoru walking back into the party, a bit peeved that he'd quickly forgotten.

"Nothing much, just getting to know people, look, it's starting" Satoru diverts his attention as the lights go down.

"May I have your attention, please?" Mr. Chiyoya spoke through the mic, his welcoming smile contrasting his daughter's.

"From the three Heads of the main clan, I introduce Daigo Kuragami, Daigo Tenpi, and Daigo Tsukikage."

Three teens stood under the spotlight, the first one with long black hair and golden eyes, wearing a black kimono with a blank face. Daigo Kuragami.

The next two look to be twins, a boy and a girl both wearing black and white suits that invert them, their short black hair is adorned with high lights, the boy has a green highlight on his bangs while the girl has red highlights with two streaks on the back of her hair, both stares at the crowd blankly with golden eyes. Daigo Tenpi (The Boy), Daigo Tsukikage(The Girl).

"From the Sada's, I introduce Sada Ragyo." A very beautiful girl, long brown hair adored her back with her bangs colored in pink, her seductive pink hues are very different from Chiyoya's very own, as she wore a black sleeves dress (Sada Ragyo)

"From the Yoshikawa's, I introduce Yoshikawa Mondo." A short brown haired boy with bright green eyes, he wore an extravagant suit that makes him almost out of place. (Yoshikawa Mondo)

"From the Yamazaki's I introduce Yamazaki Yamasaki." A giant, like a sumo wrestler, stands under the spotlight, wearing traditional clothes (Yamazaki Yamasaki)

"And From the Chiyoya's, my very own Heir, Chiyoya Satsujin." The blonde-haired girl stands under the spotlight, her charming smile displayed for all to see, as her pink hues stare blankly at them, her white and blue dress glittering under the light, giving her an ethereal flare

May they bring prosperity for both the Non-Sorcerers and Sorcerers world" Mr. Chiyoya introduces, as the Sorcerers invited to the event clapped their hands, the Heirs bowing in unison

"These Heirs wanted to give their Appreciation to you Sorcerers for protecting the world, so, they've prepared a little performance for all of you, may you enjoy this turn of events" As Mr. Chiyoya suddenly announced a Performance, the Heirs all got into positions, most of them walking up to an instrument, but Chiyoya walks up to the center of the stage, picking up a mic

Intrigued by the unexpected announcement, Satoru's interest is piqued. The prospect of a performance from the Heirs of the Seven Sponsors is a rare opportunity. As Chiyoya walked to the center, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of anticipation. He waits intently, curious to see what kind of performance Chiyoya will unveil.

A Piano and Violin began their intro before a strum sharp of a drum began, and an Organ resonated with the harmony

"Ah, si je pouvais vivre dans l'eau

Le monde serait-il plus beau

Nous pardonneras-tu, ô chère mère

L'eau dans son courant fait danser nos vies

Et la cité, elle nourrit

Ainsi que toi, mon doux amour"

Chiyoya began singing in French, setting a melancholic tone of the song.

As the instrumental break commenced, Satoru couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for the talents of the Heirs. Each one of them added their own touch to the music, creating an eclectic mix of sounds that somehow blended together perfectly. The inclusion of the blow horn further enhanced the harmony, adding a unique and unexpected element to the performance. He couldn't help but feel immersed in the music, his gaze focused on the stage where Chiyoya stood, captivated by her mesmerizing presence.

"Non, le grand amour ne suffit pas

Seul un adieu fleurira

C'est notre histoire de vie, douce et amère

Moi, je suis et serai toujours là

À voir le monde et sa beauté

Et ça ne changera jamais, jamais"

As the performance reaches its final moments, Satoru's eyes widen in astonishment as Ragyo's voice joins in perfect harmony with Chiyoya's. Their combined talents create a symphony of sound that fills the room with a melancholic and bittersweet feeling. The dual voices blend perfectly together, adding depth and complexity to the performance. As the music comes to an end, Satoru can't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration for the incredible talents of the Heirs and their captivating display of artistry

All of the Heirs began to stand up and began walking up to Chiyoya, side by side, they held hands and bowed in respect to all of the Sorcerers in the room.

A round of applause erupts throughout the room, filling the air with a sense of appreciation and admiration for the Heir’s performance. Satoru, along with the other Sorcerers in attendance, cannot help but clap enthusiastically in recognition of the incredible talent on display. The Heir’s synchronized bow, a humble gesture of respect for the Sorcerers who were present, further adds to the overall atmosphere of mutual understanding and gratitude between the two worlds.

"May you all enjoy the rest of the Celebration" Mr. Chiyoya announces, as everyone dispersed, enjoying themselves in the event

"Wow, that was...wonderful." Suguru mutters, before turning his head to Satoru.

"Hey, how are you-Satoru, don't" Suguru stops him as he notices Satoru staring at Chiyoya, conversing with the rest of the Heirs.

"But Suguru!"

"No buts! we talked about this" Suguru looks at him sternly, as Satoru looks at him blankly, before smirking at him.

"Sorry Sugu, but I can't pass up this one." Satoru replies as he pulls a random girl from a crowd.

"Hey, my friend over here thinks you're hot." Satoru introduced before he began running off.

"Satoru!-"

"Wait, really?"

leaving him to deal with a girl of his own.

As Satoru made his way to Chiyoya, he overheard snippets of their conversation, snippets that piqued his curiosity even further. Determined to make his presence known, he approached the group, stopping nearby and clearing his throat to catch Chiyoya's attention

Chiyoya's head turns towards Gojo, before smiling at him

"Ah! Gojo-san, what a pleasant surprise, I was just talking about you" Chiyoya stated, an elegant smile on her lips

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Gojo's lips as he heard Chiyoya's words. He couldn't help but find the situation slightly humorous and interesting. Crossing his arms across his chest, he replied with his usual nonchalant tone

"Oh really, and what exactly were you saying about me?"

"That you were the one who saw me kill the uninvited guest" Chiyoya nonchalantly answers, shocking Satoru at how open she was to that subject

"So...you've gotten sloppy?" Daigo Kuragami asked, disappointment flashing through his golden eyes

"Aw, don't be like that, Daigo-san, how was I supposed to know he was gonna follow me?" Chiyoya asked, pouting

Despite the initial shock at Chiyoya's nonchalance, Satoru couldn't help but respect her honesty. He nodded in response to her statement and replied with a smirk

"Indeed, it seems like I did witness a very interesting moment. And I must say, your choice of "uninvited guest" was quite a bold one."

He couldn't quite gauge the dynamics in the group just yet, and Daigo's disappointment only added to his intrigue

Daigo looks at him blankly, before turning to Chiyoya

"Whatever happens, you take care of the fallout out" Daigo stated before standing up from the table, with the rest of the Heirs standing up, following him, before Sada Ragyo winked at Satoru, following behind the rest, leaving Chiyoya'

"So, did you enjoy the performance, Gojo-san? Chiyoya asked, tilting her head

Satoru regained his composure and responded with a teasing chuckle

"Oh, I must say, the performance was certainly entertaining. But I could hardly focus on anything besides you. Your talent and beauty on that stage were quite captivating, so myself."

"Really now?" Chiyoya asked, chuckling

"Alright, let's get into business, why did you seek me out, Gojo-san?" Chiyoya asked, getting straight to the point

Satoru, slightly taken aback by Chiyoya's straightforwardness, couldn't help but smirk. He always appreciated when someone got straight to the point

"Ah, always straight to the point, I see. Well, I must admit, I couldn't resist the opportunity to speak with you further. You have this mysterious aura that draws me in. And I couldn't deny the fact that I wanted to understand your clan, and by extension, you, better. Perhaps you could indulge my curiosity?"

"And how exactly will you quell that need?" Chiyoya asked once more, looking at him blankly with a smile on her lips.

Satoru took a moment to consider her response before responding, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips

"I suppose that depends on how you would like to go about it. Perhaps a cup of tea or coffee. Or if you'd prefer something more adventurous, there's always the option of going on a midnight stroll through the gardens. You know, for a more intimate conversation. The choice is yours."

"Are you asking me on a date, Gojo-san?" Chiyoya asked, unphased at the thought

A small chuckle escaped Satoru's lips at Chiyoya's question. He couldn't help but admire her directness and confidence. "Why, yes, I suppose I am. So, what do you say? Shall we have a night out, explore the city together, and perhaps get to know each other on a more personal level?"

"That's too bad, I can't go tonight or tomorrow, I'm quite busy" Chiyoya turns down the offer, apologetically smiling at him.

Satoru felt a bit disappointed at Chiyoya's rejection, but he also couldn't help but find her busy schedule intriguing. It only added to the mystery surrounding her, and his curiosity grew even more

"Oh, that's a shame. Perhaps another time then. But tell me, Chiyoya-san, just how busy can someone be to turn down a date with the strongest sorcerer in the Jujutsu world?"

"Perhaps I'm turning you down to see if you'd pursue me" Chiyoya answers, a blank smile on her lips, her eyes challenging him.

A flicker of surprise crossed Satoru's features at Chiyoya's challenging response. He had not expected her to play such a bold move. But he was undeterred. Satoru chuckled lightly before responding, a mischievous glint in his eyes

"Oh, so you're testing my determination, are you? Well, I must say, I do love a challenge. You have my word, Chiyoya-san—I won't rest until I've proven myself worthy of your time. Consider me your persistent suitor from this moment on."

" 'Chiyoya-san'... that's new, usually you'd only call me Chiyoya" Chiyoya points out, smiling at him

Satoru couldn't help but chuckle at Chiyoya's observation. He hadn't realized that he had subconsciously added honorifics to her name. It slipped out so naturally. He shrugged, a playful grin on his lips

"Well, I guess it's just a testament to how much I respect and admire you. But I must admit, Chiyoya, it rolls off the tongue a lot better than 'Chiyoya-san.' Wouldn't you agree?"

"And Satsujin doesn't?" Chiyoya asked, referring to her given name, meaning murder

It made him curious as to why she's named that way

Satoru nodded in agreement, a smirk playing on his lips. He couldn't deny the fact that her given name, Satsujin, had a certain darkness to it. It intrigued him even more

"Oh, it does indeed. Satsujin is quite an interesting name. But, if you don't mind me asking, is there any particular reason behind it? The meaning seems a bit... ominous, don't you think?"

"It's not just me, my Father also has quite the name" Chiyoya answers, before her gaze turned to her Father, conversing with the current Sponsors

"Chiyoya Akui" Akui meaning Dark Intent

Satoru's curiosity grew even more at Chiyoya's words, and his gaze followed hers to her Father, Mr. Chiyoya. Her Father's name, Chiyoya Akui, held a certain mysterious weight to it as well.

"I see. It seems that the theme of names in your family is quite intriguing," Satoru mused, a small smirk on his lips. "Dark Intent, indeed. I wonder if there's something deeper behind the choice of those names."

"Back in the olden days of Japan, children at birth were given a temporary name to prevent dying, because it's believed that demons steal children with pretty names until they're given a permanent name at the age of 4" Chiyoya explained before turning to look at Satoru

"But to our case, it didn't matter what age, children of Chiyoya's were always taken the day after having their permanent name, a demon seemed to always watch us...lying in wait..." Chiyoya mutters, her eyes staring blankly at Satoru

"That's why we have quite the names from birth throughout our lives, the only hindrance it brings is it's quite hard to advertise to the masses with that kind of name" Chiyoya answers with a smile on her lips

Satoru listened intently to Chiyoya's words, a mix of intrigue and disbelief on his face. He had never heard of such a belief before, and it was hard to tell if she was joking or being serious. However, the gravity of her tone made him lean towards the latter

"That's quite a unique tradition and a rather dark one at that," Satoru responded, a slight shiver running down his spine. "And demons...is that another part of the tradition, or do you really believe in its authenticity?"

"It wouldn't hurt to follow such traditions, unless, you wish to see me die" Chiyoya teases, smiling blankly at him

Satoru raised an eyebrow at her response, slightly taken aback. He couldn't tell if she was being serious or just toying with him.

"Oh, so you'll die if I don't take this seriously, huh? That's a harsh consequence," He said with a hint of amusement. "I guess I have no choice but to take your traditions seriously if it means keeping you alive, Chiyoya."

"How so?" Chiyoya asked with a playful smile

Satoru returned her playful smile with one of his own. He couldn't deny the fact that he was enjoying her teasing. He leaned in slightly closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes

"Well, for starters, I guess I'd have to protect you from any demons lurking around, wouldn't I? Can't have anything happening to the beautiful heiress of the Chiyoya Clan," he said, his voice dripping with a flirtatious tone.

Chiyoya chuckles, shaking her head "If I were to have been given a normal name, what do you think my name would have been?" Chiyoya asked

Satoru hummed thoughtfully, his eyes roaming over Chiyoya's appearance as he considered the possibility. He couldn't help but imagine how different she would have been if she had a more normal name.

"Hmm, if you had a normal name, let's see...with your beauty and delicate features, I could see you having a name like Yua or perhaps Hibana," he suggested, his gaze locking with hers. "Though I must admit, there's something quite captivating about your given name, Satsujin."

"What appeal did you find from it?" Satoru took a moment to consider her question, his fingers gently tapping against his chin as his gaze drifted upward in thought.

"Well, the name Satsujin itself has a bit of darkness to it, and that definitely adds to its intrigue," he mused. "But it's not just about the name in itself, it's how you bear it. There's a sense of mystery and power in the way you wear the name Satsujin. It speaks... strength, resilience, and a hint of...danger."

"I didn't know these kinds of words would come from the Strongest Sorcerer" Chiyoya points out, smiling at him

Satoru chuckled at her remark, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Oh, I'm full of surprises, Chiyoya," he responded, his gaze never leaving her. "Being the strongest sorcerer doesn't mean I lack a bit of poetry in my heart. I appreciate beauty and intrigue, and you, my dear, have plenty of both."

Chiyoya looked at him blankly, sizing him up, making a decision in her head, before smiling "alright, you got my attention" Chiyoya reached over to her clutch, pulling out a calling card

"This is my personal phone number, be careful not to leak it, I'm free on Saturday, see you then" Chiyoya hands him over the business card.

Satoru's smile widened at her words and the gesture of the card. He accepted it with a nod and slipped it into his pocket.

"I'll be sure to keep it under wraps," he said, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "And rest assured, I'll keep our rendezvous on Saturday a closely guarded secret. Can't let anyone else claim the privilege of spending time with the captivating Chiyoya."

Chiyoya chuckles, standing up before flattening her dress "See you by then, Gojo-san, enjoy the rest of the party" Chiyoya said before turning to leave, walking up to her Father

Satoru watched as Chiyoya walked away, his gaze lingering on her figure until she reached her Father's side. Excitement coursed through his veins as he glanced down at the number scribbled on the business card.

"Chiyoya Satsujin," he muttered softly to himself, a small smile on his lips. "This is going to be an interesting weekend."

[anncanta]

Mirror, mirror on the wall

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rating: Teen and up audiences

@alma37 @hopipollahorror @moremoveslessannouncements-blog

Read on AO3

Or read below

‘What happens if I win this game?��

‘I beg your pardon?’

Agatha leaned forward and rested her hands on the table.

‘We both know this is not just a chess game. I don't know what you have in mind, but the fact is …’ she glanced briefly at the pieces. ‘You are clever, cunning and competitive. But that is not the case here. You took me from the convent – kidnapped me – and brought me here. You could have locked me in a box, you could have raped me or tortured me –’

‘Agatha, your expectations exceed my wildest –’

‘Yet you offered me a game of chess. And I want to know why.’

There was silence for a few seconds.

‘The fact that I am here is enough to consider you the winner,’ said Agatha.

‘Are you so sure?’

‘Yes.’

For a while, Dracula silently looked at the table, the chessboard, the waves of hair falling over her shoulders.

‘Maybe I am not,’ he said suddenly.

The room changed so abruptly that Agatha did not have time to understand anything.

…They were standing on a castle tower, on a small platform, and far below them stretched the valley, the forest, and the river.

Agatha went to the parapet. She rose on her toes and looked over the edge. Jonathan must have jumped from here.

‘This is that very tower,’ Dracula said from behind her shoulder, confirming her guess.

‘Do you want to show me my future?’

Agatha turned around.

‘I don't know what I want anymore.’

He stood in front of her, very close, and the sunlight touched his face. Agatha was surprised to discover that he had long eyelashes. She raised her hand and touched his cheek.

‘It's not real,’ she said.

‘No, of course not.’

Agatha nodded.

‘Then kiss me.’

…

‘What happens if I win this game?’

The pieces were all mixed up. Agatha's lips were burning.

‘I'll lose,’ Dracula smiled.

‘I couldn't wish for more.’

***

The Demeter arrived at Whitby Harbor right on schedule. After making the last entry in the logbook, Captain Sokolov put it in a drawer and left the cabin. The autumn sun that greeted him on deck was cold and unfriendly, but after long weeks of sailing in fog, the captain was glad to see it.

Everything was fine, he assured himself. The voyage had gone well. No storms, no incidents. The passengers were happy, the cargo had been delivered safely.

And yet something was bothering him, stubborn and persistent. Elusive, like a pebble in a boot.

‘How many passengers did we have?’ Sokolov asked Valentin, standing nearby, looking at the rigging and ropes, muttering something under his breath.

The old sailor frowned.

‘Six. Three men, a child, and two women,’ Valentin spat discontentedly on the creaking boards.

The captain nodded.

‘Six.’

He waved away the images of a tall man in a black top hat and a thin woman in a nun's robe that appeared in his head.

When the captain went ashore, he no longer remembered them.

‘And the king had a daughter, with skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood,’ said Agatha, watching the captain's retreating figure. Dracula, who had followed her down the gangway, threw a warm cloak over her shoulders.

The sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon, gilding its edge.

Dracula leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

‘I heard she was the most beautiful of all. No woman could compare with her. I think that's why her name meant “morning dawn.”’

[laceyjane44]

GaaSaku 2023 Day18

Prompt: Secret Relationship/Masquerade

“Do not go too far, dear,” her mother scolded. “You must dance with a few of your bachelors this evening.”

“But, Mother,” her daughter whined. “The youngest among them is six years my senior, and the oldest would be comparable to dancing with Uncle!”

With a flick of her wrist, her mother folded her fan closed, using it to point at her daughter. A bejeweled and feathered mask, pinned perfectly to her hair and wrapped in a vibrant green silk, covered her mothers face though it was unable to cover the intensity of her glare. “And his fortune is comparable to that of a duke,” she hissed under her breath. “You are the only child of our name, and your uncle heads the family; without marriage, you’ll get nothing when your father and I are gone.

“I can manage my–”

“We cannot allow your youth to waste away while the prospect of your future remains destitute.” There was no room for rebuttal; there never was. “Understand?”

Sakura lowered her gaze, her voice quieting. “Yes, Mother.”

Another flick of her wrist, her fan was open again and she was waving the curled tendrils of her updo away from her face, the ballroom could be stifling at times. “Good, you behave as though you’d prefer a convent.”

“No, Mother.”

Observing her daughter for a moment, she sighed and waved a hand. “Go, mingle with the rest of the young women, perhaps they can assist you in narrowing down your choice. Duke Uchiha’s second son is quite the suitor, catching his attention would benefit the entirety of House Haruno.”

Sakura curtsied to her skirt and dipped her head. “Yes, Mother.”

With that, her mother; standing so straight and so refined, turned impeccably on a heel and joined her husband for the upcoming waltz. Sakura gripped her fan in her gloved hand, her mask feeling itchy against her face, her dress too ornamental and heavy for her liking, even her jewelry felt especially weighted today.

The grand hall was alight with the glow of the many sconces, candelabras and the chandeliers sparkling above. Music and dancing filled the space, a breathtaking display of fashion, etiquette, and beauty. The Masquerade ball, hosted by the palace and second only to royal celebrations, from the lowest of barons to the highest of grand dukes; all were in attendance, and all hid their faces for the chance to play the pauper and the stag.

Dress unlike her usual colors, mask that hid her face, and being one of the lowly barons’ daughters herself, she hadn’t needed a disguise for anonymity, her name and standing alone ensured no one – save for those who knew of her unique hair color – would distinguish her. She’d been approached by a few young men, though unfortunately for them she had recognized them despite their attire and had navigated her way out of a dance with them all thus far. Her mother had noticed, however, and she found her chances of avoiding the unwanted attention better on the terrace.

With a shawl wrapped over her arms and the heels of her shoes quietly clacking as she exited the hall, she climbed the grand staircase to the second floor where she hoped a balcony could be left empty for her. A guard stood near the terrace doors, and as she passed through into the evening air, the soldier didn’t even turn to glance at her. The door shut behind her, the sounds of the orchestra and the dancing sounded so far away now, only the starry sky and glowing moon were witness to her retreat. The gentle evening breeze of summer enveloped her as she leaned on the stone railings overlooking the central garden below, she had begun to wonder if he was even going to show –

“They’re relentless, aren’t they?”

Sakura gasped, spinning around spying a man stood near the door. He was a tall man, broad shoulders, crimson robes draped over his shoulders and belted at the hips with the ornaments of his nation. Even though that lavish and extravagantly embroidered fabric draped over his head and obscured his features, he hadn’t gotten memo of deception. Anyone to glimpse the exposed skin of his chest through his robes or see the adornments strung about his attire would have known of his name.

Her heart sprung to life within her chest, like a songbird with visions of freedom just beyond the bars of its cage, and she went to him. “Gaara!” she breathed as she leaned into him and he slipped his arms around her; strong, warm, and he always squeezed her more than the bachelor lords had ever dared to.

He lifted his arm and drew her to his side, the robe he wore inviting her into the warmth that always kept close to him. She shivered, in part because the air always felt colder when he was near, as if the sun of his homeland had followed him to this kingdom, and in part because of how the unabashed nakedness of his skin – no matter how modest – set her flesh alight.

“I loathe to have kept you waiting,” he said, ducking his head to whisper at her ear. She shivered at his breath along her neck.

“Did your session with the King go accordingly?” she asked, a life and an excitement breathing into her each time his deep blue eyes locked with her own.

Gaara nodded, admiring the beauty hugged against him, and he couldn’t help but tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then continue to tickle her neck to deepen that color on her cheeks. “Exceedingly so,” he boasted, always proud of his achievements through his skills in diplomacy. “My siblings and I will bring news of enriched trade and commerce to the Sultan upon our return. The end of this conflict will belong in your history books,” he teased.

“Your father will be pleased with you?” she asked, her own eyes searching his for the signs of truth behind his response.

“Yes,” he agreed, smiling at the way her face lit up at telling of his victories. “And he will likely offer me reward,” he continued, his gaze traveling down her figure to the attire that had been weighing her down all evening.

He could never wrap his head around their peculiar customs of dress in this land, the women especially. Hoop skirts and corsets, stays and petticoats, all they did for him was cover up the beauty of feminine form, one that his people were wont to praise and admire. Though, he had caught on to certain customs, and he could not be caught unaware of the one currently employed by the flame of his heart.

The colors he often wore were too dark for a complexion such as hers, she was a fair woman, with pale skin and light hair, though he noticed some familiar accents on her gown this evening. When he had spied her in the ballroom, ascending the stairs to the terrace as if beckoning him to follow, the burgundy color of her eye mask and the accessories of the same hue called out to him across the crowded ballroom. “Who are you matching this evening?” he asked, his hand at her waist slipping up her boddice and enticing a blush on her cheeks. “I haven’t seen any men wearing this color.”

Sakura peered up at him before the intensity of his gaze caused her to look away. She brought her fan up to her lips, tapping it against her chin. “Have you seen a mirror?”

He didn’t answer, though something about the way that he held himself shifted slightly, and soon the hand at her waist was guiding her to turn toward the door again. “Come,” he invited her. “I wish to dance with you.”

Sakura nodded, quieting her heart and stealing her will; she had expected this, she was counting on it even, and it was precisely why she had attempted to match his color. Perhaps a dance with him would give tell of their romance, maybe her suitors would take that smart step back she’d been begging of them, or finally be able to kiss him and not be obscured by shadows to do so.

They entered the ballroom and descended the stairs, a few masks tilted their way, curious as to why they matched though she knew no one questioned their identity.

“Do you see my sister?” he asked when he leaned down. Sakura scanned the floor below, finding the familiar blonde surrounded by the usual number of men that followed her. She nodded. “What do you think of her attire?”

“She is stunning as always,” Sakura replied with a smile, though she had sung the praises of his sister’s style to him before. “Even among the nobles attending, her visage and apparel are radiant beyond compare.”

Gaara smiled, the draping of his robes obscuring his face as he and his family had forgone the traditions of masks in leu of what their own wardrobe contained. On the dance floor, Sakura took her place in his arms, her eyes shining up at him though he wished that embellished mask hadn’t obscured her feature from him.

“When I return home,” he began as they started their dance; her hand in his, his palm molded to her hip. “I will have secured a name for myself outside of the throne’s succession.”

Sakura nodded, her heart fluttering. He had come here for that very reason; to be an ambassador for his father, to show his support to his sister as the heir to their family throne, and to ensure that he had no need for such a seat in order to make himself known and respected. She had been awed by his willpower and conviction, he’d been so bright and well spoken; the moment she met him was the moment that all other suitors fell short and were found lacking. She didn’t want to think of what would become of her after his return, this illation and happiness she had found was nothing more than a dream she would ultimately wake from, and when she did; he would be gone.

She smiled as she looked down, bittersweet and hoping the mask would catch any tears to fall. They had never been meant for one another, they came from different worlds, and even though she had tried insisting on the very same from beginning, she had fallen so deeply for him, for the way that he admired her in all that she was, and all that she wished to become.

“I hope your journey is a safe one,” she said, unable to lift her gaze, certain that her eyes would betray her.

Gaara twirled her around, basking in the jealous looks and sidelong glances from the men she’d spurned in favor of him, and bent down to speak softly in her ear, rasping his voice in the way he knew would excite her. “I always thought you would be beautiful in Sunesion robes.” Just as he had hoped; goosebumps.

“You have?” she managed to say, her voice almost lost among the sweeping crescendos of the orchestra.

“The vision of you in such a way has a habit of keeping me awake,” he admitted, enjoying the way her features flushed when he wooed her.

He hadn’t known if she had fallen for his appearance or his eccentricity, for his mannerisms or his foreign alure as a man that had journey across the kingdoms from the far away sands and mystifying dunes. He did know, however, that he was not above using any of these qualities to his advantage when vying for the heart of his conquest. He could be bold if she needed, he could romance her if she preferred, he could lay waste to her suitors in combat as were his own customs; it didn’t matter, so long as she continued to choose him.

“I will send for you,” he spoke quietly to her, the vibrancy of her green eyes shining at him from behind her mask as she caught his gaze. “Deeds, dowry, land,” he listed, admiring the way she hung off his every word. “Your family can have it all, so long as they give me you.”

She couldn’t speak at first, her lips parted in stunned disbelief, and he mused that if she didn’t use them momentarily, he gladly would. Soon her brows pulled together beneath her mask, her shock burning away to hesitation. “You jest,” she accused, resisting the urge to turn from him. She needed to see his eyes as he answered, he could lie to anyone else with that iron stare, but he’d never done so to her.

“Only if this be your refusal,” he countered, his heart skipping a beat as he offered her escape from this dalliance they’d fallen into together. He’d chase after her if she ran, and he’d fight for her, if need be, but he had hoped that she would welcome his proposal. “Though, if it isn’t,” he said, his fingers plucking the pins affixing her mask in place. He removed it from her face, allowing him to drink in her beauty as the drapery of his robes slipped down his shoulder as he did so, and she took in the fullness of his features as if the rest of the world had fallen away. “I’d be tempted to steal you away.”

“Must you send for me?” she asked, her pulse thrumming in her veins, her thoughts now filled with visions of a foreign land and a man to love her there. Her hand rested on his shoulder gripped the fabric of his robes, scanning his face and succumbing to the softness of his gaze. “Can you not take me?”

Gaara smiled and shook his head. “Let me build a place for you,” he urged her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face and she frowned. “I want to do this right.”

The song was coming to an end, their dance concluding, and even as the music began to fade and their steps slowed, Sakura could hear nothing but his professions, could see nothing but the truth in his eyes, and could feel nothing but the desire for more of him.

“What of my suitors?” she challenged.

Admiring the way her expression reflected the racing thought within her mind, Gaara closed their dance amidst the pairs of couples swaying to the subsiding tune. He could feel the eyes on them as their dance ended, gazes hidden behind a sea of ambiguity, and he knew precisely how to thwart the abundance of admirers vying for her hand. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Kiss me,” he said. “Be mine.”

Sakura leaned in, pressing herself against him and encircling her arms around his neck when he bent down to her. She nodded; she’d been his since the day she met him, had fallen for him more deeply with each time they spoke, and henceforth she wouldn’t hide her love for him. “Yes,” she agreed, eyes fluttering closed as their lips met during the crowded masquerade ball, their faces bared and their intentions known.

Forever.

Thanks for reading!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceyJane

FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2120361/WiccadBaltane0501

[richmond-rex]

Hi! Can you tell what was hair colour of Edward iv, Elizabeth Woodville, Elizabeth of York ( it's disputed whether they were blondes of redheads), Henry vii, and Elizabeth's and Henry's children. Thank you!

Hi! I’m afraid it’s impossible to answer everyone’s hair colour with 100% certainty. We can speculate about some of those, but some of them will always remain a matter of speculation. For the sake of not letting this ask sit in my inbox for too long, first I will say what I think was the hair colour of two people you mentioned: Edward IV and Henry VII. Hopefully I’ll come back to this post in the future and talk about other people.

I’m starting with Edward IV because I think his hair colour is the less debatable of them all since we have actual samples of his real hair taken when his tomb was opened in 1788. When Emlyn and his group opened the king’s casket at Windsor, they found his complete 6′3 feet tall skeleton laying there, with some brown/‘dark long hair’ near its head and some by its neck, perhaps the remains of a beard. According to the Guide to Windsor workers took hair, fingers, fabric and samples from the liquid pooling at the feet of the casket. St. George’s Chapel holds a contemporary diarist’s account of being presented with Edward’s hair and some wood. A lock of his hair is now kept at the Society of Antiquaries of London. Those samples look like this:

It looks like brown hair to me, even if not quite dark, but I’ve seen an antiquarian on youtube called this same lock of hair ‘blond’, so you get why it’s so difficult to talk about a certain historical figure’s hair colour when poeple have so wildly different perceptions of colour. In any case, I think it’s quite different from the famed ‘red-gold Plantagenet hair’ that so many pop historians/novelists claim he had. Another interesting thing is to compare these samples to depictions of Edward IV in contemporary manuscripts—I’m not going to comment on his portraits since they are all posthumous anyway.

I would say the hair samples match the first manuscript best. What’s interesting to me is that in some of these illustrations Edward has the darkest hair to be found in the picture, which leads me to wonder: was it a case of pictorial convention, where the king is depicted with dark hair because that was the beauty ideal for men at their time (as opposed to light hair for women)? Or it is a case that the eumelanin (the brown pigment) in his hair has already degraded somewhat, and that’s why it doesn’t look quite so dark now? 

Henry VII’s hair colour is more complicated even though it seems to exist a popular consensus that he had brown/dark hair. Contemporary manuscripts tend to favour the theory that he had brown hair too, even if not quite so dark as Edward IV’s as depicted in the illustrations above. Interestingly, in some of these, Henry’s eyebrows are depicted as lighter than the hair on his head, which I think matches his most famous portrait as well. 

We can’t do the same we did with Edward IV and compare these illustrations with Henry’s own extant lock of hair. Even if we were to open Henry VII’s casket, he died at an older age than Edward IV, at a time when his hair was described by Polydore Vergil as ‘canum’ (aged) meaning either white or grey. What about during his youth? Frustratingly, we don’t have a contemporary written description—which I rather trust more than manuscripts or portraits—of his hair colour when young. 

The only description of his hair colour near his lifetime that we get is from Edward Hall’s chronicle published in 1548. His hair is described as ‘yellow’, coincidentaly, the same hair colour Elizabeth of York was said to have at her coronation as described by a herald of arms. Now, I believe ‘yellow’ actually could mean a range of colours. Perhaps it could mean light brown hair, as well as blond? Interestingly, we do have manuscripts where Henry VII’s hair colour is depicted as some shade in between.

The manuscript that I like the most, though, and that I also tend to trust more, is the Vaux Passional at the National Library of Wales. It’s that one manuscript where we see a young Henry VIII weeping at his mother’s empty bed after her death. I love the details in this manuscript, including Henry VII wearing blue (the royal colour of mourning) and violet (another colour associated with mourning), and the presentation of a book with a blue cover—we know Henry VII ordered his books to be bound in blue velvet after the death of Elizabeth of York. Well, the same illustration that presented a red-haired Prince Henry shows this Henry VII among a variety of hair colours (so I wouldn’t say it’s a case of making everyone look the same):

What colour would you describe his hair to be in this manuscript: light brown, dirty blond? His hair seems to be streaked with grey too in this illustration. Anyway, however you would describe that colour, I think it’s still perfectly compatible with Hall’s ‘yellow’ description, if that’s not meant to be read as literally yellow but some shade of blond and near-blond. I think it’s also compatible with other contemporary and near contemporary depictions of Henry VII, namely the Torrigiano bust and his family portrait with St George and the dragon.

It’s ironic, then, that Henry VII’s hair colour was probably some shade of light brown or perhaps dark blond hair—possibly some lighter shade than Edward IV’s hair even—but he’s known in popular fiction and popular history as a man of dark features, the completely anthesis of the Tudor redheads that came after him. Antonia Fraser, for example, when comparing Henry VIII to his father and grandfather, says this:

Certainly the resemblance between Henry VIII and his grandfather Edward IV is remarkable, if one compares their portraits at the relevant ages. Here was another fine figure of a man, renowned when young for his ‘beauty of personage’, and his daughter Elizabeth of York inherited his blond good looks; while Henry VIII’s father, with his much darker colouring, narrow face and small beady eyes on which all observers commented was general considered by his contemporaries to look more French than English. No less than Edward IV, Henry VIII had the advantage of looking like a king.

Setting aside Edward IV’s alleged ‘blond looks’ and Henry VII’s alleged ‘much darker colouring’ as claimed by Fraser, I’m still to find a contemporary that said Henry VII looked physically French — it was remarked that he spoke French well and with ease, and that he would like to govern England as the French king did France, but nothing, as far I as have seen, about him looking like a Frenchman.

Another irony is, of course, that according to late medieval standards the beauty ideal for men was dark hair — we can speculate if certain kings really had brown hair as depicted in their manuscripts or if those were simply following convention. Just think about Chaucer’s lying, effeminate, cowardly Pardoner and his ‘yellow as wex’ hair, for example, to realise that ‘blond looks’ in men weren’t exactly ideal. Incredibly, authors have ignored Edward IV’s portraits, manuscripts, extant samples of hair, and even medieval male beauty standards to make Edward fit our contemporary ideas of beauty. 

[nicolesixxbooks]

13 - Killing Jars

Killing Jars

1

            Jack… The light feminine whisper called through the darkness. Help me, Jack…

            I need you.

            Jack groaned, getting up from his warm bed despite the protests of his tired body, the urgent and fearful beckoning leading him onward.

            Help me, Jack. It continued to beg. Help me, please. Please, please help me, Jack.

            The cellar was full of jars. His wife’s growing obsession over canning had started innocently enough, just a few seasonal jams and sauces, but it had grown into a tall pickled archive of vegetables and meats. It was cold in the cellar tonight. Jack could even see his breath frosting over the glasses as he made his way through the stacks of rot and brine.

            There, sitting on its own empty case of dust and cobwebs, was a single monarch butterfly. It was a stunning and unearthly creature and Jack let out a gasp despite himself, hesitating in slight awe before drawing near. Her wings were the most brilliant pale blue Jack had ever seen and they transfixed him almost hypnotically as she fluttered around helplessly within the jar.

            Help me, Jack. She whispered, the pale frosty vapor of his own breath hanging between them and chasing small crystalline veins of ice up her glass. I need you.

            Jack nodded, gently gripping the jar and untwisting the top, watching awestruck and shivering as she flew forth and flitted about, finally returning to land on his trembling pale cheek with the softest of kisses.

            Thank you, Jack. She whispered into him, letting him feel the power and soft femineity of her true form. And now I need something else.

            “What?” Jack asked, in that moment both her eager champion and slave.

            Free me…

2

            Blood, red and slick spilled from the prostitute’s stomach. She had pale saggy skin, marked from age and poor elasticity. She might even have children, waiting like stray kittens for her to come home and prepare them whatever constituted as breakfast in her strained heroin-soaked mind. Jack pulled the knife out, reveling in the shocked little look in those wide painted eyes before she buckled over, clutching weakly at the escaping pool of blood.

            She came then, beautiful blue wings gently landing amongst the crimson and burrowing deep inside. The streetwalker cried out, spasming and thrashing against the pavement, her head and eyes rolling back as she convulsed in the orange-lit alleyway.

            Then the hooker stopped and lapsed into silence.

            Jack glared bitterly as she crawled out from the corpses mouth, fluttering her wings to shake off the blood of the rejected form before coming back to him.

            The bodies continued to pile up between them as he searched yearningly for the right vessel, the proper host to once again give her form. Jack needed to save her, needed to make her whole, to make her real.

            To free her…

            …and yet.

3

            “This isn’t working.” Jack choked, another blood-soaked night ending back at home in the quiet of his room. Too quiet, his wife away on another sales convention, his spirit lover still denied form.

            “Nothing works.” He wept bitterly, hurling his knife at the floor like a sullen child, tears bleeding at the corners of his eyes in wet hot frustration. “So many women, not one of them worthy of holding you. Of freeing you.”

            Hush. She whispered, kissing at his tears in the darkness without form, turning them into frosty trails of ice. I am patient, so must you be, Jack.

            The temperature dropped, and Jack let out a breathy, foggy gasp as his belt slowly undid itself before him, his pants dropping to the floor as he was thrown back and paralyzed to the bed, his invisible paramour now taking full control.

            He slept well after his own release, slept, and dreamed of butterflies.

4

            Jack was growing more and more certain his wife had been the vessel they had needed all along. He watched her daily now, buzzing about the kitchen as she grilled him about another week’s activities he had missed. Buzzing, every part of her was the buzz of an insect these days, never standing still, never slowing down long enough to be a real woman. She took her form for granted, the softness of her flesh and hard curves of her body wasted as she flew about him, about the world. The itch to simply force this woman still festered within him, like infected blood or puss needing to be punctured and released.

            Needing to be freed.

            Even in sleep she was restless, a terror in the bed. Their love making had been passionate, ravenous as always, full of energy that she now continued to burn tossing and turning before him as he loomed nakedly over her at the foot of the bed. The knife was a cool calm gleam in the dark, his breathing paced and ragged, his member hard and erect as he climbed onto the bed and straddled her.

            Jack’s wife woke in a groggy disposition and quickly he smothered her mouth with a heavy hand, slicing the knife through her throat and holding her there until she finally went blissfully still beneath him. He gasped, falling back on his knees and wiped the blood off of his face as he panted desperately.

            She came, gracefully slipping into the jagged tear of his wife’s throat and then back out causing Jack to utter a painful howl, not of remorse but of impatience.

            “No one.” He roared in despair. “No one is good enough. How can these corpses not want you? Can they not see everything you would be offering them? Your beauty? Your light?”

            “How can they not love you?” He asked brokenly.

            “I do.”

            Jack swallowed nervously.

            “Take me.” He breathed. “I offer myself.”

            “I want you.” He begged, holding his head back and opening his mouth wide.

            She flew into him, a choking rush of gagging and freezing wings, then she was within him, writhing and coursing about as he convulsed and thrashed on the bed.

            Sweat clung to his brow, and chills raked at his spine as he breathed raggedly.

            “Cold.” He breathed foggily into the air. “So cold.”

            Jack felt his own hand brush his cheek, as the other stroked his inner thigh. He moved to cover it with the hand at his cheek, and the hand at his thigh squeezed it in loving response.

            So long have I waited for a body. She whispered silkily within him, using his own hands to navigate her newfound exploration of his flesh. I have such plans for us, Jackie-Boy.

            But for now… She stated huskily, his own hand finding and teasing the growing rigidness of his sex.

            Let us just work on warming you up.

[onekisstotakewithme]

for the writing meme, i'd love director's commentary on as much of the last section of "Beautiful to Take a Chance" as you'd like to provide! that's one of my favorite of your fics

I didn't know! Good old "Beautiful to Take a Chance," I'd be glad to offer director's commentary on this story 💜

Apologies in advance if this is like, less than coherent, the story is four years old... 😅

(but to spare everyone else, I'll do it under a read more)

Okay so it's obviously just a basic 5+1 structure, and this is actually a fic I don't think about very often! 😅

It starts with snuggling because I'm a soft-ass bitch at heart.

There are actually more parts to this universe, backstory pieces that demonstrate how Hawkeye has come to be this way (involving Carlye, primarily, and how she's the root of some of his insecurities.)

“Where do you get off always telling me I’m…” He chokes on the word. “Is that supposed to be funny? Cause if you look closely you may notice I am expressing zero mirth.”

This part particularly - Hawkeye doesn't believe he's beautiful. The whole story is kind of inspired by Alan being mildly self-conscious, and by Hawkeye not looking like a conventional "hero".

“See, there you go again!” Hawk says. “Look, pal, I’ve looked in the mirror a handful of times in my life, and I can tell you, it’s never Gene Kelly looking back at me.”

Why did I pick Gene Kelly? Because at the time I was mildly obsessed with Singin in the Rain. Although, personally, I prefer Donald O'Connor.

ANYWAY EVERYONE SHOULD TELL HAWKEYE HE'S PRETTY.

“Well why didn’t you lead in with that?” Hawk asks, certain he’s bright red by now. “I’d have believed you much sooner if you’d brought up sex.”

Don't you love when he says something upsetting and means it? I do. But like Hawkeye reducing himself to a tired old lech (this is particularly on my mind at the moment having watched That's Show Biz the other night. Hawkeye ties his worth to being good in bed.

Idiot.

“Too long nose. Too many limbs that are too long and gangly. I look like a stick insect. The wrong face.” Hawk gestures to himself. “Extra fat in the wrong places and skinny everywhere else. A small cock.”

And here's where i confess something: i don't like that last line. At the time I wrote this, the server I was in LOVED Hawkeye having a small cock and I kind of ran with that based on their influence. On my own merits, I wouldn't have written that because it feels cliche to me, a way of making him the "woman" in his and BJ's relationships. So anyway, this is an average Hawk cock truther blog.

“Yeah,” Hawk says. “In the same way Igor is a gourmet chef.”

On your left, you'll see me never missing the chance to take a jab at Igor, who I irrationally dislike.

“Shush.” BJ says, giving Hawk a searching look. “Your face is just right, dummy. Maybe your nose is long, but it gives you character that Gene Kelly could only dream of. Skinny arms and legs, so what? The food’s bad and you happen to be tall. I’ve heard women - and men - like that.”

Someone commented this on the fic i believe - and I agree wholeheartedly - that it's important that BJ doesn't dismiss how Hawkeye feels. He acknowledges those feelings and then proceeds to say that he loves them. That matters to me at least (also my nose is slightly too big so <3 )

“No,” BJ murmurs. “It’s the curve of your ear, and the silver in your hair, and the scar you have from falling off your bike when you were six, and the blue of your eyes and the scar on your lip… you’re beautiful, Hawkeye.”

I'm quite proud of this line! (most of the time I look back at older writing and go 'ehhh what's so special about it' but this line...)

anywayyyy I love them. Thank you!

[puppmeo]

Painted my religious rave experience

[rjalker]

The Diamond Necklace, by Guy de Maupassant.

from The Complete Original Short Stories of Guy de Maupassant

2,850 words long.

_

The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.

She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.

Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o'clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire.

When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air, “Ah, the good soup! I don't know anything better than that,” she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvellous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlike smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.

She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.

She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.

But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand.

“There,” said he, “there is something for you.”

She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words: The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.

Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:

“What do you wish me to do with that?”

“Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Every one wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there.”

She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:

“And what do you wish me to put on my back?”

He had not thought of that. He stammered:

“Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me.”

He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.

“What's the matter? What's the matter?” he answered.

By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:

“Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can't go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am.”

He was in despair. He resumed:

“Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions—something very simple?”

She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.

Finally she replied hesitating:

“I don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs.”

He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot larks there of a Sunday.

But he said:

“Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty gown.”

The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:

“What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer these last three days.”

And she answered:

“It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put on. I shall look poverty-stricken. I would almost rather not go at all.”

“You might wear natural flowers,” said her husband. “They're very stylish at this time of year. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses.”

She was not convinced.

“No; there's nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women who are rich.”

“How stupid you are!” her husband cried. “Go look up your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You're intimate enough with her to do that.”

She uttered a cry of joy:

“True! I never thought of it.”

The next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress.

Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:

“Choose, my dear.”

She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with precious stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:

“Haven't you any more?”

“Why, yes. Look further; I don't know what you like.”

Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it round her throat, outside her high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the mirror.

Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxious doubt:

“Will you lend me this, only this?”

“Why, yes, certainly.”

She threw her arms round her friend's neck, kissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure.

The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was prettier than any other woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling and wild with joy. All the men looked at her, asked her name, sought to be introduced. All the attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. She was remarked by the minister himself.

She danced with rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness comprised of all this homage, admiration, these awakened desires and of that sense of triumph which is so sweet to woman's heart.

She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball.

He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common life, the poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished to escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in costly furs.

Loisel held her back, saying: “Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab.”

But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached the street they could not find a carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a distance.

They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark.

It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten o'clock that morning.

She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace around her neck!

“What is the matter with you?” demanded her husband, already half undressed.

She turned distractedly toward him.

“I have—I have—I've lost Madame Forestier's necklace,” she cried.

He stood up, bewildered.

“What!—how? Impossible!”

They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not find it.

“You're sure you had it on when you left the ball?” he asked.

“Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister's house.”

“But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab.”

“Yes, probably. Did you take his number?”

“No. And you—didn't you notice it?”

“No.”

They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At last Loisel put on his clothes.

“I shall go back on foot,” said he, “over the whole route, to see whether I can find it.”

He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without any fire, without a thought.

Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.

He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper offices to offer a reward; he went to the cab companies—everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged by the least spark of hope.

She waited all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity.

Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He had discovered nothing.

“You must write to your friend,” said he, “that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn round.”

She wrote at his dictation.

At the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:

“We must consider how to replace that ornament.”

The next day they took the box that had contained it and went to the jeweler whose name was found within. He consulted his books.

“It was not I, madame, who sold that necklace; I must simply have furnished the case.”

Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, trying to recall it, both sick with chagrin and grief.

They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-six.

So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days yet. And they made a bargain that he should buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs, in case they should find the lost necklace before the end of February.

Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.

He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers and all the race of lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life, risked signing a note without even knowing whether he could meet it; and, frightened by the trouble yet to come, by the black misery that was about to fall upon him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tortures that he was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, laying upon the jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Madame Loisel took back the necklace Madame Forestier said to her with a chilly manner:

“You should have returned it sooner; I might have needed it.”

She did not open the case, as her friend had so much feared. If she had detected the substitution, what would she have thought, what would she have said? Would she not have taken Madame Loisel for a thief?

Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horrible existence of the needy. She bore her part, however, with sudden heroism. That dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their servant; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.

She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried the slops down to the street every morning and carried up the water, stopping for breath at every landing. And dressed like a woman of the people, she went to the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, a basket on her arm, bargaining, meeting with impertinence, defending her miserable money, sou by sou.

Every month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.

Her husband worked evenings, making up a tradesman's accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous a page.

This life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury and the accumulations of the compound interest.

Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished households—strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, skirts askew and red hands, she talked loud while washing the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window and she thought of that gay evening of long ago, of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so admired.

What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? who knows? How strange and changeful is life! How small a thing is needed to make or ruin us!

But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh herself after the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.

Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not?

She went up.

“Good-day, Jeanne.”

The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at all and stammered:

“But—madame!—I do not know—You must have mistaken.”

“No. I am Mathilde Loisel.”

Her friend uttered a cry.

“Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!”

“Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I last saw you, and great poverty—and that because of you!”

“Of me! How so?”

“Do you remember that diamond necklace you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball?”

“Yes. Well?”

“Well, I lost it.”

“What do you mean? You brought it back.”

“I brought you back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. You can understand that it was not easy for us, for us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad.”

Madame Forestier had stopped.

“You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?”

“Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very similar.”

And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud and ingenuous.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands.

“Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste! It was worth at most only five hundred francs!”

[charlotttee4]

Size on the runway

The modeling industry has long been notorious for its limiting requirements for model measurements. If a woman wasn't a 5°10" waif, the chances of breaking into the biz were slim to none. This is perhaps best evidenced by supermodel Kate Moss' 2009 declaration, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." Thankfully, times have changed, and so have model measurements. Moss even amended her previous assertion to reflect the industry's updated approach to body diversity: "There's so much more diversity now, I think it's right," she told NBC in 2018. "There's so many different sizes and colors and heights."

This means that the typical height, weight, and chest-waist-hips ratio for various modeling types aren't nearly as strict as they used to be. Still, many industry categories still aspire toward ideal model measurements that best showcase the specific products and services they hope to advertise.

When models were the same size, shape, and race or ethnicity, the beauty standards dictated by the runway (skinny, tall, white) did not reflect the diversity of the real world. However, the recent trend toward diversification of models indicates a move past these conventional beauty standards. Between plus-size models walking the runway, hijab-wearing models appearing at Fashion Week, models with disabilities appearing in editorial shoots, and more racial and ethnic diversity than ever before, the fashion industry's definition of beauty has a new face.

This transition is appreciated by consumers and models alike. Ali Tate Cutler, the first plus-size model to appear in a Victoria's Secret lingerie campaign, says of the industry: " feel like they are headed in the right direction and they are listening to their audience, who have requested to see more women of diverse shapes and sizes. I think if they continue to head in that direction, they will be onto a jackpot because that is reflective of what the average woman is in America."

[ecmlol]

I have this crazy idea for a Batman comic . In the early days of being a vigilante Bruce gets hurt and he is found by a ex army vet living in the slums of Gotham. She's skilled ,beautiful in a none conventional way and knows his secrets. She saves him more than once. He hires her as his assistants. They become fast friends. They becomes more on one drunken nights. They never speak about it . Bruce just found himself alone afterwards. Months flown by and everything was going well for Bruce as Batman . Bruce starts to notice that his friend and one time lover was acting strangely. Bruce figured out she is pregnant. She told him month ago that she started to date someone what he doesn't tell her is he knows she's lying. She leaves to have the baby and then comes back. What he doesn't tell her is that he always keeps a eye on her when he goes out on patrol. He has never seen anyone come or go at her apartment. When he dug around and and found what he knew was proof that he was the father . He bought her build and sent her a eviction notice stating that the build was going to be demolished. It wasn't true but she did t need to know that . He helped her move himself to a small cottage on the river not far from the wayne manor. It's actually a save house and can be reached by tunnels from wayne manor that alfred doesn't even know about. They have a heart to heart and she confesses to him that the child a girl belongs to him. He sets up trust for the child care under a different corporation so there is not ties to bruce Wayne . They both thought is would be save seeing Bruce Wayne child would be a target of kidnapping and it people ever found out about who batman really was they would always be a target. By day they where employees and boss by night they whe secret partners and parents. They have there own codes they would use to talk about their child or what every was going on with them personally. So she would talk about coffee that means the conversation is about their child . Years went on and Bruce had to may his public persona a little more public he would date women once or twice and then never see them again she knew what he was doing and why . She even set the dates up. He would only take her to masquerade or costume parties. She always understood. She got pregnant again when their little girl was 3. He was more involved with this pregnancy and even went to doctors appointment. Bruce build a completely different life with a new name and face Wayne Thompson. Tall handsome green eyes and a mustache. And blonde tip hair. When they took family pictures or anything thing he would dress the part. This time bruce was at the birth bruce told alfred he was going out of town for a weeks so he was able to spend this time with his family. After years of secret keep Bruce had enough with hiding from alfred. His two worlds meet in the bat cave. Alfred confesses that he knew something seem off when he keep finding unusual stains on his cloths. Alfred is swear to secrecy and was taken to the cottage using the tunnel that Bruce used nightly to visit his family. Then dick came into the picture. He keep the secret for year from him. He finally told him when he found the tunnel entrance after he came home sick from school and Alfred was coming out of the tunnel with two little girl one was 6 and the other 3 . Both with dark curly hair and one is tan and the other light in skin tone. . Alfred rushed the kids back to the tunnel and locked the entrance. Dick had so many questions thinking bruce was holding them captive underground. He confronts Bruce about it . Bruce denies everything until dick says how can he trust him if he can tell him the truth. Bruce break down and tells him why he lives three lives. Because he loved his kids and wife and wants them to be safe. ( they got married years ago but never filed the paperwork. If anything happened to him she is instructed to file the paperwork.he didn't want him to tell Bruce's secret to anyone incase he was ever kidnapped as Robin. Part one

[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.”

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