#there is no shame in thrifted clothing or hand me downs

[ultralightpoe]

Pinky Promises - Chapter One

Authors Note: Yeahhhhh baby. Chapter one is out.

Word Count: 8,316 Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

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Song of the Chapter : Hungry Like The Wolf

September 17th, 1983 - Saturday

“When I marry rich the first thing I’m doing is buying Eddie better taste in music.” Cece Miller mutters angrily whilst following her best friend through an over packed house 30 minutes outside of Hawkins, keeping a freshly manicured hand wrapped around the blondes wrist to keep her close as both their feet stumble across the floors. Via’s heavy boots thud against the linoleum of the kitchen while Cece’s heels click. The complete opposites. 

When Via stumbles under the harsh new light of the kitchen her hand pulls Cece who stumbles as well, the former trying not to laugh when Cece’s face smushed into her back quickly with a disgruntled gasp. 

“Slow down, Via.” She grounds out, her nails digging into the flesh of Via’s arm which makes her gasp out in pain. 

“Easy on the flesh, I’m going as slow as I can. Unless you want to be stuck between a bunch of people grinding?” She teases, reaching her free hand behind her to release some of the tension of Cece’s hold. Both of them back up with a simple step as a random jock in a letterman jacket dashes past to the bathrooms. “And so the mighty are already falling.”

“Jesus.” Cece grimaces as they both watch him shove past others. “I can never tell if I love these types of parties or hate them.”

“A bit of both as I’ve come to realize. You know, from all my years attending them.” A shit eating grin spreads across her face as she turns to look at her friend, biting back a laugh when the brunette merely rolls her eyes as she smooths out her hair. 

“How could I forget? Show me your partying ways ‘oh wise one’.” She mocks a little bow as she says it. The both of them already knew that their only experience of parties came from this past summer and this school year, and even then it’s whenever they can trick their parents. 

“Well we’ve already had a couple drinks-”

“Whoope.”

“And Eddie is still playing this trash metal music-”

“Are you shocked?”

“So another round of drinks and then we go on a hunt for the damn speakers and switch out the music for something worth a damn.” Via offers, wiggling her eyebrows as Cece cracks out into a fit of laughter. 

“Mission accepted. Let’s get moving.” With that she takes the lead, Via having to grab onto her wrist to stay connected as they once again make their way through the hectic floor. Bumping shoulders with partygoer after partygoer. 

Cecelia Miller was a force of nature in settings like this. She was one of the few girls that knew how beautiful she was and flaunted it well. She wore short skirts, that had once been longer skirts her mother thrifted but the girl had a knack of turning anything into her fashion. 10 minutes on a sewing machine and she was wearing the type of clothes that could have been in one of those lame fashion magazines Via had seen her obsess over day after day. 

It was a shame her fashion sense and beauty had earned her the label of ‘School Slut’ at Hawkins when anyone that knew the girl knew she was a virgin. But that didn’t matter to any of the assholes at school, they didn’t truly care about anyone else but themselves. 

Tonight she wore a skintight black skirt that had once been a pair of pleather pants, and a pink off the shoulder top that had once been a long sleeve floral shirt that Cece’s grandmother would wear to their church. 

Via’s own outfit had been one of Cece’s creations. A tight purple and black checkered dress hemmed from one of her sister's old ankle length skirts with a pair of pantyhose and an overly large gray blazer. When Via had thrown the blazer on she felt the same nervous bubbling she used to get whenever she tried on Nana's homemade dresses. 

Cece’s face always held the same amount of excitement her Nana’s once held whenever she looked at her creations. It always made something churn in her gut as she remembered the worn lines of her Nana’s face and the happiness laid in her eyes. But that was gone. Her Nana was gone. 

And Harrington had laughed. 

But she couldn’t think about that memory right now, not when her friend had led them both to the kitchens and had snatched two cups. As she inspected the insides of the cups to make sure they are clean, Via moves to find the last unopened bottle of vodka and turns to pour them out. 

Her father once said something about ‘yin and yang’ the first time Cece had spent the night at the old house. He laughed about how well they worked with each other, smooth and unbreakable. Working in tandem as they did the dishes or homework. Each others exact opposites and still never missing a beat. 

That carried to this day, and Via truly had no clue what she would do without her friend. 

“Do you want coke or lemonade?” Cece asks, still holding both the cups as she looks over to where the chasers were. 

“The cap to the coke is lost. Better safe than sorry.” Via hums out and grabs the lemonade to pour into the cups while Cece keeps an eye around them. Once both of them are filled enough the lemonade is set half haphazardly on the table again and Cece passes a cup to Vias outstretched hand easily, scoffing a bit when the bleach blonde tries drinking before cheers. “Sorry sorry.”

“Cheers to us, bitch.” Cece giggles, wiggling side to side in excitement before she gestures for Via to cheers her back. 

“Cheers to…” Surviving another year at Hawkins, not killing anyone and passing grades. “Being here?”

“Terrible toast. You’re never speaking at my wedding.” 

“You mean when you marry a rich man?” 

“Don’t laugh. I’ll buy you all the nice art supplies you want when I’m making the money.” She huffs once more, glaring at the boy that tries to come up and talk to them with his shirt off.  “A little busy here? Find someone else to bother.” 

He grumbles something under his breath before storming off and she merely rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Everyone here is disgusting.” 

“How shocking that you think people are disgusting.” Via mocks, giggling at her friends' annoyed expression before they tap their cups together and pinch their noses to chug the drinks quickly. 

They move to pour one last round before they abandon the kitchen and stagger their way across the floor in search for where the music was being played from. Their hands stay entwined tight, always keeping close no matter what. It was one of the rules they made at the first party they had ever been to after a risky interaction with one of the freaks Eddie had invited from that bar he always went to. 

Now, no matter what party they went to, one of them had to keep their hands on the other. Like the buddy system in kindergarten. 

“Okay so get into Eddie’s mindset.” Cece giggles, leading them into a hallway that has a little room to loiter. “I’m some sort of evil genius that throws random ragers which are just ruses to torture a crowd with my shit music. Where do I hide the radio?”

“Up his ass probably.” Via laughs, fanning her hand out to cool herself down a bit. Sweat began to cling to the back of her neck. “Do you have a hair tie?”

“Shhhhh I am thinking.” Cece snaps, putting her hand up to the blonde's face as she looks around. 

“Or we can follow a chord from one of the speakers?” Via offers, snatching her friend's hand and stealing a hair tie from the slender wrist and putting her hair up while the other girls gasps in excitement. 

“You are a genius. And not the evil kind like your cousin.” She exclaims before moving to find a speaker and before they know it they are following the chord to the radio and hijacking it to a different station. The crowd is a mix of boos and excited chants as dancing begins downstairs. 

 They escape the scene of the crime, giggling the entire time, especially when Via trips on the bottom step of the staircase leading back down to the living room area where most of the dancing was beginning. 

Hungry Like The Wolf begins blasting through the speakers and Cece yells in excitement, dragging Via the last couple steps towards the dance floor and throwing them both in without a second thought. 

1 song turned to 3 more. Which turned to 5 more songs and by the time Via managed to drag Cece away from the crowd and out the door, the sweat that had covered most of her skin sent chills down her spine as it soaks up the cold night air. 

Cece leans against the railing close to the door, leaning back and fixing her hair so the air can hit her face a little better while Via staggers to the opposite railing with her eyes closed as every muscle in her body relaxes, wrapping the oversized blazer around herself to preserve some warmth. 

“It’s not warm looking cool is it?” A voice from below the porch snaps her out of the calm daze, scaring her a bit before she blinks away the blurriness and finds her cousin sitting in the grass of the lawn smiling from ear to ear. “You the little shit that switched my music?”

The scent of caramel and sweat fill Via’s senses as Cece joins her side with an overdramatic huff. “The music you were playing sucked. So you can’t pull your better than thou attitude with us.”

“Hello, Cecelia.” Eddie grins, leaning against the wall of the house as he stares up at her. “You both would be a lot warmer if you dressed like me, you see I have a leather jacket and a flannel because unlike you I-”

“Look like a dweeb?” Cece scoffs, using her fingers to swiper under her eyes in an attempt to clean the makeup that had pooled there. 

 There is a slam of a car door not far off that pulls Via’s attention as the two around her continue their small argument, but the people getting out of the car have fully grabbed all of her attention. The three boys in the Hawkins jerseys all shoving each other drunkenly and laughing like maniacs as they stagger across the lawn to get to the front door. 

Via watches for a moment, waiting to see if another figure would emerge, one that she knew like the back of her hand. When he doesn’t she takes a deep breath in and turns back to where her cousin was still sitting and hauls herself up onto the railing to throw her body over. The only problem was she had a little too much to drink so it’s not as smooth as she would like it to be and she ends up just falling forward. 

Cece gasps out and it’s like a slow motion horror story as Via watches the ground come at her quickly, or well maybe she was coming at the ground too quickly but who's to say? Before she can really crash her cousin is there, laughing as he takes most of the hit and they both sprawl across the dirt and grass. 

It takes her a moment to catch her breath since the fall knocked the wind out of her lungs, and by the time she finally does she has to pick herself up off the ground to spot Cece climbing through the rails rather than over them. 

Eddie groans in pain as he dashes to help her before the jocks hit the porch, all three of them ducking down so the clowns in jock jackets don’t see them. 

“Is there a reason you are hiding in the bushes?” Via taunts, still a little out of breath from her fall and her back shooting with pain. 

“Party got a little boring.” He shrugs, leaning against the wall again as his hand pats down his jacket before he pulls a sandwich baggie with a joint and a lighter tossed into it. “Needed a break.”

“You fell down here after leaning on the railing.” Via guesses which makes her cousin lean to punch her shoulder harshly. She grunts in pain once more before slapping his arm back and before he can hit back Cece leans to snatch the joint from him while he is distracted. 

“Of course. You two follow me out here just to team up on me as usual. This will not stand, you hear me?” Eddie rants, shaking his head. “I’m putting my foot down, Cecelia.”

“Don’t say my name like that, Edward.” She snaps, lighting the rolled up joint and taking in a deep inhale before passing it to Via. Eddie whines in the background as Via follows her friend's lead before handing it to Eddie finally. 

“Do you ladies like…. My humble abode?” He squints, gesturing to the big house behind him before smoking as well, watching both of the girls look at the house fully now. 

 “How do you even find these houses?” Via questions, closing her eyes and laying down as the dizziness threatens to consume her.  

Eddie had made a habit of throwing parties in houses for sell, empty and out of town bounds. An idea Cece gave him the last time Hopper caught him with weed, he had gotten into a lot of trouble and she was upset. So now the parties are in houses where Hopper couldn’t find them, and Eddie could sell to people from other towns.

“Oh it’s so easy. I simply read a newspaper and look for open houses then I go to the open house and look up what time they close and once I’m sure they are closed up for the night I break in - which isn’t a crime if I don’t get caught so do not make that face at me Cecelia-”

“Hate when you call me that Edward.” She grunts. 

“-And then I call a random number to a different school from a telephone that cannot be traced-”

“A payphone.” 

“Olivia, please I am trying to lay out my master scheme here. Anyways I call from a phone that cannot be traced to a random student from different schools and tell them the address for the night so I can never be tracked. It’s so simple.”

“I think you need help, Edward.” Via hisses, sitting up to flick his nose before Cece lays down to put her head in Via’s lap and close her eyes. They sit in silence for a moment, just taking a deep breath in as the party is still loud and booming within the house. Hungry Like The Wolf begins to play through the speakers again.  

“I hate you guys for changing the music.” Eddie groans. 

“This party blew before we did that so lose the tone Edward.” Cece mumbles with her eyes still closed. 

“How are things going with you two? It’s been forever since I have seen you both.” He is quick to change the subject. 

“We saw you yesterday.” Via reminds him, leaning back on her palms to relax as he relights his joint and Cece hums out while still using her friend as a pillow. No matter how many parties they went to somehow they always ended up sitting alone and gossiping about the dumbest things possible. Did that make them lame?

Via didn’t think so but Steven Harrington would probably disagree. Just the thought of his stupid face has her clenching her jaw and imagining ways to hit him with a car. But the thoughts betray her, just as they always do. It goes from hitting him with a car to remembering his face that night. 

When she had heard the news about Nana, when she panicked and ran to the one person she thought would make her feel better. But she should have known better, she should have known that he wasn’t who she thought he always was. 

Eddie had warned her long before that and her freshman year had proven as much. But she was still a fool, and she was upset and he had been so drunk . 

The glassiness of his eyes made her stomach sink, the wet of the grass digging into her socks as she tries to process her next words. 

“My Nana is gone…” She sobs, and he only blinks. 

“Are you crying?” He slurs and she can’t tell if he can hear her or not. When she does go to respond she is interrupted by the sound of Tommy Hagan cackling behind Steve. 

He turns to stare at Tommy and Ollie watches in slow time as his chest begins to rise and fall with… laughter. Steve was laughing. At her. 

“Via? Helloooo?” Eddie calls, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

“Sorry? What?” She balks, trying to act calm as both of her friends peer at her as if she were crazy. 

“We thought you were like…. Dying or something. We have been trying to get your attention for hours.” Cece huffs, tears in her eyes. “Don’t die.”

“Okay, don’t get too dramatic Cecelia.” Eddie huffs, though his face still holds a small but of panic. “She is right though. You went pale and just zoned out for a minute.”

“Sorry. Got caught in my head.” Via answers, tension coiling in her chest as they both watch her with fear. When neither of them seemed to relax she lets out a fake laugh, doing her very best to make them believe it. “I’m fine mom and dad. Take a breath.”

“Fine. Just tell me if I need to go grab water.” Eddie huffs, finally sitting back which makes Cece relax as well, though she doesn’t lay her head back in her friends lap and rather sits against the wood hold of the porch with a skeptical look. One Via notes immediately. 

“What were we talking about before I zoned out?”

“We were just catching up.” Eddie mumbles and Via doesn’t miss the way he smears out the rest of the joint, throwing it back in the bag and shoving it in his jacket with shaky hands. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good.” Steve’s laughing face is still deeply engraved in the center of her thoughts but that’s where he stayed whether she liked it or not. 

“I was telling Eds about my essay, the one you helped me with? I got an A on it.” Cece mutters, reaching up to smooth out her hair. “Who knew Cleopatra was so interesting?”

“I did…. And Wiley. He gave me the books for the research, you know?” Via smiles as both their faces melt at the mention of her little brother. 

“Oh I love Wiley!” Cece blurts, her voice filled with the same tone in which you talk to a tiny kitten. “He’s just so sweet!”

“I don’t understand how Wiley doesn’t have friends!” Eddie snaps aggressively, his face pinched up in annoyance. “That kid is so metal. He rocks and I’ll pummel those kids that made fun of him. I promise you that.”

“That’s a crime, Eds.” Cece reminds. 

“Only if you get caught.” He snaps back. “I seriously don’t know what that Wheeler kids problem is.”

“We don’t know it was Wheeler.” Via rushes out, palms outstretched in an attempt to get them both to calm down like they were wild animals.  “But the stutter has gotten better around the house. I have no clue what he sounds like at school.”

It was a partial truth. Wiley had developed a really bad stutter due to some bullying at school and over the years he started to avoid talking all together. His stutter had gotten better around their family lately but that was due to the fact that he avoided talking any chance he could. No matter how much their dad pried for conversation. 

“We should dress up as middle school boys and sneak in to see.”

“Hate to break it to you Cecelia but you have a very large pair of knockers.”

“EDWARD!” She snaps, sitting up to slap his forehead quickly which makes him gasp out in fake shock. 

“That was so rude Cecelia. You truly just hurt my feelings.” He whines, and she rolls her eyes when he smiles at her. 

“Grow up, Munson.”

“You first, Miller.”

“Get a room, Mutts.” Via scoffs, moving to stand on shaky legs. 

“Get a life, Ollie.” Eddie scoffs back, eyes widening when Via picks up a tiny rock to throw at him, and within seconds he’s scrambling to run away as both girls move to attack him. 

- 

20 minutes later Via stands before the side of the house, two cans of spray paint within her hands as she sticks out her tongue from the corner of her mouth in an attempt to better concentrate. Steve used to say it was ‘frog mentality’ and that she would pass all her classes if she kept doing it. But that was back when Steve wasn’t the devil incarnate. 

Cece and Eddie lean against the tree facing the house, both watching my work and critiquing it any chance they get to bother her. 

“I would like to remind the group one more time that I am still working on the project. And you shouldn’t judge it until it’s done.” Via snaps out, tossing the red spray paint into the duffel bag and snatching up a different color, shaking it quickly as Eddie tilts his head to admire the work. 

“It looks uneven.” He smirks and Cece gasps dramatically. “Eds I was literally about to say that.”

“I hate you both.” Via mumbles under her breath which makes them laugh as she continues on. They begin talking amongst themselves, Cece reminding Eddie about homework to which he argues that he did it and they begin a whisper debate, and at some point Via begins to zone them out and focus on the project at hand. Their words fade out, and the colors become the only thing that matters. They blend together and soon enough a face comes into view, the brick all turning into a portrait of despair. 

By the time she steps back all she can do is blink at the creation, smiling from ear to ear as her cousin whistles slowly and walks up to where she stands. “Is that Marilyn Monroe?”

“Oh my god Eddie. It is obviously Marilyn Monroe.” Cece sighs, coming up to huddle next to them both for warmth as each of them fight off shivers. “I cannot believe you did that with spray paint.”

“Is she crying or smiling?” Eddie asks, tilting his head to further admire the portrait. 

“Both? I don’t know. I kind of just let the paint take control.” Via admits, face heating as both of them immediately groan out. 

“I’m Via and I speak to the paint.” Eddie mocks, pretending to flip his hair over his shoulder before his face goes dead serious. “You’re not….huffing the paint are you?”

“Shut up Edward!” Cece snaps which makes Via smile, laughing a bit until the defense turns against her. “She only does that every now and then. She mostly huffs the bleach for her hair.”

“YOU do my hair!” Via groans, shoving Cece away as she packs up the duffel of spray paint and snatches the polaroid camera from the bag before stepping back and taking a picture of her latest mural. 

The second the picture is formed she can do nothing but smile at it. 

“Alright, go pose.” Cece giggles, snatching the camera and shoving Via in the direction of the mural. The blonde doesn’t argue, and immediately dashes to pose in front of the brick wall with a wide smile, both her middle fingers pointed to the camera as Cece takes the picture. 

She shakes the picture with excitement as Eddie shuffles closer to see it. Once it’s developed they both show their excitement, Eddie with a ‘hell yeah’ and Cece with a loud squeal. 

“You look so good!” The brunette laughs.

“Badass.” Eddie confirms and Via snatches the photo to look at it herself. 

Sometimes seeing her reflection or photo these days still kind of shocked her, like a stranger she had never had the chance to properly meet. 

After Nana had passed she had gone through many changes. 

It had started the day she chopped her long hair down to her collarbone, sobbing violently until she rushed to Cece’s house before her parents could see it. Cece’s mother had evened out the chop and helped the girls bleach her hair, since she was a hair stylist. 

The pink came from a night at Cece’s house while her mom slept over at her nasty boyfriend's place. Cece had been upset and Via had of course rushed over, they read in one of her lame magazines that color in the hair was the new thing so they started with Via. But by the time the pink had been dyed Cece lost her nerve and had never added any blue to her own. 

This led to a fight, one of their biggest, and they went a whole 20 minutes of not talking to each other. It was intense. (Eddie says they are both too codependent. They both tell him to shove it)

Gone were the days of the handmade dresses her Nana used to spend hours making, gone were the days of being bullied over them. Not that Via ever hated the dresses, they were all gifts from her Nana, but she liked that she could grow into her style some more. There were still a couple dresses kept safe in the back of her closet though. Kept safe and hidden. 

Cece had taught her makeup…. Well she tried to teach her makeup but the two had very different thoughts on how makeup should look. Cece went for a glam look, foundation and glitter. Via went for a…. She liked eyeliner. 

And Via loved her new look, she loved everything about it. She just wishes she had more time to grow into it rather than changing it in one summer. 

But it was time things moved forward. Freshman year from hell had proved as much. Harrington and his friends had made it dreadful. And her one best friend….. 

“Okay, we need to get out of here before the cops show up. That party is only getting louder.” Eddie reminds. He makes sure everything is picked up and gives them both one more protective look. “I’m gonna go find my sophomores. You two good to get home?”

“Tell Gareth and Jeff I say hello.” Cece smiles, fluttering her eyes which makes Eddie roll his eyes once more. Everyone knew both of them had huge crushes on her, the kind that left them speechless whenever she was near. 

“I already told you not to bully my youth, Cecelia.”

“Blah blah blah.” She snaps, leaning to kiss his cheek before moving to walk away leaving Via behind for a moment. 

“You okay?” He blurts after a moment, both of them watching Cece walk across the lawn in her heels, yelling in disgust when they keep sinking in the mud. 

“Oh my god I’m fine. It was just a zoned out moment.  I’ll drive her home and walk.” she sighs in aggravation, twisting the bracelet on her arm nervously. “You can even come knock on our door when you get home to make sure I made it.”

“I meant about the day.” Eddie mumbles, finally turning to her with that knowing look that normally sets her on edge. “I know how…..close you were .”

“I’m fine. It’s just a day.” She laughs, not enjoying the queasy feeling coiling in her stomach or the way her palms seem to itch with sweat. Memories lunging for her, all around that stupid boy with the stupid smile. “Are you okay to get home?”

Best way to handle Eddie is to change the subject to himself, it’s something she had  learned pretty quickly. He gets as defensive about being okay as she does. Fight fire with fire. 

“How about you call the trailer later and make sure I am alive?” He teases, punching her shoulder. Situation diffused. 

“COME ON!” Cece calls, finally having made it to her car. “I WANT DONUTS!”

“CAN YOU YELL ANY LOUDER?!” Eddie calls back, flipping her the bird before turning back to the house. “Go get the princess her donuts. I gotta find the boys.”

“Bye Edward.” She mumbles back, using his full name to piss him off. 

“Bye Ollie.” He mutters back in the same tone and the grunt of shock that passes his lips when she punches his shoulders makes her smile. “Fine. Via.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

- 

September 17th, 1975

“I officially hate 2nd grade.” Ollie mutters, trying to pull away from her mom as the older blonde fixes the pigtails she had sent her daughter to school in. 

“I just don’t understand how a crayon melted in your hair Ollie.” She grunts, frustration flashing in her eyes as she picks the comb up from the table to once again try tugging some of the wax out. “Stevie? Did you see her?” “No.” He lies, watching from his spot at the kitchen table with his legs swinging back and forth. “She was on her own for this one.”

That part was true at least. 

“Why would you do this Olivia?” Charlotte groans right as Flip comes down the stairs.

“What did Olivia do?”

“Dad! Mom is pulling my hair!” Ollie snitches which makes Steve snort in amusement until she sends a glare his way, promptly shutting him up. 

“Don’t pull my baby's hair.” Her father mumbles, coming up to kiss his wife’s cheek before he stops short. “Olivia Diane Fraser. What the hell did you do?”

Steve sits up straight, eyes widening as he begins to panic. His friend was in deep trouble if her dad was using her full name. There is an urge to defend her, to tell her parents that it wasn’t her fault even if he knew it was. And apart of him knew her dad would never raise a hand to her, but there was still that fear, deep in his stomach that made him want to throw up. 

“I was making Stevie a gift!” She yells back, her face going red with frustration. “It’s his birthday!” 

“Oh you don’t say.” Charlotte laughs, turning to give Steve a wide smile. “Have I said Happy birthday yet Stevie?”

“This morning.” Steve nods, watching Ollie stick her head in the sink to try and get the crayon out again. “You want to see what Ollie made me?” 

“Sure.” Flip sighs, dragging his eyes away from his daughter to see Steve hold out a piece of construction paper with melted crayons all over them. He blinks for a moment as Steve smiles like it’s the best art he’s ever seen. 

Flip however cannot figure out what it is. He just stares, hoping if he blinks enough the image will come to him. 

“It’s flowers!” Steve supplies. “See the wax of the green crayon is the stem and then she was making red and pink flowers with the other crayons and-“ 

“How the hell were you meltin these?” Flip laughs, turning back to his daughter. 

“The sun….. and by pressing them into a lightbulb from a lamp.” Ollie explains, somehow managing to escape her mothers hold and dashing to where Steve sits. “Do you really like it?” 

“It’s the coolest thing ever. I’m keeping it.” He smiles, pulling it closer to him. 

“Alright. We’ll worry about Ollie’s hair later. For right now the big question is upon us.” Flip laughs, sitting at the table and turning to Steve. “What does the birthday boy want for dinner?” 

- 

September 17th, 1983 Saturday 

The mini mart that sat right on the edge of town was probably the worst place to be so late in the night, and this only became apparent to Via when she walked in to find it empty. 

Well, not empty. The lights were on and the radio by the register was playing music but there wasn’t another human in sight. It had an unsettling feel to it and for a second she is glad she had the mind to lock the doors to Cece’s car since the other girl was passed out in the backseat with a ‘car blanket’ strewn over her. Via wouldn’t have even stopped for the donuts if she didn’t want a snack herself. 

The weed and the liquor both claimed hunger in her stomach. 

So, even though it gave her a bad feeling, Via smiled as she used the emptiness of the mini mart to her advantage. Unzipping her purse as she passed through the aisles and shoved some things in it quickly. A small bottle of liquor, a pack of donuts, band-aids, chocolate, matches. 

She is debating if she should shove some gum in when the bell of the door sounds out and her attention drags to it, only to find the one person she never wanted to talk to again. 

Steve Harrington blinks in shock, eyes wide as he looks torn between holding his ground or running away, his hand still on the door. His mouth opens and shuts a couple times before he clears his throat which snaps her back to attention. 

She turns quickly, willing her spine to relax as she lamely stares at the gum choices before her, blinking and waiting. 

Finally after a moment the door finally shuts completely and she lets out a breath, hoping that meant he left. She wasn’t so lucky because a moment later his footsteps can be heard as he passes her until he is an aisle away and looking at the selection of chips they had. 

The only problem was the aisles barely reached their shoulders so they could still see each other. She was just fine ignoring him, but it seemed he would not let this moment pass. 

“Is anyone working?”

“Do I look like I work here, Harrington?” She snarks, snatching up a pack of gum and moving to leave before she realizes that he would probably snitch which meant she would have to pay. Shit. 

Turning to make it look like she wasn’t about to leave she waltzes to the counter and rings the bell, ignoring the feeling of his eyes on her back. 

“Did you walk here? Or is that your car out there?” He asks again, and though she can’t see him she can hear him moving to another aisle to grab what he needed. 

“It’s not my car.” 

“So you walked? I can give you a ride to-”

“It’s my friends. I’m fine.” The answer is more of a disgruntled sigh, one that she wishes held more of a bite. She wishes she knew what would hurt him just as he hurt her, wanting nothing more than to make him bleed the very same way he made her bleed. “Besides. Mormon girls aren’t supposed to be with guys without an escort.”

His grunt of shock makes a small amount of pride bloom in her chest as she hits the bell again, a couple times to see if anyone would bother to hear her. 

“How’s Wiley? Haven’t seen that kid in ag-”

“HELLO?!” She calls, frustration claiming her as he walks a little closer now, hands filled with items. She takes one moment to see what he’s got. Packs of pudding, a bag of chips, and a slim jim. 

“Dinner.” He answers at her look, shrugging a bit. “Fancy isn’t it?”

She doesn’t answer, shaking her head as she turns back to the counter. She would not admit to remembering what day it was, she would never admit anything to him. 

Reaching for the bell once more before she is cut short by the lights in the mini mart flickering before going out for a moment, then when the lights come back on Via finds herself blinking at Steve in shock. 

He blinks back before a thunk is heard from the bathrooms to the left. 

“Has the worker been in the bathroom this whole time?” Steve asks, setting his items down before heading to the door and knocking lightly. 

“Seriously?” Via scoffs. “You’re gonna bother their bathroom break?”

“I… well- What am I supposed to do Ollie?”

“Don’t call me that-” A loud thunk from the back of the store catches their attention before a couple cans of coke fall off one of the shelves. 

“Nope.” Via grunts, snatching her gum and moving to the door. “I am not dying here.”

Steve is quick to follow her lead, only stopping to grab a box of matches before dashing out the door. 

She, like a fool, waits for him to escape before shutting the door behind him and moving to dash to the safety of Cece’s car before he is calling out quickly. “Hey Ollie…via!”

“It’s late. I have to go.” She snaps, rushing to unlock the driver side door. “If my parents find out I’m this close to Hawkins Lab after dark I’m dead.”

“I… I was just going to say I like the….. Hair?” He mumbles, and she risks one look at him, blinking slowly. The nervous look on his face reminded her of the way things used to be, when they dressed up as pirates and detectives. But before she knows it his laughing face is flashing through her memory. 

She doesn’t bother responding, giving him a glare before getting in the car and starting it up, leaving Harrington at that stupid mini mart. 

It’s not long before they reach Cece’s house, and Via helps her friend stagger inside while doing her best not to wake her little sister that shared the room. She helps get her into bed, tucking her in before leaving the pack of donuts on the nightstand and sneaking out the window. 

The walk to her house was filled with memories and anger, her arms wrapped around herself in a lame attempt to keep warm as her boots crunched on the gravel beneath her. For 10 minutes she combed over that entire interaction with Steve, thinking about all the things she could have said. 

She could have told him to shove it, or that she hopes he loses all his hair. There were so many options and when her home came into view she had to stop from kicking herself at all the lame responses she had given. 

Wiley called this house ‘Grimoire’ since he claims it’s the kind of house you would find in an old warlock's grimoire. And looking at it now, under the little light the moon could offer with the forest behind it, there was no better description. It looked… old and depressing. 

The last few years with Nana all their extra money had gone to her chemo and treatments. When she passed they had been a bit…. Panicky to find somewhere new to live. They had no money. 

This house had been a lucky find. Eddie’s Uncle Wayne had helped them fix it up a bit when they began renting it and over the summer they tried to make it their new home. 

It wasn’t. 

Nothing was these days because they were missing someone. 

But Via couldn’t think about that right now, not as she climbed onto the stack of milk cartons she set up to help her climb through her window in the one story home, doing her best to keep quiet so she didn’t wake anyone up. 

It didn’t matter in the end since the second she closes her window the sound of her door creaking fills the air as Wiley comes into view. 

“Hi, Wye.” She greets, smiling softly as she sits on the edge of her bed to unlace her boots. “What are you doing up?”

“C…couldn’t… couldn’t-t sleep.” He shrugs coming a bit closer and sitting at the chair of her desk where all her art supplies were currently strewn about. Her spray painting gear is hidden in Cece’s trunk of course. “W-were y-y-y-you at…”

She watches him take a deep breath in, choosing to focus his attention on one of her drawings to ease himself and not make eye contact so this was less stressful to him. “Were y-you at Stev-ve’s birthday party?”

“No. I was with Eddie and Cece. They say hi and that they love you by the way.” She smiles, throwing her bag on the bed before pulling out the two chocolate bars. “Look what I got you.”

This pulls a smile from his face as he eagerly snatches one from her hand and tears it open. 

“Did you talk to that Sinclair kid?” Via asks, watching him closely, watching as his face falls a bit and his cheeks redden. 

“T-they were t-talking ab-bout a new c-c-c..”

“Comic? They are reading a new comic? You don’t have it?”

“N-no.” He shakes his head. “Goodnight.”

He gets up and walks out without another word, but he does send her a small smile and she hears the sound of his own door shutting soon after before she gets up herself. 

Wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed she heads down the hall and sets the box of matches in the kitchen drawer where her mom complained about being out before she left, and then she goes into the bathroom to switch out the empty box of bandaids with the ones she got tonight, smiling a bit to herself when she shuffles back to her room. 

The panel in the bottom of her tiny closet lifts easily, and she reaches in to hide the bottle of liquor she stole earlier, her hand grazing something familiar as she pulls it out. The broken half of a canvas she had made herself years ago. 

She remembered the day her dad helped her staple it so she could paint it for her friend, the bob ross picture staring right back at her with a painted figure. It was messy and her work was choppy at best. An ugly painting by an untalented freak. 

But it still pulled all the wrong strings to her heart, drawing tears to her eyes. “Happy birthday Steve Harrington.” 

With that she shoves the canvas back in the hole and covers it back up before crawling into bed. 

- 

September 17th, 1975

Steve and Ollie sat together at the table, faces covered in Nana’s famous pudding as they giggled over the wax painting she had made. 

The wax was out of her hair thanks to Nana pouring half a bottle of lotion in it, now she smelled of lavender and lotion which Steve thought hilarious. 

They shared the last helping of Nana’s pudding right now, Ollie letting Steve have most of it since it is his birthday. 

“Thank you for the gift. I can’t wait to hang it up.” He mumbles through a mouthful of pudding. 

“Happy birthday, Stevie.” Ollie giggles. “You’re my best friend ever.”

September 19th, 1983 - Monday

“That damn tagger did it again Lottie!” Flip Fraser huffs, slamming the newspaper against the table as both his kids shuffle around him to get ready for their day. If he looked up at this moment he might have seen his oldest daughter's humored smile or the way his youngest son gives a fake glare at his sister. 

“They did?” Lottie Fraser asks, dashing into the room with her blonde hair flowing behind her. “Show me.”

It was safe to say her parents were both a little too invested in this tagger situation, since ‘the tagger’ first appeared in the paper for tagging the grocery store with a portrait of JFK three months ago. Not Via’s best work but that one was a dare given by Gareth. Ever since they both always waited for the news to reveal more. 

“A house outside of town. Closer to Hawkins Lab.” Her dad grunts, shaking his head in annoyance. “And no one saw a damned thing.”

“Oh my…” Her mother mumbles, sitting at the empty chair of the table as she reads the article with her husband. “It is a nice mural though. I can’t tell if Marilyn is crying or smiling.”

Via snorts as she remembers her conversation with Eddie. This draws her fathers attention as he looks at her with a smile, dropping the paper on the table and moving to stand and finish brushing his wife’s hair. “How was work yesterday, Olli….via. Olivia. I said Olivia and everyone heard it.”

“Work was fine, nothing really to note.” Via had applied to the town's movie theater the second she found out they were hiring, saving up money to help her parents and maybe get herself a car. It had mostly been the former whether they knew it or not, her parents never wanted her to ‘waste her money on them’.  “It was our senior citizen discount night so not much business. Barely had to sweep up popcorn.”

“Good good.” He smiles, leaning to kiss her forehead as she passes to wash her bowl from breakfast. 

“Wye? You ready for today?” 

“Y-yes.” Wiley smiles, cheeks red as his dad watches him. 

It’s silent for a moment before Lottie leans forward to kiss his cheek. “How has it been going with making friends, baby? You talk to anyone?”

Flip begins braiding her hair, as she continues staring at Wiley with such hope in her eyes. 

“Th-they w-were all talking ab-b-b-”

“Deep breaths, bud.” Flip says gently, smiling when Wiley takes a deep breath in before starting again. 

“They were all talking about a n-new comic book.” He goes slow, not that anyone in the room minds. 

“Do you have the book?” Flip asks, watching Wiley shake his head. 

“But it’s f-fine.”

“No bud, you did all your chores this week.” Flip grunts, finishing off Lottie’s hair and grabbing his wallet. Her fathers cheeks redden as he hands Wiley a dollar. “Is this enough?”

Wiley nods, jumping to hug him before running to grab his school stuff. 

The rest of the morning falls into one of a rushed panic as everyone races around to grab everything they need. Her mom kisses her cheek and does her best to smooth out her daughter's hair before dashing to the blue car Nana left behind and nodding for Wiley to get in. 

Her dad hops into the truck and waits patiently for her to hop in before zooming off to drop his daughter off. 

He stops down the street, telling her to have a good day before driving off to let her walk the rest of the way, just as she requested at the beginning of the year. 

She passes the familiar car that Steve and all his friends usually hang out around, noting that today he was by himself before walking past him to go into the building. 

- 

September 17th, 1983 - Saturday 

Steve Harrington didn’t believe in fate, his mother had spent her days pouring wine and complaining about her horoscope. She claimed fate led her to his father and if that was fate then Steve wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. 

But seeing Ollie tonight had to have been fate. There was no other reasoning behind it. What are the chances he would see her on the night of his birthday? It. Was. Fate.

But that hateful, despising look she gave him before leaving? That was gut-wrenching. 

It clung to him on the rest of the way home from his trip. He hadn’t wanted to go to the party in the first place, he would’ve rather wallowed in self pity all night like an idiot. But he knew if he didn’t make an appearance then Tommy would have said something, but by the time Steve’s car pulled up he saw the lights of police cars and figured he would just go home. 

So he stopped on the way home, where he saw her. 

She looked so different, seeing her on the first day of school this year had been a shock to the system already. But that punching feeling he got in his gut every time she made eye contact? That was a mix between guilt and amazement. 

Walking into the empty house, that had just finished getting redone, he throws his keys on the fresh counter before dropping his junk on it and slamming his finger in the answering machine. 

He already knows there wasn’t going to be any messages, not from either of his parents, yet he still feels disappointed when it’s confirmed. So he reaches into the cabinet and pulls out a candle, throwing one of the pudding cups open aggressively and shoving the candle into the cheap pudding. 

“Happy Birthday Stevie.” He whispers, blowing out the candle and eating the pudding before heading up to his room and digging in his closet. There is a box of things he keeps hidden for when his friends come over and dig through his stuff, so they won’t see all the memories he keeps stored away. 

The broken half of a beautifully painted canvas is the first thing that catches his attention, the colors blending in his sight as he grabs the sweater knitted for him and tosses it on quickly. 

The painting had looked so good, he wondered what Ollie’s paintings looked like now. But before he can think about it too much he slams the lid shut and shuts the light off before heading to bed. 

“Happy birthday indeed.” He sighs.

x Next Chapter x

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanart #stranger things fan #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

[foreverindreamlandd]

Party Like it's 1984

Pairing: Neighbor!Steve Harrington x Plus Size!Reader

WC: 3.1k

Summary: You and Steve arrived at the Halloween party separately - him with Nancy, you with Robin and Keith. But when shit goes down with the new kid Billy Hargrove, everything gets a bit mixed up.

Warnings: Underage drinking, Billy Hargrove being an absolute asshole, bullying, fat-shaming, name calling, protective Steve.

Note: This is part of the Neighbor!Steve x Plus Size!Reader AU, but you do not need to read the previous parts to read this one! Takes place during the Halloween episode of season 2. This one's a bit angsty....also ignore Nancy in the gif plz it was the best one I could find :,)

Stranger Things Masterlist

~~~~~~

“This is a bad idea,” you mumbled, shifting in your seat until the buttons of your shirt were no longer pulling open.

Robin turned to you from the passenger seat. “Come on, babe. You promised we could go. Besides, we look hot. Right, Keith?”

Keith muttered something incoherent. “How long do we have to be at this thing again?” he asked.

“Until Tammy Thompson flirts with lady Indiana Jones,” you responded, staring at your reflection in the rearview mirror. Maybe if you pulled your own dark brown fedora, no one would be able to recognize you.

Robin started sputtering in an attempt to form a defense, but eventually just crossed her arms and went silent.

You were right, after all.

When you had agreed to let Robin drag you to this Halloween party, you imagined you could just throw on some witch mask and continue being invisible as you strived to be in the halls of Hawkins High. But then, your horrible, mean, psychotic best friend convinced you to wear matching costumes.

“Why do men get to wear the fun, hot, rogue archeologist outfit?” she had argued while the two of you thrifted for your costume pieces at Goodwill. “We could make it look even better. Sexier.” She winked and you groaned.

Sure. She could. With the cinched waist, the dazzling smile, and the stellar leather jacket she managed to find in her size.

They definitely didn’t have one in yours. So you went with the more casual look, a light brown button up that was a little too tight in some places, the top buttons undone to reveal a white tank top, sleeves rolled up your forearm and threatening to cut off circulation.

It would have been easier to find a large blazer to cover up your body, to hide the way these clothes clung to your skin.

But then you would have dealt with an even worse issue, the sweat. It may have been a cool October evening, but you knew that in a house full of horny, drunk teenagers, you would be standing in a gross, smelly sauna. If you had the blazer, you’d probably have put stains and sweat marks traveling down your back (or even worse, your backside).

So even though both costume choices weren’t ideal, you decided to go with the lesser of two evils.

Still, there were moments when you were getting ready, when you applied the red lipstick and adjusted the fake whip to your waist, that you did feel like a badass heroine. Where you felt….pretty.

The sentiment would usually go away when you turned to see yourself at the “bad” angle in the mirror, and then the dread would return.

That feeling of dread returned as you felt your stomach turn to knots as Keith parked the car and you all got out. 

You began your approach to the house, music blaring loud enough to be heard from the end of the street. The yard was in shambles, and there were hoards of people trying to get inside.

Your feet began to slow. “You know, maybe you two should go in. I can just hang out in the car-”

Robin whipped her head around, eyes wide and terrifying. “Y/n, listen to me.” She reached out and grabbed your hand. “You look fucking amazing. Please just come inside. If you aren’t having fun in 20 minutes, we can go, okay? Please?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking between the front door and your best friend. 

Finally, you squeezed her hand and nodded. Robin jumped in excitement and pulled you with her as she scurried to the entrance, Keith following behind in his vampire costume. 

It was chaos the moment you walked inside. People everywhere, limbs flying all over the place as they yell-sang to the music and danced along. It smelled like cheap beer and smoke and you instantly felt dizzy from the overstimulation.

Your hand tightened around Robin and she turned back with another reassuring smile. “Let’s get a drink, k?”

You swallowed, forcing a smile and nodding. She pulled you along through the moving bodies, some of them bumping into you and making you that much more aware of how much space you took up.

On your journey, your eyes flashed to the left, somehow able to immediately spot Steve as if being pulled to him.

He looked….amazing. The black shirt and blazer hugging his form in the best ways, his hair waving around as he danced, the sunglasses that made him look cool despite wearing them inside…at night.

His smile, which could have lit up the whole room if needed.

Tom Cruise had nothing on Steve Harrington.

Looking at him, you felt instantly at peace, and you felt your own smile creeping up your face.

A cruel, invasive daydream formed in your mind as you watched him. You imagined him turning over and meeting your eye, and him stopping short, completely entranced by you.

You imagined the way he would take off his sunglasses to get a better look, eyes not leaving you as he practically floated over to where you were…hand moving up to graze his knuckles over your skin..

And then you watched his gaze find the figure in front of him, and the smile instantly dropped.

Nancy looked stunning. Her tiny frame bouncing up and down to the music, perfect brown hair tied back.

Steve’s smile widened as he watched her, as did the crack forming in your heart as you watched him.

You made your way to the backyard where the keg was, grimacing as you watched a couple guys holding someone over it for a keg stand, counting and shouting wildly.

Thankfully, there was another keg a few feet away so you didn’t have to get any nearer to that.

The guy manning the keg looked you and Robin up and down, and you felt his gaze linger at your stomach a few seconds longer than the rest of your body. Your arms instinctively shifted to cover it up.

As soon as the drinks were in your hands, you nudged Robin. “Let’s go back inside.

Just then, the guy doing the keg stand was brought back to the ground, wiping his mouth and roaring into the air. 

Billy Hargrove. The new kid and apparently the new reigning king of Hawkins High.

A total fucking asshole. Smug, arrogant, a bully. You caught him in his car a few times screaming at his younger sister, or harassing some of the girls.

Billy was trouble, and you wanted nothing to do with it.

That thought entered your mind as soon as his eyes flashed over to you. He puffed his chest out, looked you up and down, then grimaced as he walked away.

“This was a bad idea,” you tried to yell to Robin over the crowd as you walked back inside. “Can we go ho-”

“Oh, there’s Tammy!” Robin exclaimed, totally oblivious to everything happening. She hooked her arm around yours and pulled. “Come on!”

Of course, Tammy was right fucking next to Steve Harrington, making heart eyes at the back of his head as he danced with Nancy.

He finally noticed you when you were about five feet away, you pulling away from Robin and moving to hug the wall.

“Hey!” he said, surprise in his voice as he rested his sunglasses on the top of his head and looked you up and down.

You braced yourself for the same judgment you received from the other two guys this evening. For any sign of a grimace, any disgust in his expression.

His eyes widened, and his smile grew. “You look fucking awesome!”

Your chest swelled. “Really?” you asked, voice inaudible with the music blasting.

“Hell yeah! I love it. Totally badass.”

He started saying something in a quieter voice and it got jumbled through the noise. “What?” you yelled.

Suddenly, he was leaning in, lips inches away from your ear. “If I ever hear word about an ancient, impossible to find treasure, I’m calling you up.”

A smile crept up your face and you nodded. “You got it, Steve.”

Nancy was still dancing, not noticing you, which was fine because you were too distracted by the way Steve’s body turned to face you completely as he leaned back to engage in any small talk. He rested his hands on his hips.

“So?” he started. “What do you think of my look?”

You rolled your eyes, instantly feeling more at ease than you had five minutes ago. “Tom Cruise ain’t got nothing on you.”

His brows raised, a look of….awe? or something painted across his face for a millisecond before he regained composure. He nodded. 

“Someone put that on my tombstone,” he responded.

The two of you laughed, you lightly shoving his arm and he leaned into you.

And just like that, the music and loud noise faded around you, and there weren’t any drunk people in costumes, there was no stale scent of beer and cigarettes and weed.

All you could hear was the pounding of your heart, all you could see was the man before you, and all you could smell was the cologne drifting from his neck into your nostrils.

You had hardly ever drank alcohol in your life, so it might have been the few sips of beer you had consumed, but you could have sworn his eyes flickered to your mouth and that he might have leaned forward-

“I’m getting another drink,” Nancy suddenly slurred. Steve whipped his head toward his girlfriend and you followed suit, watching her tiny body stumble away into the crowd.

He groaned, eyes tracking her movements. “I should go with her.” He turned to you with a smile that looked more like a grimace. “She’s had way too much. Time to cut her off.”

You nodded. “Good luck.”

Steve stared at you a few moments longer. “You really do look great tonight, Y/n. Not that you don’t always. It’s just…” he shook his head. “Nevermind. I’ll see ya around, okay?”

Another nod. “Sounds good,” you said, trying to hide your disappointment.

You watched him walk away before turning around, noticing Robin leaning against the wall, staring at you in disgust.

You mimicked her expression. “What?”

“What the hell was that?” she accused, standing straight.

“What the hell was what?”

She scoffed, waving her hand out in front of you. “That! You and dumb Harrington practically eye-fucking each other.”

You barked out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.” You took a sip of beer.

“Am not! You’re like, totally in love with him, aren’t you?”

And then you were choking on your sip of beer, coughing and sputtering.

Robin groaned. “Y/n, come on! Him? That dipshit sucks!”

“He does not and you know that! Remember when he forced Tommy to switch lockers with him so that I stopped getting harassed? He also drives me to school everyday!”

She snapped her fingers, eyes widening in an aha! moment. “But Keith has offered to drive you and you keep saying no! Because you want your Harrington time!”

You jumped forward, covering her mouth with your hand. “Robin. Stop.”

Robin licked your hand and you yelped. 

“Listen,” she said when you finally pulled your hand away, voice quieter, “I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay? So if your heart wants that clown, then fine. But if he does one thing to upset you, his ass is grass.”

You nodded, expression softening at the sweet yet somewhat terrifying sentiment. “I love you, too.”

She smiled. “Come on, let’s get another drink.”

Instead of going outside, Robin led you to the kitchen where there was a massive punch bowl. The fumes it gave off as you stood over it seemed dangerous.

Hell, maybe this would help you loosen up a bit.

Just as you were about to head back to your spot, Robin froze, eyes following Tammy Thomspon as she approached the punch bowl.

You looked over to her and smiled, squeezing her hand. “Good luck, bud.”

She swallowed and squeezed your hand back before you let go and walked back to your safe space by the wall.

You did your best to try to make your body as small as possible, not wanting people to bump into the fat girl and have yet another excuse to judge you and your larger body.

You did your best, but nothing could have prepared you for the moment that Billy Hargrove barrelled across the room, knocking straight into you and spilling your punch all over your button up.

Billy scrunched his face staring at you. “Watch it, cow.”

You stood there, a mixture of shock and embarrassment making it impossible for you to move. You wished that you could just disintegrate into the floor and never be seen here again-

“The fuck did you just call her, Hargrove?” You turned your head to the right to see Steve storming over, eyes ignited with rage. He stopped once he was between you and Billy.

Billy smirked. “Look, King Steve, it’s not my fault. Some things are just too big to ignore.”

Wow, this kid sure fucking knew how to get you right where it hurt.

Steve took another step forward, and you watched his hands clenched into fists. When he spoke next, his voice was low, threatening. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that or I swear to God-”

Billy let out a low, antagonizing chuckle as he took a swig of beer. “Damn Harrington. I thought you preferred skim milk,” his eyes flickered over to Nancy stumbling out of the house in Jonathan Byers’s arms, then over to meet yours, “not heavy cream.”

Steve lunged at Billy, right arm swinging back to ready a punch.

You grabbed said arm, pulling him back.

“Steve, stop,” you whispered, hand clinging to him. “Ignore him. It’s not worth it.”

He looked at you in horror. “What the hell does that mean?”

You shook your head, forcing the tears back. “Just…please. I don’t want to deal with this.”

Steve stared at you for a long moment, chest heaving up and down. From the corner of your eye, you watched Billy saunter away, smug smile growing.

Finally, he relaxed, and you let go of his arm as he moved to take your hand. “Come on,” he said softly. “I’ll take you home.”

Another shake of your head. “It’s fine. Robin and Keith can take me.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked up to scan the room until he found Robin in the kitchen. He looked at you, eyes wide with concern. “Wait here one moment.”

You watched as he walked over to Robin, whispering something in her ear. Her eyes went to you, and when she looked back at Steve she glared, mumbling something in response. 

All Steve did was nod, then walked back to you.

“Let’s go, Y/n.” His hand went back to yours, and you were too tired to keep fighting.

He kept hold of your hand until you got to the maroon BMW. He walked over to the trunk and pulled out an oversized Hawkins High Basketball sweatshirt, handing it to you.

You nodded in thanks, silently praying that it would fit.

“You can change in the car,” he murmured, walking over to the passenger side to open the door for you.

Another nod from you and you stepped in. He waited a few seconds - back turned to you as he blocked your window from any onlookers - and then moved over to the driver’s side.

It was silent the entire ride home, you staring outside the window, Billy’s words playing in an endless loop in your mind.

The car pulled to a stop outside your house, Steve’s movements slow as he turned the ignition off, bringing his hands back to the wheel.

Had they been clenched around it that tightly this whole time?

Silence.

“Is that really how you feel?” he finally asked, looking over to you in such a pained expression that you felt your heart break.

“What?” you whispered.

“That you’re not worth it? That you don’t deserve having someone beat the shit out of some asshole who thinks they can say such awful, fucking untrue things to you?”

Your bottom lip trembled. “Steve..”

“No, Y/n, listen.” His hands somehow clenched the steering wheel even more tightly. “If anyone thinks of being a dick to you ever again, I’m swinging. You can try to act like it doesn’t hurt you or that you don’t care, but I do. And I’m not letting it slide.”

A tear fell down your cheek and you smiled.

“Steve Harrington, my stubborn knight in shining armor.”

Steve laughed, his body relaxing and he shook his head. “What can I say?” His eyes met yours and your breath hitched from the intensity of them. “You’re worth protecting.”

You swallowed, suddenly dizzy from the sincerity in this voice. If only you had managed to drink more of that toxic punch to give yourself more liquid courage to be in this moment.

But alas, you hadn’t so you were too sober to delve any further into this conversation.

“Is Nancy okay?” you asked, changing the subject back to his girlfriend.

The light left Steve’s eyes and he sighed. “I don’t know. She had a lot to drink and sort of freaked out.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook her head. “She’s…she’s been through a lot lately. I try to help her the best I can, but sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever be enough.”

“Hey,” you said, hand reaching out to take his. “You’re always enough, Steve. More than enough. Nancy seems great, but if she can’t see that, then she honestly doesn’t deserve you.”

Shit….maybe I’ve had more to drink than I thought.

Steve looked down at your hand, his thumb stroking your knuckles once before he looked back at you.

“Nanc….she said something tonight. About you.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you blinked a few times. “What did she say?”

Steve stared at you, and you could almost see a million little gears turning in his head as he thought of the next thing to say.

Finally, he released your hand, eyes leaving yours. “She said you looked really great tonight. Incredible, actually.”

Your shoulders relaxed, though you didn’t realize how tense they had gotten in those few seconds of silence. “Oh…that was really nice of her.”

“She meant it,” he mumbled. His hand went back to the ignition. “I should get going.”

You nodded, reaching for the handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

He nodded. “Anytime.”

You forced yourself not to look back as you approached the front door to your hours, which meant you missed how Steve’s eyes didn’t leave you until you were safely inside, the hand once again tightening around the steering wheel before he drove home.

~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! :)

#Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #neighbor!steve harrington #neighbor!steve harrington x plus size!reader #Steve harrington #Steve Harrington imagine #Steve Harrington fic #Steve harrington angst #protective Steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine

[jacksoldsideblog]

Not an ask but some ideas for fem Tyler:

She would never buy woman’s clothes. (Well she might in some second hand store). Cus that’s just a fucking scam- like they make them more expensive and from different materials to make them last less time. It’s just ridiculous really. Also I think she would make her own clothes from whatever shit she found (Idk just a thought). No bras!

Honestly she could just shoplift but that s up to you.

Spends half of her time making jokes on men’s fragile ego and toxic masculinity. And their need for having a sense of control and feeling of superiority is the reason why they try to shame women into fitting the “society expectations” (don’t know how it’s called in English).

Besides that I don’t think she would be that different from the cannon Tyler.

And as for Narrator then I think she would have this lanky (?) body type/posture I have no idea how to explain this but me and my other insomnia suffering friends have/had this weird skinny body type with little tummy because we don’t move much. But it would be before fight club.

I want her to complain about her back pain (just a me thing)

She would wear those cozy (little boring) sweaters.

I feel like Narrator would be the only boxers and too big sweaters type and Tyler the only pants and or boxers type idk

No need to answer this - it’s just my thoughts - anyways do what you want with it

You're right you're right!

I think Tyler would thrift her clothes. Men's clothes are easier to pick out (more accurate sizing, especially pants), made of more resilient materials, more functional. Why wouldn't she? The only potential complication is sometimes they're too big, but Paper Street has this old beat up sewing machine and Tyler(/the Narrator), like plenty of women growing up in the 70s and 80s, had to take a home skills course. She can damn well use a sewing machine, make clothes fit her well enough. And don't get me wrong, I think she would still wear goofy things like male Tyler. It's just, she's very function first. Homemade jorts, leather jacket, neon crocs because she decided to go fishing in the half dead creek down the road, kind of thing.

I think it'd be less that she jokes about male ego and more that she just speaks on it like it's casually accepted fact like the grass being green and the sky being blue. Like, sure everything she says could be proven with a study and already has been probably. But she doesn't really care about that. Someone in fight club mentions having an abusive husband who was a police officer and she just goes "Well yeah, policemen are four times more likely to beat their wives. It makes sense since it's not like their buddies will convict them." As if that's a casual thought and connection everyone has made and remembered in their lives. Martin complains about how most men who want to fuck him also want to degrade him and Tyler just says that's because men consider the things they fuck to be objects not people, so degradation and penetrative sex go hand in hand.

She says this like someone talked about it being rainy and she's saying there was clouds out earlier.

Wrt the narrator's body, yeah totally. I've been there too. When you're a bit underfed because you can't muster up the energy to eat or feel hunger and you have no muscle because all you do is try to sleep or sit in an office chair. Moving in with Tyler is like getting a personal trainer because Tyler takes personal offense to women not eating properly. She WILL orate on how society teaches women to have a dysfunctional relationship with food as a method to control them. Sells them the lie that they can exert control in their life by starving themselves so they don't realize they can control it by rejecting beauty and castrating men. Sells them the lie that not feeling hunger properly is a mild problem you can ignore.

Back pain from muscle weakness due to overall lack of muscle tone would be a thing yeah. The narrator would be at her healthiest in that absolute health hazard of a house.

Yeah I do think the narrator would pretty quickly jump on the "just walking around without pants on" train, was sort of always on it in private at least. Wears sweaters or something to deal with the drafts in the place. Tyler does the opposite, wears pants sometimes. Rarely shirts. Believes all women need to normalize their body to themselves not as something to look at but the thing they are, not what they inhabit. Pesters the narrator into doing random household construction projects while wearing the minimum amount of protective gear and clothing required.

#asks #female fight club au #fight club #yes

[just-antithings]

(Big of a long one, sorry)

I just came across another one of those "if you put your Hogwarts houses in your bio you're a terf" posts, and in the tags one of the people was talking about how they had a Gryffindor tshirt that was their favourite thing to wear which they just threw away because they'd rather never have such a thing touch them again. Fair enough, what anyone is comfortable with in their personal life is none of my business. But it did remind me of something similar that happened with me.

I own a perfectly good Fantastic Beasts t-shirt. It's the kind that has a simple design and good enough material to last YEARS. I did, of course, buy it before I knew about all this JKR business. Then couple of years ago I was faced with the fact that I own some HP merch and the dilemma of whether or not I should throw it away. This surprisingly came down to a moment where I properly understood and defined my own politics to myself.

At the same time that I had some people in my circles insisting on these performative measures, I was also learning about fast fashion and the very real impacts of clothing trends on the environment. After reading up on it enough and seeing the gross appropriation of "thrifting", it became obvious that the solution is to "reduce" waste, to stop buying more clothes than you need, to stop throwing away perfectly good clothes, to stitch up clothing that needs mending instead of replacing it, etc. The best clothing for the environment is the one already in your closet. That idea. Was I going to make an exception in this case and throw away this t-shirt because someone might think me a class traitor for it, even though whether I keep it or discard it doesn't actually change the support JKR doe or doesn't have anymore? On the one hand it was just one tshirt and it would keep me safe from my peers in those liberal circles. On the other hand it made me feel shame like i had never felt before. It reminded me of every other performative thing I've done in the name of activism and how little it has amounted to. I'm the kind of person who still has my wardrobe from five years ago almost intact with very few changes. Wasteful consumption has a very real cost and I don't do that anymore, so when it came down to tossing that tshirt out it ended up meaning more than it should have. I kept the tshirt. It's still in great shape, it's gonna last many years more as well and save me that much more consumption waste.

What if i had given it away? Would some random person who hasn't ever heard of the JKR drama (consider: I'm not from the West) suddenly become a Terf by wearing it? Would it keep HP and JKR relevant because some person who hardly even knows HP is now wearing a second hand tshirt from someone? When I went to another trans friend's house, who has been there for the community every single day, who has worked hard at the ground levels to create safe spaces for queer people, who has advocated for trans rights in our country, and when i saw their HP merch, what kind of an asshole would I be to call them out on it or say that I suddenly don't trust them because they made a reference to some book we all read as kids? In that moment, sitting with that friend, I also realised how far removed our day-to-day lives actually are from what was considered activism in online spaces. The latter can be great when it's about spreading information and having discussions. But something that reeks that much of simply a performance? Idk, I don't think people talking about HP in their daily lives or wearing an old Gryffindor tshirt or reblogging a gif has as much power over the queer struggle as people here seem to think. It's getting a bit annoying how because I see more posts talking about HP just to tell people who are engaging with it to die than i see actual posts by people just talking about the book. I think the former are the ones actually keeping it more relevant than it is

.

#mod erin #ask #posted without comment

[agirlunfilteredsblog]

BUILDING A CLOSET THAT WORKS FOR YOU

Hi girls! So something I’ve found super important in finding who you are as an individual is finding your fashion/style. It’s so easy to get washed up in trends we see that we buy things that we wont even wear come 6 months layers. Here are some things I’ve done in order to build a closet that is timeless!

1. INVESTING IN BASICS

I completely understand the urge to buy clothing we see go viral on social media, but more often times than not, we simply like the appeal it has. That doesn’t necessarily mean it correlates with OUR style. Basics work well on everyone, and can be used as a blank canvas for outfits.

White and black tees/tank tops, straight leg jeans, one-colored hoodies, a simply black dress, black slacks and a pair of leggings are all elements I personally think everyone should own.

2. Accessories are your BEST FRIENDS

- Let’s talk jewelry first. In my opinion, investing in quality jewelry is always a better option than simply buying jewelry from cheap stores, such as Shein. They’ll rust easily and won’t last long. Now that doesn’t mean you need to go all out in luxury, there are many stores that have quality jewelry, while remaining in a suitable price range (Mejuri, for example). However, I heavily recommend APM Monaco jewelry if you want to splurge a little. The jewelry there is amazing! I’m not personally a “silver” or “gold” girlie, I like both, and sometimes will even stack them together. This brings me to my second point!! No shame to my minimalistic girls, but i LOVE when my wrists are stacked with bracelets, I feel like it adds SO MUCH to an outfit. That with some chunky hoops and a simple necklace, will elevate your look tenfold.

- Just like jewelry, finding a quality bag goes a long way!! Every girl should have at least one purse that they can use on an every day basis. And there is no excuse, a quality purse can be found at the thrift store. I have so many beautiful bags that have all been thrifted!! However, if you’re looking to purchase one, here are my recommendations (based on overall quality and look): Longchamp, Goyard, Polène, Coach. In my opinion, these are the brands where you can truly find bags that are well-made and can match with most outfits!

3. UNDERSTANDING THAT SHOES ELEVATE ANY OUTFIT

I don’t know if it’s just me, but sometimes I’ll base my whole outfit around my shoes. Shoes are SO powerful and the difference between wearing a sneaker and a heel is massive. I can’t really comment on where to buy quality heels (since I only own a handful, so please let me know in the comments if you know lol), but I’ll put some sneakers down below that I adore!

Sambas, Gazelles, New Balance 550s, Isabel Marant shoes, Golden Gooses, Alexander Mcqueen

4. BUYING A COUPLE OF UNIQUE PIECES

I think that style reflects who we are and investing in a couple unique pieces is definitely the way to go. I personally choose to invest my money in unique sweaters or cardigans (since I live in a relatively cold country). I also tend to find more unique pieces at small businesses, rather than large companies. Pinterest is also the greatest help in finding your own sense of fashion.

Let me know if you would like more links, examples of pieces I would wear!!

so much love,

a girl unfiltered 💋

#fashion #clothes #clothing #pinterest #source: pintrest #girlblogging #girly blog #it girl #just girly thoughts #inspiration #fashion inspo #fashion inspiration #fashion week #new york #that girl #style #rich #girls of tumblr #manifesation #manifesting #clean girl #beauty #cool look #fashion girl #vogue #vogue magazine #paris fashion week #coquette #kendall jenner #bella hadid

[ms-hells-bells]

i love being told that op shopping and finding second hand clothes is just too hard, when i grew up in poverty in an isolated village that didn't even have a highschool or proper supermarket, and the clothes stores were all luxury tourist boutiques. hand me downs and clothes swaps were the norm. i went to school in clothes i got from my mum, cousins, and girls from my class.

and now it's easier than ever with facebook marketplace and mass private buy and sell groups. just a two second search and four local/regional buy, sell, and swap groups came up (with more results below the see more button). people can't even do that to avoid slavery?

i honestly think a lot of it is stigma and misconceptions around second hand clothing as dirty, ruined, unsanitary, and shameful. they use 'i'm poor' as an excuse but they'd actually rather sink into the ground than possibly 'look poor' to others. the gen z version of the 'middle class' people with expensive houses and cars and furniture, but everything was credit card bought and they're heavily in debt. keeping up with the jonses (or should i say the kardashians).

i sound like i'm harping on about this, and i am. because it's social principle, just like my talking about feminism and veganism and environmentalism. doubly so since i am very aware of how close so many thrift stores are to shutting down due to rising costs. people NEED to keep these stores alive. the prices go up in part because people are now buying cheap online fast fashion when less than 20 years ago they would have gone to their local thrift shop instead. we are largely charities, we provide vital community services. my boss can't even do that, almost all the money at the moment circles straight back to paying the bills. $1000-2000 gross income a month isn't sustainable. we shut down, that's resources for the poor and the causes gone. this shit makes me so anxious.

[ifyourequeerandyouknowit]

I'm so sick and tired of being chubby. My husband often forgets that I'm 40lbs heavier than he.

I bought 2 pairs of pants from a thrift store, bringing the total number of pants that fit to a whopping 4. I put them in the laundry basket and was assured the clothes would all get cleaned.

Only half the laundry got done, my clothes still sitting gross and dirty in the laundry room. Waiting.

He wants to go out on a walk of the neighborhood but I'm slowing us down because I can't find pants.

Exasperated, he hands me a grey pair telling me to try them on. We've done this exchange before with this exact pair of pants. I know how it ends.

Still though, I put my legs through and try to pull then up. Shame rapidly fills my body as the predictable happens, the button will not fasten no matter what.

So... I get left behind. Still not wearing any pants.

I don't want to look at my body. I try to hide my shame under a blanket. Curl up, alone. Feeling like I never want to eat again.

#vent #do not reblog #tw ed #tw eating disorder #tw weight

[clairenatural]

hi sorry but it has been a Day and right now i’m just thinking a lot about that post I saw once that was like “sam would take jack to a REAL store to buy REAL NEW clothes because he DESERVES them 😤😤😤” in response to a headcanon about jack’s wardrobe consisting of hand-me-downs from the winchesters and a variety of wacky goodwill shirts and I just. for a show that hinges on two guys who live on the road, in their car, just trying their best to do good in the world with virtually no means....this fandom can be alarmingly classist

#i love the bunker SO much but i think the bunker + charlie's magic hacked card just. erased all their money issues and i get why they did it #but it's like a huge amount of the fandom have completely forgotten about how like. being so low income like. #drove the themes and general americana aesthetic and entire feeling of the first handful of seasons #(not that it's an ~aesthetic~ just. you know what i mean) #(the grainy americana Vision(tm) of the type of guy usually overlooked saving the world) #(there are monsters and demons but also religion and purpose in the most overlooked crevices of america) #it's also. heavily dean crit too #the post im thinking of was from a dean crit perspective that sam would NEVER make jack wear USED CLOTHING unlike big meanie dean #there's this pervasive idea that because sam went to college he is somehow both. smarter and morally superior? #and also that because he got out and went to big fancy stanford he lost all connection to his roots? #that shit stays with you ok. i grew up on entirely thrifted clothing and even though i can afford new clothing i rarely buy it new #and not because it's trendy rn because it's just. hard wired into me #anyway reminder that clothing that is clean and warm and you feel comfortable in is the most important thing regardless of where it's from #there is no shame in thrifted clothing or hand me downs #parents who only buy their kids used clothing don't love their children any less <3 #negativity #mae.txt

[agirlcandream84]

BREATHE | Part 2

Part Two is here and it’s getting goooooood.  Things get a bit heated.  Stick with me on this, I swear it’s worth it.  Some themes and clues may start to surface.

PART 1 here.

(...Dark?) Andy Barber x Reader (You) 

Word Count: 2,835

Warnings: 18+ ONLY.  Smut.  Heavy kissing, Some edging.  Shame.  Some subtle manipulation.  

Your sleep was deep and dreamless- like being enveloped in a dense fog.  You were relaxed, yes, but it felt more than that.  Like being enrobed in a heaviness that anchored your body to the bed.  You hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in what felt like weeks, constantly jolting awake at a perceived noise or vivid dream.  But there was a deep nothingness to your sleep last night.  You woke with the heaviness still on your head, half asleep as you crawled out of Andy Barber’s empty king size bed and walked to the bathroom.  

He had set out a spare tooth brush and clean towel and you were grateful for the hospitality.  You brushed your teeth and removed the spare shirt Andy had given you, turning on the strong jets in the marbled shower while the water warmed.  You stood naked in front of the mirror, sleep still weighting your lids low.  You had lost weight since the attack and you saw it in the cut of your hips.  You notice a small bruise, seemingly fresh, on your inner thigh-- your bike seat perhaps. Your body felt foreign lately - too weak or too fragile - and part of you wondered if you liked it that way.  Disconnected from your reality and the constant threat against you.    

After 10 minutes under the scalding water, you exit the shower pink and renewed.  The hangover from your sleep is dissipating but not gone entirely but you hoped coffee would fix that.  You dress in your running clothes from yesterday and tip-toe down the stairs, wanting to avoid waking Andy on the couch but your precaution wasn’t necessary.  As you round the corner to the kitchen, he’s stood smiling behind the massive kitchen island, coffee cup in hand with a pot keeping warm at the machine.  

“Morning,” he says with a smile.  “Sleep ok?”  He’s wearing a pale blue button-up and a navy tie, his suit coat draped across the stool.   

“Yes, more than ok actually.  I’m still waking up,” you reply.  

“Ah yeah, that would be the down pillow top - best sleep of your life,” he says.  

“No kidding, I practically feel hungover,” you joke. “Mind if I take a cup?,” you ask, motioning to the coffee pot.  

“Of course, help yourself.  Mugs are in the cabinet,” he instructs.  As you fix yourself a cup, he scoops up his laptop and slides it in his work bag.  “I’ve gotta head into the office.  Take your time here, there’s no rush.  Just see yourself out the back” he adds.  

“I can’t thank you enough Mr. Ba-  Andy.  Really, thank you,” you add and you mean it.  You had been desperate for a good night’s sleep and everything felt a little less insurmountable today.  

“Least I could do.  If you’re up for it, I’m free at 4pm today- we can pick up where we left off,” he offers.  

“Ok yeah, I’ll see you then,” you agree as he heads out the door.  

... 

The afternoon passes quickly- having made yourself at home at the local coffee shop, the same one you saw Andy Barber frequent every morning before he had ever become your legal representation.  Back then he was only the handsome man in the nice suit who sometimes made conversation with you while he waited for his latte.  That life feels like someone else’s now, a past somehow now longer your own.  

You work feverishly towards a 2pm deadline, emailing your editor 1:58pm feeling jovial.  You were proud of this story- even if it was a local fluff piece.  Writing had felt like a trudge lately but this story flowed.  You left the coffee shop feeling - dare you admit - happy.  Maybe not happy happy but... optimistic.  You treated yourself to a thrift store visit as a treat, shuffling through racks of clothes in search of hidden treasure- your favorite past time.  As silly as it sounded, you had even mourned the loss of your favorite geometric patterned shirt from the night of the attack.  It was thrifted and one of kind -- some obscure brand from 30 years ago lost to time, now torn and submitted as evidence.    

When you were done, you meandered slowly down the sidewalk towards Andy’s office as 4pm approached, spotting Srgt. Tompkins outside on the building steps.  

“Srgt. Tompkins! Thank you for last night,” you say to the uniformed man. 

“Last night?” he asks, brows furrowed.  

“Your call to Mr. Barber - it came at a good time.  Thank you for that,” you say sincerely. 

“Oh... uh, sure.  No problem,” he replies when your phone pings with a message.  

“Sorry, I won’t keep you any longer, just wanted to thank you,” you add, turning to your phone.  

Andy: Ok to meet me at my house at 4pm instead of the office?  Had to let the repairman in. 

You: Sure - be there at 4pm.  

Truth be told, Andy’s office held a lot of bad memories in the days following the attack.  Walking through the doors always felt suffocating and panicky, and you were eager to preserve your rare good mood.  

Upon arriving at Andy’s house, he greets you at the door with a loosened tie an his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows.  You note the girth of his forearm as he holds the door open for you, feeling silly at the thought but a little relieved that you felt capable of finding a man attractive at all anymore.  Andy Barber didn’t make it difficult. 

Like a dozen other times, you poor over case details, stress furrowing your brow and your body ignoring the hunger rumbling in your stomach.   It doesn’t go unnoticed by Andy, few things do, and he orders takeaway.  Three hours and two servings of Pad Thai later, Andy calls for a break.  

“Listen, this stuff is heavy, I can see you’re tense,” he says, one hand reaching across to massage the knot that sits at the top of your shoulder.  “Let’s give it a break for a bit,” he offers.  

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” you agree.  He walks to the fridge and grabs two cold beers, extending one to you.  You think to decline it but change your mind - it would be nice to take off the edge.  

“Didn’t peg you for a Stella drinker,” you say motioning to the beer, “You seem more like a Bud Light man,” you joke.  

“Ooof,” he winces and shakes his head, “Can’t drink the stuff.  Had a bad experience at a cast party in high school and now i can’t look at it without feeling hungover.”  

“Wait wait wait.  Hold on.  A cast party?  Like drama club?  Assistant DA Andrew Barber was in the drama club?” you ask incredulously.  

“Guilty as charged,” he says in mock shame.  

“I’m gonna need more details,” you say, grateful for the lighthearted distraction.  He sizes you up, determining if he can trust your discretion and seemingly decides that he can.  You spend two hours pouring through his yearbook, photo albums and even some rogue YouTube videos uploaded by old classmates.  Three beers later and tears leak from your eyes as laughter overwhelms you - watching a young Andy Barber feebly attempt a tap routine in character makeup.  

“You are sworn to secrecy!” he says, laughing alongside you.  

“That’s gonna cost you,” you joke, standing to use the bathroom. The rooms tilts slightly, the alcohol hitting you at once. You take a shaky step and then another.  

“You good?” he asks, still a smile on his face as he tidies the kitchen table.

“Yeah - all good,” you lie, making your way to the bathroom and pausing in front of the mirror.  You were met with drunk you - the corners of your mouth in a permanent semi-smile and your eyelids heavy.  You breathe deeply through your nose as if air is the antidote to alcohol.  You shake your head at the heaviness, surprised at how intoxicated you feel at a few beers.  Sometimes it felt like the attack had changed your body chemistry.  

Andy is stood at the counter, a bag of Chips Ahoy cookies in front of him and he looks at you as though he’s been caught.  

“My guilty pleasure,” he explains. 

“Oh hell yeah,” you say, making your way to his side of the counter and grabbing a cookie.  You devour it with abandon and take another.  He steps closer, an inch behind you, and reaches around for another for himself.  You turn to face him, realizing how close you’re stood when you can see the individual lashes framing his blue quartz eyes.  

“Thanks for this,” you say quietly, the room still swaying.  “I needed it.” 

“Hey no problem,” he says with a soft smile, his eyes flickering to your mouth.  “You’ve got uh--” he motions at his own mouth to indicate a crumb.  You make a swipe to clear your face but he only chuckles.  “Just there - may I?” he asks and you nod. 

He brushes the crumb away with his thumb, his palm pausing at the angle of your jaw, cupping it gently.  You inhale at his touch, glancing down to his forearm and back up to meet his eyes.  He takes one step closer, his whole form flush with yours - his right leg positioned just slightly between the space between your legs.  The heat of your core radiates onto the spread of his thigh and you feel the subtle shudder of is manhood through the thin drape of his trousers.  

His hand pauses on your cheek and he meets his eyes with yours.  Your heartbeat is practically hammering in your ears at his touch.  You feel wetness flood in your core, your cheeks growing red in shame.  It was nice to be wanted.  Desired. 

You feel his hand tug you further towards him, his marble-carved nose brushing the tip of your own.  His lips, soft and pillowy, laced with the scent of beer and oregano, meet yours. He kisses you slowly, a hesitant test but driven by the desire evident in his grip on your jaw.  You lean into his touch, feeling the unbearable ache of desire in your core.  He slips his tongue into your mouth, your breaths leaving your noses in great huffs as his other hand grips your hips and travels up your side to cup your breast in a tight squeeze. 

“Andy,” you murmur, unsure of what you intend to say.  Your head is swimming from the beer and your judgement feels cloudy.  You know this is bad-- the foggy existence of your rational mind lapping at the edges of your brain.  But your body wants more, intoxicated from his touch, intoxicated from the beer, intoxicated from... something else.   

His hands grip both hips and he lifts you onto the countertop, positioning himself between the spread of your legs.  Your lips are interlocked, tongues swirling with eagerness and desperation.  He tugs your body closer to his so your forms are flush again, the wetness of your core pushed against his stomach, your legs encircling his square hips.  His hands return to the swell of your breasts, cupping and squeezing them until you feel the distinct tingle of arousal in your nipples, pert and hard through the cotton of your shirt.  His hands land on the tops of your thighs, bare but for the skirt that skims a few inches above your knees, your panties on display if he were to step back and look. 

His movements felt intentional and proprietary, claiming parts of your body as his own.  You feel the achey swell of your nub pulse in your panties, shocking yourself at how desperately aroused you feel at his touch.  His hands skim higher up the spread of your thighs until his fingertips travel under your skirt and meet where your torso meets your legs.  He hooks his thumb into the warm fold of your leg and hip, massages it deeply, each rotation of his thumb splaying your legs half an inch wider.  You sway your head back, exposing your neck at the sensation.  

Desperation.  You feel it intensely.  Desperate for his touch in your most sacred area.  The slickness in your panties is overwhelming, surely leaving a damp patch on his stomach where you’re pressed into one.  His hands hook into the elastic waist of your panties and you feel him tug.  You lean back to allow your hips to rise, his hands guiding your soaked panties off your hips and down your legs, tossing them to the floor.  

“Fuck Andy,” you whimper, your bare ass spread on the cool marble counter.  He encircles you in his arms, his hands finding the warm flesh of your ass.  He grips your cheeks tight, squeezing and spreading them, the sensation spreading to your folds.  Your mind follows the touch of his hands every inch, willing them to find your screaming nub, silently begging them to graze forward.  He moves them over the hill of your thighs, his palms cupping your hips and his thumbs only inches from your core.  You buck your hips involuntarily, your breathing hitching at his closeness.  Your eyes squeeze shut, anticipating his touch.  

And then nothing.  

His removes his hands from your body, stepping backwards.  

“I -” he starts but doesn’t finish, biting his lower lip.  Your breathing hitches and your head is bowed, the room spinning in your periphery.  “We shouldn’t,” he says softly.  

You feel the immediate prick of tears in your eyes. deep shame coursing through every vein in your body.  You see him stood before you, fully clothed with a small wet patch on the front of his shirt as you’re seated on his expensive kitchen island, skirt hiked above your hips, panties discarded on the floor and your legs spread open and apparently eager.  

“I’m sorry, it was my fault.  Let me help you down,” he says as you gulp back hot tears of humiliation, clinging to whatever dignity you can muster.  His hands grip your hips once more and lift you off the counter to place you gently back to the floor.  You bend down to collect your panties, stuffing them hurriedly in your pockets.  “It’s not that I don’t want to -” he begins but you cut him off.

"It’s ok.  Of course, I understand.  One too many beers for the both of us,” you say with a forced chuckle despite his apparent soberness.  You make to grab your purse and coat, desperate to cover your still-aroused nipples, the wetness of your core making your thighs feel slick under your skirt.  

“Let me drive you home,” he offers, grabbing his car keys from the hook. 

“Oh it’s not necessary.  Really, I’m fine,” you rush to object.  

“Wait wait, hang on,” he says, holding up two hands in mid-air to slow down your hurried departure.  “I’m sorry.  Please.  Let me drive you.  It’s late and we still have your safety to think about” he says, his eyes flickering quickly to the panties stuffed in your pocket.  And he was right-- about everything.  You were a desperate fool with too much to drink-- your deprived body hungry for affection from a man who felt safe, making a shameful display on his countertop.  He was right to stop things before they went further, preserving what was left of his professional relationship with you.  Maybe this is what your stalker saw in you - a pathetic woman who’d be an easy win.  Andy Barber was a decent man who preserved your dignity when you didn’t have a mind to preserve your own.

"You’re right, thank you,” you say nodding.  You follow him to his garage in silence, feeling both eager to be free of the shame in his company but desperate to stay in the presence of him, let him keep fixing you mess of a life.  You ride in the car quietly, NPR playing softly in the background.  

“About earlier -” he starts but you stop him. 

“You don’t have to apologize.  I had a little too much to drink.  It’s been a weird few weeks.  Just everything,” you say to him, offering a strained smile. 

“I know, and I’m gonna get to the bottom of it,” he says, his broad hand landing again on your thigh to pat it encouragingly, the sound of flesh on flesh, inches from your unclothed folds covered only by your skirt.  Crimson shame flashes through you again and his hand stills to rest on your thigh.  

He pulls slowly into the parking lot of your apartment complex and sees you to the door of your lobby.  He watches you punch in the code and the door clicks shut behind you, both of you left on either side of the glass.  You offer a sheepish wave and make your way to the elevator, breathing a shaky sigh you’d been containing all evening.  

For the first time in weeks, you touch yourself that night, eliciting an intense orgasm that you were denied, your walls clenching at nothing with your mind full of Andy Barber.  

#chris evans fanction #chris evans fanfic #andy barber smut #dark andy barber x you #dark andy barber smut #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber fanfc #chris evans smut #dark andy barber #andy barber x you #andy barber x reader #dark andy barber x reader #Chris Evans

[watchmegetobsessed]

Floating Through Space - Harry Styles

a/n: im literally bursting from excitement over this, i’ve been working on this fic for so long and im pretty satisfied with how it turned out so i hope you’ll like it too! pleas please PLEASE don’t let this flop bc it means a lot to me 🥺 the song featured in the fic is obviously an existing one, i linked it into the right place so you can listen to it and get the vibe of it, that song is what inspired the whole story so i recommend giving it a listen! leave your thoughts and reactions, i can’t wait to read what you thought about the fic!!

pairing: Harry x Famous!Reader

warning: drug use, smut and everything thats wrong with patriarchy lmao

word count: 25.7k

masterlist

This dressing room is no different than the other one thousand you’ve been to. The plaster on the wall is all cracked up, the red bricks peeking from under it in the corner, the dusty couch looks like it’s been through hell and just sitting on it would probably give you STDs. The mirror on the wall is cracked, the few water bottles you’ve gotten are not even cooled, they’re a warm room temperature. The glorious life of a musician, right?

Moments like this you question why you didn’t just choose to be the obedient daughter and became a surgeon like your parents always wanted you to be. You’d have a steady future and a nice income, a decent career instead of having to perform at a different bar every other night for nicks and pennies that barely cover your rent at the end of the month. But that wouldn’t be you. Wearing scrubs, smiling at patients, throwing out your dignity along with your dreams, you wouldn’t have been true to yourself if you chose that life. Besides, you’d still be in school, barely nearing the halfpoint of your education if you decided to go along with your parents’ plan and it’s clearer than daylight that the school system is just not for you. It would be pure torture if you had to sit in classes for a decade just to work a job you never even wanted.

Looking around the small dressing room you cast your eyes over your band that consists of three people. It’s a temporary set up from three guys you met along your way, all of the struggling musicians as you and you saw the as opportunities. Places would rather have a band play with several men in it than just put one single woman on stage and pray for the best. It’s the sexist part of the industry not enough people talk about. You can’t even count how many pitying stares you’ve gotten through the years when you stated that you want to make a career as a solo female singer.

“Honey, you ain’t making it without at least one man behind you,” is what they’ve always told you. So you’ve gotten yourself three until you could stand on your own two feet without a male backup. You’re using them just as much as they are using you. They were already a band when you joined them, the lead singer just disappeared to thin air with her boyfriend and left them incomplete, so you joined forces to navigate your way together in the depth of the music industry, looking for that big jump everyone is dreaming about.

Standing in front of the cracked mirror you fix your eyeliner, checking yourself once again. Your thrifted checkered suit looks radiant on you especially with the neon green see-through top underneath, showing off a black bralette. It’s a male suit, hanging a little baggy on you at places, but you still feel like you’re pulling off the look. Your thick eyeliner makes your eyes appear even bigger than they already are and your hair is in an unruly mop of curls, making your appearance complete.

You’ve received tons of critiques over your outfits, but they are the only thing you are not changing on yourself.

“Don’t wear men’s pants.”

“You’d look better in a dress.”

“Why do you look like a guy?”

“What a shame to hide such a gorgeous body in clothes that weren’t meant for girls.”

Each and every comment is burned into your mind forever and you’ll never stop fighting against the judgment women has to face for not being the conventional beauty all females are expected to be.

There’s a knock on the door and the person behind it barges in without waiting for an answer. The tall, bald guy rushes in, looking a little stressed, but that’s kind of the normal for the owner.

“I’m not sure how to say it, but… you are not performing tonight,” he simply states and your anger sets in faster than ever. You’ve had gigs get cancelled, but not minutes before going on stage. However, he is still not done with his little informative speech. “And your instruments need to be used by another band tonight.”

“What the fuck?” Trey, the drummer jumps to his feet. “No way I’m letting someone else play my drum set!”

“You’ll get half the money if you let it happen,” the owner answers.

“Wait, what band did you find minutes before start?” you ask in complete shock.

“There’s this group celebrating a birthday in the VIP section and some boy band is apparently with them. Birthday girl requested to have the stage for them.”

“And you’re just cancelling on us that easily?” you snap.

“Not that I have a choice. If I don’t do it they are leaving and I’m losing a big amount from the night. Sorry guys, but this is strictly business.”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” you laugh bitterly, staring up at the ceiling. This would have been a great chance for all of you, you’ve been trying to get a gig here for months, knowing that a lot of people from the industry fancies it, you might have caught someone’s eyes, but it’s definitely not happening now.

“Are you letting them use your stuff or not?” he urges, hands on his hips as he looks at the four of you impatiently.

“But what about our gig? We’ve been on the waiting list for months, when can we actually perform?”

“Uh, I don’t know. We’re pretty booked, maybe sometime in the summer?”

“Summer?” you gasp in disbelief. “It’s fucking February!”

“Are you lending them your stuff or not? I don’t have the time for your little tantrum!”

“Yeah, if we get the money they can use it,” Connor, the bass guitarist answers before you explode right then and there. The owner walks out with that, leaving the four of you behind, forgotten and humiliated.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Trey groans, plopping down on the couch, covering his eyes with his tattooed arm.

“This is fucking bullshit,” you scoff under your breath, reaching for your bag to grab your pack of cigarettes you keep in it especially for cases like this, whenever you are about to go around and punch every living thing in the face in your reach.

Kicking the backdoor open you lean against the cold brick wall as you light the cigarette and start puffing vigorously, trying to get as much nicotine into your system as possible. You notice a group of guys standing near you in the alleyway, laughing on something, having a great time, oblivious to how hurt and angry you are feeling just a few feet away. You hear frictions of their conversation and it’s clear they are British judging from the accents that are hitting your ears. You finish your cigarette pretty fast and immediately reach for another one even though you know you shouldn’t have even smoked that first one, but you just can’t help it. It’s either the smoking or you’re going after the owner and kick him in the balls for being a bitch.

“Oi, can I ask for one?”

Glancing to the side you see that one of the guys has approached you, smiling at you warmly he nods towards the pack in your hands. Nodding you hold it out for him and he takes one. Before he could even ask for the lighter, you throw it at him and he catches it easily.

“Thanks,” he nods, holding the cigarette between his lips before lighting it and passing the lighter back to you.

“Lou, you really shouldn’t smoke,” you hear one of the others speak up as the rest of the group slowly joins you and the one you just helped out.

“S’fine, don’t act like me motha’,” he shrugs, taking a drag from the cigarette.

“At least not before we go on stage,” the blonde one shakes his head at his friend and your eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh, so you’re the band that’s gonna play?” you ask with a forced smile, already feeling your blood boiling. Who the fuck they are and why do they deserve to steal your gig?!

“We’re just playing a couple of songs,” another speaks up shrugging his shoulders. “No big deal.”

“Glad it’s no big deal to you, because it would have been to the band that was robbed from tonight because of you,” you spat at them, clearly surprising them with your harsh reply.

“I assume you are part of that band, right?” the on with the curly hair speaks up, his green eyes burning down at you.

“Nice job, Sherlock,” you groan, taking another drag from your cigarette.

“You could play with us,” he offers, the others nodding in agreement.

“I don’t need your pity,” you scowl at them. “Bringing me on stage to try to make yourselves look like the good guys is not necessary. I’m just fed up with people like you.” The truth is coming out of you easier than ever. All the years on injustice is seemingly erupting from you, pouring down on these five.

“People like us?” the dark haired one asks with a confused look.

“Yeah,” you nod with a bitter chuckle. “Five conventionally hot guys grouped together for a band, making every girl between the age of ten and thirty scream just by a wink. I don’t know where you came from, but I’m betting my head that you’ve had it easier than others.”

“It’s not nice to assume things when you don’t know anything about us,” Curly speaks up, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh, I’ve seen enough not to care about what’s nice and what’s not,” you chuckle shaking your head as you take another long puff from your cigarette and throw the butt to the ground, stepping on it. “Who are you even? Some Back Street Boys 2.0?” you ask, folding your arms on your chest, earning a heartfelt laugh from the blondie.

“I kinda like her,” he smirks around his friends. “We’re called One Direction, you haven’t heard of us?”

“Not even once,” you shake your head.

“That’s kinda humbling,” the one with the cigarette smiles. “We’re from the UK. I’m Louis, that’s Liam, Niall, Zayn and Harry.”

“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but it would be nicer if you guys didn’t just take my gig and lessen me with half my paycheck,” you smile at them sweetly before rolling your eyes.

“Wait, what? They’re not paying you because of us?” Liam asks.

“We only get half the money for lending you our instruments.”

“Let us pay the other half then,” Harry offers right away, but you just laugh at him.

“It’s not about the money, Prince Harry,” you smirk at him, tilting your head to the side. “It’s about justice. How is that air that you just waltz in here and take our time and chance? What if there’s a producer out there who would have liked our music and offered a record deal? What if someone would have taken a video of us performing, put it up to YouTube and it would have gone viral? I assume you never had to go through this phase where you have to beg for every minute on stage so you can at least earn enough money to pay rent. You don’t seem like the type of band who had to perform in smelly bars four times a week for a ridiculous amount of money.”

They stay silent and you know you were right.

“I’m not saying you had it easy, but I’m sure you have no idea what it could have been. And I’m fed up with men walking over others just to have what they want.”

“Look, it wasn’t our intention to ruin your gig. Have your set with your band and then we’ll play a few songs too after that,” Liam offers, but you shake your head.

“No, we weren’t supposed to be just your opening act and it’ll turn into that. So have a nice evening, enjoy your showtime, I’m out.”

Pushing yourself away from the wall you walk back into the building and grabbing your stuff from the dressing room you move out to the bar area, desperately needing a drink.

Sitting on the last stool at the bar you ask for straight tequila and two vodka shots knowing it’ll do the job for the evening and pulling your phone out of your bag, you open up Google. Searching the name One Direction you’re met with quite a few hits and you start scrolling through them, reading about the five boys you just had an encounter with. Just as you thought, they didn’t start off as a traditional band, having put together at a talent show just three years ago, getting such a major push so early in their career, they have no idea how struggling it is to make it in the industry. They surely had their fair share of ups and downs, but they will never know what it’s like to sweat blood and tears for your dream when everyone just wants to drag you down and tell you you’ll never make it.

The shots and half of the tequila is gone, your band joined you to at least get wasted as you watch the technicians set the stage for a band that’s not you, but gonna play with your stuff. Sitting on the stool you’re having a fairly good time thanks to the alcohol when you spot Harry making his way towards you in the crowd.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready backstage?” you ask with an eyeroll as he joins your little circle, the guys eyeing him curiously. Ignoring your comment he pulls out a piece of paper handing it to you. As you unfold it you almost want to throw it back at him.

“This is to make up for what you lost tonight,” he says nodding down at the check in your hands.

“I told you I don’t need your money,” you firmly answer, but Trey grabs the check from your hands.

“But I do!” he snorts. He is such a pig.

“Let us do at least this one thing for you. We really do feel bad for taking your time and the offer to come on stage with us still stands.”

“No thank you,” you shoot him a fake smile before downing the rest of your tequila, the drink burning down your throat. Looking back at Harry you keep your eye locked on him as he watches you intently. He is a good-looking guy, you have to give that to him, but the circumstances you’ve met under just made it impossible for you not to hate him for the privileges he is being handed every day while you fight your way through life.

Harry sighs in defeat nodding as he licks his lips. For a split second, guilt takes over you for the way you’ve been acting towards him and the other boys, but then you remember that you don’t even know him. For all you know, he can be a royal asshole with the face of an angel. You can’t let guilt chew you and spit you out, you have to keep your guards up.

“Alright. We really are sorry. I’ll… see you around,” he nods before turning around to walk away.

You watch them perform their biggest hits, the whole place going crazy over the impromptu One Direction concert they just got for basically free. The VIP area is going crazy over the boys and with each sang song, you feel yourself getting more and more hopeless about your future as a musician. Here you are on a Saturday night, robbed from a job you’ve worked hard for, watching five British boys take your place on the stage that’s supposed to be yours tonight. You catch Harry’s eyes quite often while he is on stage, he keeps glancing in your way, a hint of guilt glistening in his green irises as he sings their songs with perfect vocals. You can tell he feels bad for the situation and you didn’t make it any easier on him or any of the boys, but you’re not really one to beat around the bush. They deserved to know what others in the industry below them have to deal with every day. It’s not always as glamorous as people might think and you’re the living example of that.

You don’t stick around for long after the boys are done on stage, you help your bandmates pack their stuff and head home before Harry or any other members of One Direction can find you.

Walking past the news stand that’s on the corner of your street, you stop upon seeing your own face smiling back at you from the cover of People Magazine, the title catching your attention.

“Grammy nominee Y/N Y/L/N shares her secret to her one of a kind fashion style.”

Grabbing the magazine off the stand you pay for it and continue your way home, holding the copy to your chest with a warm feeling in your heart.

It’s been only a week since the nominations have come out, but it still feels like a dream. You didn’t just get nominated in the category of Best New Artist, but your album Hands of Power got nominated as Best Album and your biggest hit of last year, Sleepless is running for the title of Best song. Three nominations the first time earning a spot on the list. Not bad.

Just as you walk into your place, your phone buzzes, the ever so smiling face of your manager staring back at you from the screen.

“Hey!” you sing into the phone, holding it to your ear with your shoulder, taking off your boots as you walk further down the hallway.

“Are you home already?”

“Yes, just arrived.”

“Great, I’ll be there in ten,” she announces and ends the call. Chuckling you just shake your head, dropping the phone to the coffee table before you move to the bedroom and change into something more comfortable. The flared jeans looked fire on you today, but you rather wear something looser when you’re at home.

You barely have the time to start the water for a tea when Taylor storms through your door using her keys you’ve given her some time ago. She is wearing all white that looks fantastic with her almond skin tone, a knitted sweater tucked into a maxi skirt, paired with strappy heels, she is always so elegant and perfectly dressed for whatever occasion.

“I have knee-shaking news, girl!” she announces as she throws her purse to the couch before joining you in the kitchen.

“I’m going to be the next Bond girl?” you joke smiling to yourself as you get two mugs from the cupboard.

“Better than that!” she cheers. “You are going to perform at the Grammy’s, baby!” she screams throwing her hands into the air as your jaw drops to the floor.

“You’re not just kidding with me, right?!”

“I would never play such a dirty joke with you. It’s one hundred percent true, I had an hour long phone call with some bloke today and they want you.”

“Yes!” you scream in excitement, jumping up and down like a child that just got a pack of candy. “I’ll make the Grammy’s my bitch!” you cheer, making Taylor laugh.

“Alright, Miss Dominatrix. We still have a lot of things to discuss and there’s one more thing about the performance.”

“Oh God, is this the part where you say something that ruins it completely?” you sigh in defeat as you take the kettle and pour the water into the mugs, dropping a filter into each.

“I don’t think it ruins it,” she shakes her head, but you have a feeling you won’t like what she has to say. “They want it to be like a… joined performance. You’d start off with Sleepless, then it would kind of mesh into your partner’s song and they would end it with one of their own songs.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound bad,” you nod.

“See?” she smiles warmly.

“Do we know who I’m going to perform with?”

“Harry Styles.”

You almost drop both mugs the moment the name is mentioned, but you manage to get them to the kitchen island and slip them to the counter, Taylor giving you a questioning look at your wide-eyed expression.

“Uh, I’m not sure that’s… gonna work,” you clear your throat.

“You’re not sure your duet with the biggest male artist can work? Why is that?”

Licking your lips you try to find the right words to say it, but you’re not even sure why you got so shocked over it. Probably because the last time you saw him, you were still nobody, playing gigs at no name bars and he took your spot on the stage with One Direction. It’s weird, but since you’ve finally made it in the industry, you haven’t crossed paths with him and this would be the first time you meet after seven years.

“I’m not sure if he remembers it, but we’ve met before.”

“You and Harry?”

“Yes. I was playing with The Gambits years ago, it was before I started putting out covers on my own. We were supposed to play at this bar but they cancelled on us, because One Direction was there that night and someone wanted them to play instead of us, so we lost the gig. I had a pretty… harsh conversation with him and the band, basically telling them that their pretty man privilege is what ruins the careers of talented women.” “Oh Jesus, Y/N. Why haven’t I heard of this before?” Taylor sighs leaning on her elbows on the countertop.

“Not that it’s something that would just come up in a conversation,” you shrug. “And as I said, he might not even remember it. It was a long time ago.”

“I know you are all about your rebellious past, good for you, but sometimes you’re making my job really fucking hard,” she sighs, grabbing her phone, already typing a message to God knows who. “Starting beef with Harry Styles before you even made a name for yourself? Who does that?”

“It’s not beef!” you protest. “I just gave them my piece of mind.”

“We’ll see what he thinks about it. I have to make a few calls,” she announces before walking out, already on the phone with someone.

Sitting on a stool, staring into your mug you think back at the time you met him. It feels like a lifetime ago when you were fighting to stay afloat, trying to make through the days, barely hanging on a thread. You didn’t know that five years later you’d sign your first record deal as a solo artist and seven years from that night, you’d be a Grammy nominee. It was a long and challenging time for sure with way more downs than ups until you finally got on track and you’ll never forget where you came from. Not when even as an acknowledged artist, you still face judgment and hatred no matter what you do. Being a solo female singer sometimes feels like harder than being president of the country and there are just so many things that need to change in the world of music, you will never stop fighting for girls that are in the same shoe you once were.

Through the years you’ve followed the career of the boys, especially Harry’s. You read about Zayn’s parting, their so-called hiatus and how they all went solo soon after. Genre-wise Harry’s work is what stands the closest to you, and you’ve witnessed all the backlash he has faced during his time in the spotlight. The shaming for whatever women he chose to date, his choice to get into acting and the way he has been dressing. People just don’t seem to understand they can’t have control over any of these and they’ve tried to bring him down one too many times, but he has been thriving lately, anyone can see that.

Your mug empties out by the time Taylor returns, taking her previous stop at the kitchen island.

“Alright, I set up a meeting with Harry and his manager for tomorrow. They still haven’t decided on the performance and apparently, Harry would like to meet you before giving his answer.”

“Oh God, he remembers me,” you growl under your breath.

“Or maybe he doesn’t and just wants to meet the person he is supposed to perform with. We can never know. We’re meeting them at his manager’s office at eleven tomorrow.”

One night is enough to make you go crazy over such a small thing as meeting someone. It’s not like you are nervous to see him because of who he is, it’s more about knowing what he thinks about you after all these years, in case he remembers you. He saw you as a struggling artist at rock bottom and though your encounter didn’t last long and he didn’t know you on a deeper, personal level, you still fear that he remembers and thinks that you’ve lost yourself over the years.

Authenticity has been a huge issue in your life. Early in your career, everyone wanted to change you. The way you dress, your hair, the style of music you write, nothing was good enough as it was, they wanted you to become someone else, someone who was not you. You fought all attempts until the right person came through and accepted you as yourself, but a tiny voice in the back of your mind kept telling you that they succeeded, that somewhere along the fight you did lose yourself and became what you always feared to be.

Meeting Harry is like meeting a piece of your past and having to face what you’ve become. It’s going to be like a mirror right in front of you and what you’ll see might not be what you expect.

Wearing your bright red dungaree with an oversized vintage shirt and a pair of white sneakers, you definitely don’t look like you’re dressed for a business meeting, but when did you ever? Pushing your hair back with a pair of cat eye shades, you leave a little earlier, knowing well traffic is horrible in these hours. You arrive to the office building just minutes before eleven, Taylor has already texted that she has arrived and which office you should come to. When you finally find the door you’ve been looking for, you take a moment to yourself before knocking.

“Come in!” a male voice calls out and you walk in. Taylor is sitting on the sofa that’s pushed against the wall on the left, a man is sitting behind the enormous desk and then there is Harry, standing by the window, his hands hidden in the pockets of his black slacks, and old Rolling Stones t-shirt hanging loosely on his frame as his eyes meet yours upon your arrival.

“Hey, I would say I’m sorry for being late, but I’m actually exactly on time,” you smirk, closing the door behind you. The man stands from the desk and walking around he meets at the front, holding a hand out for you.

“Perfectly on time,” he smiles warmly. “I’m Jeffrey Azoff, nice to meet you.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you too.”

“And this here is Harry,” he motions towards the man who has stepped closer and as you look back at him, you’re met with a blank expression for a moment so you can’t figure out if he remembers you or not. But then, a tiny smile tugs on his lips as he holds his hand out for you.

“We’ve met before, right?” he simply questions, and your eyes flicker over to Taylor in a kind of “See? I told you!” manner before you look back at Harry and shake his hand.

“Yeah, we have,” you nod. “A long time ago.”

“Congrats for your nominations,” he smirks, his hand letting go of yours and your let out a soft chuckle.

“Well, thank you. Back at you.”

“Alright, why don’t we start this discussion? We have a lot to go over,” Jeff suggests and you sit beside Taylor while Harry stays near the window, as if he is trying to soak up the sunshine coming through it that’s painting his skin a golden shade.

The concept is simple. The performance would be a mashup from Sleepless and Harry’s song Golden with an exciting and fresh way of mixing the two songs together in the middle, making your song flow into his in a smooth and effortless way. The songs sound compatible and you already have an idea how to mash them together for the transition, but you can’t help but feel doubts over the performance.

“What are your concerns exactly?” Jeff questions.

“Not to come off too harsh, but why is my song the first one?” you ask, earning a few puzzled looks. “If Harry finishes it off, he is going to be the one people will remember more and he’ll get the applause as well. The riffs in the songs allow them to be switched, how come it’s not me who comes second?”

You can see the shock on Jeffrey’s face at how straight-forward you were about your concern and that you even dared to speak up about the issue. He clearly hasn’t had to face anything similar before and when he glances at Harry you follow his gaze as well, but instead of shock, what you see on his face is amusement. He is smirking, tapping his fingers against his chin as he stares back at you.

“She has a point,” he nods and you take a deep breath. For a moment, you really thought this is going to be the part where you are thrown off and Harry makes the performance only his.

“I, uhh—this is what’s been requested,” Jeff answers and you tilt your head.

“Okay, can we make a request to change it?” you simply ask, eyeing Taylor next to you who is typing on her iPad vigorously, taking notes of everything that’s said. She is already used to what you’re like, she is not even surprised you came up with the prompt to change.

“Hold on, so just because you want to be second, you get to be?” Harry questions, but he doesn’t come off as harsh, it seems like he is entertained by the conversation. “Does this mean I don’t deserve to be the second one?”

“That’s-That’s not what I meant,” you answer, taken aback from his accusation and you hate to admit, but he is right. You addressed the issue, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve the spot either.

“Alright, so then we need to seek a solution that benefits the both of us,” he offers, walking closer from the sunlight and you follow his every movement.

“We could do some kind of medley? Do an ultimate mashup from more songs and have more smaller parts split between us, finishing it together,” you suggest and he nods.

“That could work, but I have something else on my mind.”

“And what would that be?” Jeff asks, a little lost about the situation as he watches the two of you exchange ideas.

“We could write a song together, a duet, and perform that instead of our solo stuff.”

“What?” you snap right away. “You want to write a whole new song just for the Grammy’s?”

“Why not?” he smiles carefreely. “We have almost two entire months to do it, albums have been written in shorter periods, I’m sure we can handle just one song. And I think a collaboration would be a hit for the both of us now.”

You look at Taylor who just stares back at you, ignoring the panic in your eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” she tells you. “I can see the collaboration working, it could be a huge hit.”

“And what, we’re gonna release it as a single after the show? Whose song is it going to be? I don’t have an album coming up until next year, do you get to have it on your third one then?”

“We can put it out as just a single. No one has to have it on any albums,” Harry replies. “If we released it after the show, it would be just the right timing. Neither of us had any new songs out in a while.” Clenching your jaw you’re trying to find a way out of this collaboration, though you’re not even sure yourself why. Taylor sees right through you, knowing well you’re planning your escape, but she has other plans apparently.

“Y/N, let’s have a few words outside,” she pushes herself up and pulls you with her. Once the door is shut behind the two of you she starts right away. “What the fuck is your problem? The song is a huge thing, it would be an instant hit with him on it!”

“Why do I need a song with him to stay relevant?” you question, folding your arms on your chest.

“No one said it’s about that. But we both know it would be a great push to your name that Jordan has stomped over not so long ago, calling you a Feminist Nazi.”

“Don’t even fucking mention him!” you whisper yell, refusing to even think about that trashbag of a man that ruined your life with his fake accusations.

“Look, I know what you are thinking, that you’ll be seen as just an object next to him, a pair of boobs and nice legs, but that’s not his brand. He doesn’t need you to be sexy next to him, he is known for his honest and real works that go farther than just twerking and being a hoe. We both know he produces meaningful music, so why are you so against it?”

“I just… I-I’m scared to work with him,” you finally admit and it’s the first thing today that surprises Taylor.

“Scared? Thought you’re not scared of anything,” she huffs.

“I never said that,” you give her a look. “Harry met me when I was nobody, it was just me and my big mouth, trying to find my breakout. What if we start working together and he sees that I completely lost that version of myself? I would feel like a liar, an impostor.”

“You are overreacting,” Taylor sighs. “You’ve changed on your way here, but I doubt you are that far from the girl he met before. I know we didn’t meet just a few years after, but I can assure you, you’re still that big-mouthed pain in the ass who fights every norm in the industry like no one else.”

You know she is right, she is always right. Taylor knows you too well, that’s why you love working with her, but sometimes, her honesty throws you way off, especially when she is stating the truth.

The two of you rejoin the two men in the office and they both look at you with anticipation as you fold your arms on your chest and move your gaze over to Harry.

“I would… love to work on a song with you.”

When you agreed to work with Harry you didn’t think you’d find yourself heading over to his house a few days later to have a writing session, but he offered right away that day in the office and Taylor accepted it before you could protest. You’ve had a day filled with meetings and fittings and now you’re rolling up his driveway after punching the security code in that he shared with you over text.

You’ve exchanged numbers on the spot and just like that, you’ve become one of the few people on this world that could contact Harry Styles anytime they want to.

You chose to be casual for the occasion, wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a white hoodie, you like to be comfortable whenever you’re working on new music and Harry’s presence won’t change your ways about that. You’re not sure what to expect, if you’re being honest you’re still afraid of being alone with Harry and do such an emotional thing together as writing a song.

The front door opens just as you get out of your car, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat. Harry walks out wearing a pair of shorts and a green hoodie, looking like he hasn’t left the house all day.

“Hey, you found the address easily?” he asks smiling as you walk up to him.

“Yeah, everything went fine.”

“Do you want something to drink or eat maybe?” he offers as the two of you walk inside. If you’re being honest, you’re starving, the last time you had anything to eat was between two meetings around ten, but nothing since then, just a granola bar. But you’re a first time guest, you can’t just eat up his fridge, like you’re old pals, right?

However, Harry can see right through you.

“You haven’t had anything in a long time, right?” he softly asks and you purse your lips, feeling awkward already and you haven’t been here for more than two minutes. “I can make you a sandwich, if you’d like.” “Harry, no need, I—“ “No need, but I want to. Come on,” he nods at you, making you follow him into the kitchen. “So, who would have thought we would be here now, huh?” he smirks at you as he gathers the ingredients and starts working on your food while you sit on one of the stools at his kitchen island.

“Not me,” you admit chuckling. “I kind of didn’t think I would see you again, I mean, personally. I was seeing you a lot on TV after that.”

“Now might be a good time to confess that, that night wasn’t the last time I saw you.”

“What?”

“I went to one of your gigs a few weeks later. Stayed at the back, I just really wanted to see you play.”

“And what did you think?” you ask tilting your head to the side. Harry smirks, his eyes meeting yours before they return to the food under his hands.

“You absolutely smashed it. And I felt even worse for taking your time away that night. The people were robbed from a mind-blowing performance and had to see five annoying guys clown on the stage,” he laughs making you chuckle too. “I wasn’t surprised when your name surfaced a few years later. Knew you’d make it at one point.” He joins you at the island and slides the plate in front of you with a warm smile.

“Thank you,” you mumble smiling shyly before you start eating and only after the first bite you feel just how hungry you’ve been. “Now that we are at it, I want to apologize for the way I talked to you guys back then. I feel like I was a bigger asshole than I should have been and the whole situation wasn’t entirely your fault.”

“No need to apologize,” he shakes his head. “You were absolutely right. We had no business being on stage that night and what you said actually made us think about where we came from and appreciate our career more. You were right about having it easy at the beginning. We never had the phase where we had to push our way to the top like other artists, our first days were broadcasted on TV, giving us the biggest push ever.”

It’s good to hear he is not holding grudges against you for whatever went down in the past. You eat in silence while Harry types a response to a message on his phone before turning it with the screen down to pay his full attention to you.

“I actually just messaged Niall that we are working together and he is losing his shit over it,” he chuckles softly.

“You guys still talk?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Not all of us thought,” he adds, pressing his lips together.

“You miss being with the band?”

“It’s… good to rely on someone in certain situations. As a solo artist, you only have yourself and that’s about it. But I think you already know that.”

“I never really liked being in a band,” you admit.

“How come? I think you fit in well with The Gambits.”

You shrug, chewing on your bite slowly. It’s probably not the best time to admit that you prefer working on your own, when you’re about to get into a duet with him.

“I uhh… I always imagined myself being a solo artist and I just couldn’t stay with the guys too long, especially when I got my record deal.”

“Why?” Letting out a long breath you lick your lips looking at him.

“I would have never made it in a band with three guys. It would have always been about which one I’m sleeping with, who am I having an affair with or if I’m lesbian because I’m not hooking up with any of them. This is just how it goes for women.”

Harry stays quiet, taking your words in as you finish the sandwich that was literally lifesaving. You wash the plate even when he tells you to just leave it in the sink, and once that’s done, the two of you move over to his little home studio in the basement of his house.

“So, where do we start?” you ask, making yourself comfortable in one of the armchairs while he grabs an acoustic guitar and sits on the one next to you.

“How do you usually start writing?” he asks scratching his chin before he rests his hands on the body of the guitar.

“Well, most of the times I write when I’m pissed about something,” you huff and Harry smirks at you.

“Nothing pissed you off lately?”

“Not enough to make me write a song,” you point out. “See, this is one of the reasons why I was hesitant to write a song with you. It doesn’t come that easily for me.”

“And what were the other reasons?” You shut your mouth at his question, you weren’t expecting him to pick it up, but apparently, he listens more than you thought.

“It’s… a long story.”

“And we have all the time,” he smiles slyly. “But of course, don’t feel pressured to share. I just thought it would be nice to get to know each other more so we can work together easier.”

Harry starts strumming his guitar gently, playing random riffs as you watch him, chewing on your bottom lip. Taylor asked you to try and be more open than you usually are and though part of you wants to keep the wall high between you and him, something is telling you to try and reach out to him.

“I didn’t want to do it, because I didn’t want to be seen as just a pretty face next to you. In duets between a man and a woman, females are often seen as just an object, a sight for the eyes but not as serious artists. I worked hard to be taken seriously and I was hesitant about collaborating with you even though your music is not necessarily what I should fear.”

Harry looks back at you with an unreadable expression and you feel like he is judging you for standing up for yourself. Your fight for yourself is often mistaken as “being a bitch” or “being too sensitive” and the amount of times you’ve been told to just chill is upsetting.

“Well, good thing then that I won’t write music about twerking,” he then finally speaks up, a smile breaking his blank expression.

“But you do write a lot about sex,” you point out with a smirk.

“That I do, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be sexist at the same time.”

“You’re right,” you nod smiling.

 The writing process turns out to be harder than you thought. You’re not specifically inspired and Harry is the person to just throw things around until he finds something he likes. The two of you put together is kind of chaotic as you try to come up with something useful.

Two hours later you have a raw version of a melody that could serve as a chorus, but nothing else, no full melody, no lyrics. And if you’re being honest, you don’t like that chorus that much either.

“It’ll be fun to just stand on stage for three minutes and do absolutely nothing, because we couldn’t write anything,” you groan, sliding lower in your seat, rubbing your face with your hands.

“It’s literally our first session and we have plenty of time, Y/N. Don’t stress about it.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You don’t know how not to stress?”

“I literally haven’t had a stressfree day since about 2007, so no, I don’t know.”

“You can’t chill even when you smoke?” he asks and you give him a puzzled look. “What, you smoke, don’t you?”

“Cigarettes? I put it down in 2015.”

“No, I’m not talking about cigarettes,” Harry chuckles softly. “You don’t smoke weed?” You shyly shake your head. “Really? I would have sworn you’re the type to relax with a good joint. Want to try it?”

“What? Now?” you ask with wide eyes.

“Why not?” he shrugs and walks over to the little side table in the corner of the room and reaching into it he simply pulls a little plastic bag out with three joints in them.

“Are you just casually keeping joints around your house?”

“I don’t really smoke them, they make me feel sleepy. But some of my friends like it so I keep a few around,” he explains as he takes one out and puts the rest back. “You want to try?”

“I-I’m not sure… I have to drive back home.”

“You can stay for the night, I have three guest bedrooms,” he shrugs before his eyes meet yours. “Again, not trying to pressure you, I’m just offering.”

“Are you gonna smoke?”

“We can share one if you want. I would recommend smoking one by yourself for the first time.”

“Okay,” you nod shortly as you watch him tip-tap the joint a little, rolling it between his fingers before he takes it between his lips and reaches for a lighter. “Wait, shouldn’t we do it somewhere outside? The smoke is gonna get stuck in here.”

Harry stops, thinking about what you said and he nods. Grabbing the guitar he asks you to follow him and the two of you move up and out to the terrace, sinking into his lounge chairs. You bring your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly as you watch Harry light the joint and take the first few puffs. As he exhales the smoke he holds the joint out for you and you take it, hesitantly putting it between your lips as you inhale for the first time. You can’t help but scowl at the taste, the whole act of smoking feeling strange after years of smoking your last cigarette. You keep it down a little before puffing the smoke out and passing the joint back to Harry.

You keep switching until you make it past half of it and you finally start to feel the effect of it. You feel light, like you’re floating in the pool that’s in front of you, you can almost feel the water touching your skin yet you’re still dry.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, blinking at you with hooded eyes.

“I’m feeling… fine,” you chuckle softly as you take the joint from him and drag from it again. “Do you do other drugs?”

“I’ve done shrooms a few times, not often though. I’m not trying to pick up an addiction,” he smiles softly, running a hand through his hair. “Have you done anything?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Didn’t have the money for it before and then didn’t have time later. But I never really felt the need either.”

“And you said you put down the cigarette as well?”

“Yeah. I knew I had to do that sooner or later, it was starting to change my voice and I couldn’t have that.”

“That’s what we always told Louis, that his voice will turn to shit if he keeps smoking,” Harry chuckles softly, dragging from the joint before he passes it over to you, not much left of it.

“Did he ever stop?”

“I think he put it down when his son was born, but I don’t know if he started again.”

You give the joint back for him to finish it and you watch him put it out in the ashtray before he sinks down in the lounge chair, closing his eye for a bit, breathing steadily. You find it amusing how you can still see the guy that handed you a check years ago at that bar, trying to make things right, but he also looks like a completely different person at the same time. He is more mature and open in his mindset and just the way he approaches things in general. The Harry you met seven years ago was still searching his way, but the version lying next to you now is a lot more confident in who he really is.

“Want to take a picture?” he hums keeping his eyes closed.

“What?”

His eyes peel open and turn to face you, a smug smirk on his lips.

“You’ve been staring at me. Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

“You are way too full of yourself,” you scoff and pushing yourself up from the lounge chair you walk over to the edge of the pool, mesmerized by the way the light is dancing on the surface.

You never really thought about what weed would feel like in your system, but it feels oddly tranquil and relaxing. In a way your body feels a little strange, like it’s not even yours, but you also sense everything very… loudly.

“You alright?” you hear Harry’s voice coming from behind, the tapping on his feet signaling that he is walking closer to you.

“Yeah,” you nod without taking your eyes off of the water.

“Do you want to go for a swim?”

“What?” you breathe out turning to face him.

“Do you want to go in?” he rephrases his question with a small smile.

“I don’t… have a bathing suit,” you answer and the moment the words leave your mouth they feel so ridiculous even when you were just stating the truth.

“Okay, but you are wearing underwear, aren’t you?” he smirks. “Or I’m completely fine if you want to go in naked,” he adds smugly.

“Shut up,” you chuckle. “Can you… maybe give me a pair of shorts? I’m fine without a bra when I come out but I would rather have my underwear on dry.”

“Sure,” he hums and turning around he jogs back into the house while you stay right there, staring at the water again.

With each passing moment you get calmer, the outside world and everything in life that’s not happening right in this moment eases into nothingness, your mind numbs in the best way possible.

When Harry returns he is wearing a pair of yellow swimming shorts, two towels are thrown over his shoulders and he has a pair of white shorts in his hands.

“This is the smallest thing I have, I think it’ll be fine,” he comments handing you the shorts.

“Thanks,” you nod before he shows you the way to the closest bathroom where you change out of your clothes leaving them in a neatly folded pile on the counter, you put on the shorts that are a little big on you, but once you’ve tied the strings it seems to be staying up steadily. Your simple black bra is not showing more than what a bikini top would, so you feel fine walking out in your attire.

Harry is sitting at the edge of the pool, his legs moving around in the water. His head lifts hearing your steps and he smiles at you, standing up when you arrive.

“Fits fine,” he nods, taking a look at the shorts.

“Yeah,” you chuckle.

Walking over to the steps you dip your feet in first, testing the temperature before you start going in further, Harry following you right behind. Just as you expected, the water feels smooth against your skin, warmly caressing and swallowing your body as you get in, the surface reaching your chest. You let your arms move around, feel how the water runs through your fingers, it’s amusing and you enjoy it probably more than you should. It’s just water, but right now it feels like a pile of clouds.

“I know I suggested to smoke and then swim, but please don’t drown into my pool, I won’t be able to talk myself out of that,” he chuckles, easing him into the water until it reaches his neck.

“My life is in your hands, Harry,” you smirk at him before you follow him and let the water swallow your whole body up to your neck.  “This feels so nice.”

“Yeah? You like it?” he smirks.

“Mm, like I’m… floating through space.”

“In a sense, you are floating in the water,” he chuckles. “You don’t feel sick, right?”

“No, I’m fine,” you smile at him shortly.

You move over to the edge of the pool, laying your arms to the side, holding yourself up so your legs could float in the water. You watch Harry dive under and swim across the pool, reaching the far end before he pushes himself over to you.

“When I went to see you perform there was a song I really liked, but I never found it anywhere later.”

“Which one?”

“The chorus went like… Crashing and crumbling, I’m fighting for my breath, Today won’t be the day I’m meeting death…”

You suck on your breath, surprised how well he remembered the lines even after so many years. He recalled them perfectly, even singing the melody a little with them.

“I never recorded it in studio,” you admit quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because it felt too emotional and I didn’t want it to be just out there.”

“What was the name of the song?”

“It’s called Till I Die. I wrote it when…” You take a deep breath, feeling heavy just by talking about it, but something is urging you to share it with him. “I left from home right after I graduated high school, broke contact with my parents completely and I had a few very rough years, trying to just… keep myself alive, I guess.”

“Can I ask why you left your parents?”

“We had very different visions of what I should become. And I didn’t intend to live the life they imagined for me. My parents are very… traditional, my career in their eyes is just some kind of circus when I’m the clown on the stage. They don’t take any of it seriously and they made it very clear at the beginning that they don’t want me to become a musician. I was supposed to become a surgeon, my dad is one and my mom is in criminal law, they both worked very hard to get to where they are, but they don’t think that’s exactly what I’m doing as well.”

The last person you shared it with was Taylor and though it feels odd to open up about these old wounds again, but having Harry as the one listening to you just feels right.

“You haven’t talked to them since you left?”

“No,” you shake your head.

“And they didn’t even try to contact you?”

“Well, I made sure they couldn't. Changed my number first thing I set my feet outside the house and I never left them any of my addresses. I know it sounds cruel, but I didn’t want to do anything with them after the shaming they put me through when I told them I don’t want to become their perfect little daughter. They told me that I could consider myself disowned from the family if I dare to even write a song.”

“Woah, that sounds really tough.”

“It was,” you nod. “I wasn’t asking them to support me in any other way apart from just being there for me. It’s not like I wanted to spend the money the put aside for my tuition to buy guitars and tour the country, I just wanted them to… accept who I am, but apparently, I asked for too much.”

You feel tears forming in your eyes, but you wipe them quickly. It’s been long since the last time you let the thought of your parents, you’ve been good at keeping these feelings bottled up and in the deepest end of your mind. It’s not like you’re going around and just share your trauma with anyone you meet, but it felt comfortable to share it with Harry.

“I’m sorry about that. Everyone should have a support, especially in our job.”

“I had… myself,” you chuckle bitterly. “Became pretty good at relying only on myself.”

“I’m guessing it’s another reason why you prefer working alone, right?” he smiles at you softly.

“You could say that,” you nod into the water.

“I know it’ll sound cheesy, but… if you ever want to talk, I’m here,” he offers.

“Oh, are we becoming friends?” you ask chuckling.

“We’ve known each other for long enough to be friends, am I right?” he smirks, splashing some water in your way.

“We met a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean we know each other. Everything I know about you is from articles and gossip sites and I think you can only say the same thing,” you point out.

“Okay, then let’s get to know each other.”

“What, do you want to play 21 questions now or something?” you huff.

“Damn right,” he smirks.

And that’s exactly what you do. Swimming around in the pool you ask each other questions, some are funny, some are more serious and you slowly start to get to know each other, seven years after meeting for the first time, but in a way it feels like it’s been just last week when you were talking in the alleyway.

The weed soon dies down in your system, leaving you incredibly tired and it’s only then you realize it’s already past one am. Pulling out of the pool, you both grab a towel drying yourselves up before making your way back into the house.

“The guest bedroom next to mine has a bathroom so I think that’s the best one. I can give you something to sleep in if you’d like,” Harry offers as you follow him down the hallway.

“I think I’m fine in my sweats, but thank you.” He shows you the room, tells you how to change the AC if you feel too cold or hot and then bidding goodbye he is about to go to his own room when you stop him.

“Thank you for… today. I know we didn’t get far with the song, but… I liked hanging out with you,” you admit with a shy smile, leaning against the doorframe.

“Don’t worry about the song, it’ll be fine. And I liked it too. We can make it a regular thing, if you want. You can come over, we’d chill and try to cook up something for the song.”

“I, uhh… Yeah, that sounds good,” you nod, he shoots you a smile before turning around and disappearing in his room.

The morning doesn’t turn out at all any awkward, especially because you don’t get to stay around too long. You have a meeting at eleven so you have to leave in time to go home and get changed before that. Harry makes you coffee, which is lifesaving, the two of you sit at the terrace as you drink it and you arrange to meet in two days to try and have another, hopefully more successful session for the song.

You genuinely enjoyed your time with Harry and to think that you didn’t only smoked weed for the first time with him, but also opened up about your parents, you feel a kind of connection forming and you can only hope you’re not gonna regret it later.

You move on with work after leaving from Harry’s that morning, you have some fittings for upcoming photoshoots and an interview scheduled, so there’s not much time for you to sit around. Tonight you’re supposed to meet Harry again at his place for another session and you feel buzzed about it. You meet Taylor for lunch, sitting on the terrace of your usual place she is talking you through everything that’s coming up the next week, just like you always do so then you can put work aside and have a real chat.

“So how did the writing session go?” she asks, digging into her salad that she always asks with extra chicken.

“The writing? Not so well. But we had a good time,” you truthfully admit.

“Good, good! You’re finally making friends!” Taylor grins, satisfied with the news. You just roll your eyes at her, turning back to your food right when you notice that your phone has been blowing up with notifications.

Huffing you grab it from the table with the pure intention of muting it down completely, but then you see that several people have texted you the same link and it bugs your curiosity so you open one of the messages and tap on the link.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you groan, feeling your rage already pushing up your spine, clouding your vision in red.

“What?” Taylor snaps, reaching for her phone out of reflex.

“That fucking asshole dragged my name again!”

“Who? Jordan? That fucker never learns?” Taylor hisses, her thumbs vigorously typing on the screen immediately.

“Someone asked him about me on Twitter and he dared to call me a lying bitch! I can’t fucking believe this man!”

You and Jordan worked together on a project a while ago. You were supposed to write lyrics to a song he was composing and it was meant for an upcoming popular Netflix show, so the anticipation around the song was huge, especially when word got out that Ariana Grande might end up singing it. During your time working together he very blatantly tried to hit on you, which you politely shut down, because one, you didn’t intend to date someone you were working so close with and two, you just simply weren’t into him. However, he couldn’t take rejection the way a mature, almost thirty years old man should. It started off very subtly, but once you’ve had a chat with him to stop posting obnoxious and suggesting things about you on his social media, because it’s making it hard for you to be taken seriously as an artist and that people will just see you as another celeb which you don’t want to be, he just completely lost his shit. He called you different names on Twitter a few times, the worst were Feminist Nazi and a cock teasing slut, and he just somehow never fails to mention that you lied about your intentions with him, when you were clearer than daylight that you didn’t want a thing from him other than work.

When you realized he isn’t going to be stopping anytime soon, you took him to court, dragged his ass in front of the judge and won the case, which ended with him having to pay you thirty thousand dollars and he was ordered to clear all his platforms from your name for good. You really thought that taught him a lesson, especially because against your will, the case got some publicity and he ended up making headlines about the fault accusations he made about you, but it seems like he didn’t have enough.

You wouldn’t worry that much about his new tweet, knowing that he is the one lying, but the trials took a toll on you. It was at the beginning of the time when you were making yourself a name and even though you won, his accusations stung for some people and some even thought him to be the victim. You fell out of two brand deals and an important interview in the upcoming months which was a major setback and all for what? Because a man couldn’t accept rejection? The sad part is that if it would have happened the other way around, he wouldn’t have had to suffer any effect of it, people don’t tend to question a man’s words when he is showing this charming and nice persona to the public. If you accused him the same way you would have been dragged and titled as a sour crybaby and Jordan’s life would have carried on the same way.

The peaceful lunch soon falls through as Taylor turns on her beast mode to at least get the tweet down as soon as possible, already contacting the legal team you worked with before. It has to be against what you agreed on at the end of the trials, he can’t just go around and drag you again without any consequences.

In just about twenty minutes, the tweets disappear from Jordan’s feed, but you know it was already late the moment he posted it. If something gets out on the internet it never goes away, there are probably hundreds if not thousands of screenshots floating around that will preserve his words forever.

You part ways Taylor as he heads to an immediate meeting with the lawyers you worked together previously, she tells you to try not to worry about it, but you can’t just turn it off in you, that’s not how it works.

Making your way home you keep riling yourself up about it, thinking about what it’s gonna cause you this time, what opportunity is going to be taken because a man has called you a lying bitch, even after winning the previous trial against him that proves how big of an asshole he really is.

Changing into a casual attire you head to Harry’s place a little earlier, hoping it’s not a problem you get there an hour before you were supposed to. Arriving you’re a little taken aback seeing that there is another car parking on the driveway that’s not his and you immediately regret coming here, but before you could leave, the front door opens and Harry walks out. You couldn’t have left without noticing, the security system must have signaled your arrival when you punched the opening code in.

“Hey, everything alright?” he asks instead of questioning your early arrival.

“I uhh—I’m sorry for being early, I could go—“

“Don’t be silly, come on in!” he waves at you and you walk up the stairs. “Two friends are here but they were just about to leave soon,” he explains as you walk in.

“Sorry for crashing the party,” you let out a soft chuckle.

“The more the merrier,” he smiles. “You seem a little stressed, everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just… It’s nothing,” you shake your head.

“Oh my God, is that who I think it is?” you hear a woman’s voice from behind and turning around you see a smiley brunette walking towards you, a shy looking guy following behind her.

“Sarah, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Sarah, my drummer, and that wanker over there is Mitch, my guitarist.”

“Nice to meet you.” Shaking hands with both of them you realize they look familiar from pictures you’ve seen from Harry’s tour.

“I saw that ugly tweet today, that guy needs to be kicked in the balls,” Sarah sighs with a sympathetic smile, Harry’s ears perking up.

“What tweet?” he asks, eyes switching between you and Sarah.

“Oh, just… Jordan Wells thinks it’s fine to drag people with absolutely no truth behind his words,” you answer with a tight-lipped smile.

“Jordan Wells? The name rings a bell,” Harry hums.

“He is a music producer,” Mitch chimes in.

“I think he was supposed to write for 1D one time, but the deal fell through. Guess we didn’t miss out on anything,” he jokes and it brings a genuine smile to your face.

“You surely didn’t,” you comment under your breath.

You chat with Sarah and Mitch for a bit before they decide to head out, but Sarah asks you to come around sometime they are hanging out and you gladly say yes, wanting to know her and Mitch better, they seem like great company and even greater musicians, it’s always good to meet people who are like you.

As Harry walks his friends out you make yourself comfortable on the couch, reading Taylor’s texts about the update on the recent actions, she has gotten in contact with Jordan’s team and legal steps will be taken if Jordan doesn’t show any sign of improvement in the very near future.

“Hey, want something to drink? Wine or beer maybe?” Harry walks in as you look up from your phone.

“Wine sounds fucking fantastic,” you breathe out earning a soft chuckle from him. You follow him into the kitchen and watch him get a bottle of white wine with two glasses. “I hope Sarah and Mitch didn’t leave early because of me.”

“Oh, not at all. They knew you’d be coming over and would have left around this time, so don’t worry about it.”

He joins you at the kitchen island with the two glasses handing you one and you take a sip from it with a satisfied hum.

“So, want to talk about this Jordan ordeal?”

“There’s not much to talk, really,” you shrug. “He is a jerk and I just can’t seem to get rid of him and I didn’t even date the guy…”

“What did he do this time?”

“Oh, he just casually called me a lying bitch on Twitter, so that’s fun,” you let out a fake laugh, raising your glass before taking a big swig from it.

“Not that creative, if you’re asking me,” he jokes making you laugh. “It’s a very plain choice of words.”

“Yeah, not as good as his best which was calling me a feminist nazi.”

Harry almost chokes on his wine as you say the words, coughing a little while you watch him with an entertained smirk.

“That’s… an interesting way to express his opinion about you,” he answers diplomatically.

“Right? I was thinking about getting a sign of it, like a Live, Love, Laugh one, in the middle of my living room.”

“Would be a wonderful touch of décor,” he smirks. “Alright, I have a proposal for today’s session.”

“Shoot it.”

“You seemed to enjoy your weed experience the last time, I thought we could give it a try again, but we would try to write this time as well.”

“You want to write while smoking?” you ask raising your eyebrows at him.

“Only if you want to. I just thought it would relax you a bit, might even come up with some interesting ideas for the song.”

“Are you trying to turn me into an addict?” you narrow your eyes at him and he just holds his hands up innocently.

“Told you, no pressure,” he smirks angelically.

“I feel like I’m not even coming here to work but to meet with my new dealer,” you chuckle making him laugh. “Okay, we can… give it a try.”

 An hour and one joint per person later the two of you are lounging in his living room, he is sprawled out on the loveseat with a guitar on his arms while you are curled upon the sectional, fumbling with the strings of your hoodie.

“We should just… fucking steal a song,” you snort, finding your comment hilarious.

“Which one were you thinking about?” Harry smirks your way, his fingers gently strumming some random melody on the instrument.

“I really want to have a Madonna song to be mine,” you sigh dreamily.

“You’re a fan?”

“Oh, I grew up on her. I have an elaborate choreography for Hung Up,” you snort.

“You need to perform it for me.”

“No fucking way,” you laugh shaking your head. “Not even weed can make me dance for you.”

“Come on, I need to see that choreography, you can’t just hint it and then never show it to me!”

“Nah, not happening,” you laugh, sliding lower down in your seat, your head resting against the armrest of the couch.

You listen to him play the same melody over and over again with your eyes closed and though you really like what you are hearing, no words are forming in your mind that could serve as lyrics. Your phone buzzes on the cushion next to you and grabbing it you see a text from Taylor.

Taylor: Lawyers are on the case, we’ll have more tomorrow, don’t stress about it too much. Night! Xx

Sighing you drop the device back next to you, covering your eyes with your arms.

“You alright?” Harry softly asks.

“Nah, I just want to… disappear,” you sigh, tired of this fight you’ve been fighting for way too long.

“Is this about Jordan? He is a fucking ass, most people know it.”

“But not everyone!” you snap throwing your hands up. “And that fraction that still believes that he is saying the truth is enough to ruin my life. I’m fucking fed up with the injustice women have to face because of the patriarchy we are forced to live in!” Pushing yourself up you run a hand through your hair, hugging your knees to your chest. “It’s so fucking upsetting, like everything I do goes straight down the drain because of one little thing and I’m stuck with trying to rebuild my whole future plan.”

From a sudden urge, you move down to the floor, lying down on the fluffy rug that runs under the couches and the glass coffee table. It feels nice, kind of grounding to lie flat on the floor, especially because your senses are all messed up again because of the weed, but in a good kind of way.

“You worry way too much on longterm things. Try to stay in the moment a little more,” Harry tells you, putting the guitar to the side so he can move his feet to the floor, leaning onto his knees. “You can’t control this much what happens in the future, you should only care about today. And today, you’ve done good, you made it through another day, you did what you had to do and that’s it. Stressing about tomorrow or the next week or next year is just way too much to deal with all the time, twenty-four-seven, three-six-five, that’s just no way to live.”

Lying on the floor you stare up at the ceiling seemingly blankly, but your mind starts to swirl over what he just told you. The worlds are running around, mixing and mingling until something starts to form, making you gasp.

“Grab the guitar,” you tell him, sitting up abruptly. He pulls his eyebrows together, but does as you told him to, holding the instrument on his lap as he waits for you to instruct him more. “Play that… that melody you’ve been playing, but a little faster.”

He turns his attention at the guitar, trying the strings out a few times, feeling the melody under his fingers before he starts playing it just how you asked as you slowly start to sing the lines you have just thought about.

“You made it through… another day, you made it through another day… You did it, let’s celebrate…”

The lines fit perfectly with the melody he has come up with and the more you sing, the wider his smile grows as you move along in the forming song.

“Some days you feel you’ll break, but you made it through another day, yeah, you did it, let’s celebrate…”

“Don’t fucking stop!” he chimes in, never stopping the riffs, trying out new things as you go, slowly perfecting it together with the lyrics.

“Twenty-four-seven and three-six-five, you made another day, you made it alive! Made another day made it alive!” You sing loud and clear, completely lost in the melody Harry is playing, the lines just flowing out of you, like a dam has been taken down and now everything washes over you at once.

When the chorus is about to come up however you run out of ideas, your eyes meet Harry’s and he sees that you’re stuck. His eyebrows knit together, tongue runs along his lips before he starts playing the melody of the chorus and takes over the singing as well.

“So today, baby, remember it’s okay! We’re all floating through space, today, baby, remember you’re okay! We’re all floating through space…”

He plays a little with the lines, repeats them, tries a few times before he stops singing, you are now standing up, watching him end the melody, neither of you saying a word as he room grows silent. A sudden urge drives you to go closer and you sit back down to the floor in front of him, your eyes casting over the now silent instrument on his lap. Looking up your eyes meet his and you feel like the air is kicked out of your lungs.

You’ve heard so much about moments when you feel yourself pulling towards someone, when it’s like a magnetic field but you never actually experienced it until now. Staring back at Harry you feel that pull everyone has talked about and you finally understand what they were trying to say. It’s like there’s a string coming from your chest that’s connected to him and he is tugging it without even doing anything.

Reaching forward he tugs a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers dancing down the side of your face as you catch his eyes wander down to your lips. Sucking on your breath you feel the moment, you know what he is thinking about because you think about the exact same thing. Kissing him. You are desperate to find out what his lips feel against yours, what he tastes like, what it’s like to have him so close to you.

“You want to kiss me,” you whisper and it’s not a question, more like an observation.

“I do,” he admits with a soft smile, but doesn’t move closer. “Can I?”

“I don’t think it’s an appropriate thing to do in our situation,” you breathe out, though you don’t agree with the statement fully.

“You think too much,” he chuckles softly, leaning closer just a tad bit, but there are still a few inches between the two of you. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yes,” you admit.

“Then we should just do what we want to,” he suggests with a small smirk and he looks ridiculously handsome with his dimples and shining green eyes that are glued to you.

“And then what? We’ll just go on like it never happened or there’s going to be more happening? How are we supposed to—“

You don’t get to finish, because Harry closes the distance between you and him and presses his lips against yours, swallowing the rest of your stammering speech. Whatever doubts and hesitation you felt just a moment ago, it all vanishes into nothing as you melt into his kiss, his lips caressing yours gently, softly capturing them, savoring and tasting you with caution, giving you the chance to pull back anytime, but nothing in your body can make you stop kissing him in this moment.

His palms cup your jaw as you push yourself up, slowly making your way to straddle his lap after he has blindly put the guitar to the side, hands coming to rest on his shoulder for leverage. His other hand grips your waist, pulling you close until your chest is pressed up against his, lips never disconnecting in the kiss.

Kissing him feels like second nature, like it’s not even the first but the hundredth time, but on the other hand, every touch and tiny sparkle is so new and unusual, you’ve never felt like this before.

Harry slowly pulls back, pecking your lips a few more times before he stops, nuzzling his nose against you in an adorable and innocent way that brings a smile to your lips.

“Doesn’t it feel good to just do whatever you feel like doing?” he asks with a soft smile, making you laugh.

“Kind of.”

“Nothing has to change. Or something can, it’s up to you.”

“You are so upsettingly cool and respectful,” you blurt out chuckling and it makes him laugh, his head falling back against the back of the couch.

“I’m sorry, I guess?” he smirks with a shrug.

“See? Respectful!” you grin, your hands moving up to cup his face. The pad of your thumbs gently tap against his dimples that are showing thanks to the wide smile on his lips right now. You can’t stop yourself from leaning down and kissing him again, even though your rational side is trying to make you stop. You just can’t, his lips are screaming to be kissed and who are you to deny that?

You’ve been running errands all day. Following an early meeting you ran to your favorite vintage store to get another armchair for your living room. Then you went grocery shopping because your fridge has been ridiculously empty the past two days and later you had a quick fitting for a few outfits you are supposed to wear in the near future. You’ve ran into a few fans too, having small chit-chats with them, taking photos, so it’s been a busy day.

It’s been a week since you and Harry have kissed and despite your fears, it hasn’t been awkward at all. He didn’t bring it up, but you don’t feel like he is pretending it never happened, which is kind of a great balance. He is giving you just enough time and space to figure out what it really meant to you, because quite frankly, you have no idea.

Obviously, you find him attractive. You’d have to be completely blind to say that he is not handsome and just simply good to look at. You’re attracted to him and not just to his looks, but to his whole persona.

It’s just you’re not sure it’s a smart idea to start anything with the man you’re working with and though you know Harry is nothing like Jordan, part of you is still scared the whole thing will happen all over again if you get involved with another man from the industry.

Workwise, everything is going well. You’ve successfully finished the song you started that ominous evening and have started recording it in Harry’s home studio, working some more on the melody, bringing a lot more into it than just a single guitar. What more, you’ve been coming up with new ideas for other songs, lyrics popping up in either your or Harry’s head and you just keep sharing them with each other, saving them for later once the song for the Grammy’s is done.

Heading back to your place you get a call from Harry, his smiley face appearing on the screen of your face as you accept the call and his accent fills the car through the speakers that are connected to your phone through Bluetooth.

“Hey, hope I’m not calling in the middle of a meeting,” he greets you and you can tell he is smiling.

“No, I’m just on my way home. What’s up?”

“I’m meeting with Sarah and Mitch for dinner tonight, thought you’d like to join us.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with your friends, I feel like you’ve been spending all your time with me.”

“But I like spending time with you,” he chuckles softly, a blush making its way to your cheeks at his words.

“Are you sure you want me there? What about Sarah and Mitch? I crashed your last meeting with them as well.”

“You didn’t crash anything, Y/N. And I’m positive I want you there, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. And just so you know, Sarah asked if you’d be joining us, so I assume they wouldn’t mind it either.”

“Oh, well, okay then. Send me the time and place.”

“Wonderful!” he beams, his enthusiasm making your chest warm.

By the time you arrive home he has already texted you the details and you have just one hour to spare before you have to head out. You opt for a quick shower and an outfit change, switching up your ripped mom jeans and simple t-shirt to one of your favorite jumpsuits. It’s a little baggy, but the waist is cinched in with an inbuilt corset, giving the whole fit a very interesting twist.

Arriving at the restaurant Harry has texted you the address of, the waiter escorts you to the terrace at the back that’s a lot more secluded and you feel yourself relaxing that you probably won’t get photographed. Harry is the only one who is already at the table, sitting with his eyes fixed on his phone, but he immediately puts it aside when he sees you approaching, a wide smile stretching across his face.

“Hey! You look amazing!” he greets you pulling you into a quick hug.

“Thank you,” you smile shyly. He is wearing a pair of brown slacks, a simple white shirt tucked into it, a knitted cardigan thrown on, a typical Harry outfit. “And thanks for the invite,” you add as you take the seat next to him, assuming Sarah and Mitch would like to sit next to each other.

“Don’t even mention it. We’re friends, it’s really nothing. I’m glad you could make it.”

The way he called you friends is giving you mixed feelings. Part of you is happily jumping up and down at the fact that he considers you as a friend, given how you don’t have many of those. It’s been hard opening up to anyone since you’ve made a name for yourself, you’ve ran into occasions a lot when people wanted more than just your friendship from you and it made you rather closed off when it comes to making friends.

On the other hand, you can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Is that all you are? Just friends? More importantly, is that all you want to be, or more?

Sarah and Mitch arrive soon after, joining you at the table and the waiter takes the orders before leaving the four of you alone. It seems like they genuinely like it that you’ve joined, so you can enjoy the evening a little more relieved.

Sipping on some amazing wine, you eat and talk and you feel like you’ve known these people your whole life. You especially like Sarah, she is so open-minded and funny and you think they make a great couple with Mitch who is obviously more closed off, but it’s obvious how much he worships his girlfriend.

Sometime in the evening, when you’ve already had two glasses of Chardonnay and you’re feeling a lot more relaxed and comfortable, you move closer to Harry without even noticing, leaning against him gently and his hand rests on your knee, giving it a soft squeeze under the table, making you want to move even closer to him to feel more of his touch, to get more of him.

Neither Sarah, nor Mitch questions the two of you being a little cozier and you’re thankful for the safe and stressfree environment they are providing, not making you overthink what you do, just letting you enjoy the moment.

At the end of the evening, you can’t shake the thought that you don’t want to say goodbye to Harry just yet. He pays for everyone’s dinner, leaving a generous tip for the waiter and you stay back at the table while Sarah runs out to the restroom and Mitch takes a quick call from his father, leaving you alone with Harry. His hand is still resting on your leg, a little farther up, but still in a very safe zone in the middle of your thigh.

Turning to face him your eyes meet his, his green irises glistening in the soft lighting and he looks so beautiful, you just want to kiss him again.

“Do you have plans after this?” you find yourself asking.

“Not that I know of.”

“Do you want to come over to my place?”

“That sounds like a nice plan,” he smiles at you warmly and you just know that if you weren’t out in the public, he would have leant in for a kiss and you wouldn’t have stopped him.

When Sarah and Mitch return all four of you head out and they don’t question when you follow Harry to his car. They say goodbye and Sarah makes you promise to join them some other time too and you happily say yes to the invitation.

Not much is being said on the way back to your place, he plays some music quietly as you navigate him through the streets.  

“Welcome to mi casa,” you smile as you key the two of you into your apartment you’ve been living in for the past few years.

It’s nothing luxurious, just a tad bit bigger than what one person would need as a home. You would have been fine living in your previous home you lived in before you’ve gained fame, but you needed a much bigger closet so you were forced to move. It’s a two bedroom apartment with one big bathroom, an open concept kitchen and a spacious living room. And of course, a closet as big as your bedroom. It’s the perfect size and you haven’t even thought about buying a bigger place just because you can, it would be a waste of money and space. The interior is very much vintage with all your mismatched furniture and colorful walls, but you think it’s quite cozy and just the ideal space for you.

“Would you like something to drink?” you ask, walking into the kitchen to get yourself some water.

“Some water would be great, thank you.”

Filling up two glasses you hand him one as you lean against the counter, silently eyeing each other. It should be clear to him that you had intentions with asking him to come over, especially after being your cozy with each other during dinner, but you’re a little lost in what you should or even want to do. You just know you want him close.

He drinks up his water, his eyes meeting your gaze as a small smirk tugs on his cherry lips.

“You want to kiss me,” he states, using the exact same words you used the night when you kissed for the first time.

“I do,” you nod, feeling a little breathless.

“Then do it,” he simply answers, making you smile.

“Cool and respectful, as always,” you grin at him as he moves closer, stopping just a few inches away from you, your feet almost touching. Reaching up his fingers gently caress the side of your face and you feel yourself already melting under his touch.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, a shiver running down your spine at his words. You close your eyes for a moment, giving yourself the chance to pull out of it, but you realize you don’t want that, not even the tiniest bit. Opening your eyes they meet with his gaze before you move closer, closing the distance between you and him, lips meeting in a warm and chaste kiss.

Though it grows a little hungrier, you can tell he is still holding back a little, giving you the chance to stop whenever you want to, but you don’t intend to. Pushing yourself closer to him, your arms curl around his neck as his hands grip your waist, your tongue meeting his as you deepen the kiss and melt into his embrace.

Pulling back you grab his hand and head to the bedroom, going back to kissing him the moment you reach it. You easily slide his cardigan off his broad shoulders, pulling his t-shirt out of his pants before taking it completely off, throwing it somewhere to the side. You smirk against his lips, hands wandering down his naked chest and you can’t push down a moan as you feel the warmth of his chest muscles under your touch.

When you feel him try to blindly figure out how to get you out of your jumpsuit with not much luck and this clears your head for a moment to realize what is about to happen. Pulling back your gaze meets his and he stares back at you with caution, ready to stop whenever you tell him to, but that’s not what made you pull back.

“Harry, I…” “We don’t have to do anything,” he softly tells you, his fingers dancing down the side of your face until they reach your chin and he pulls you in for a delicate and slow kiss.

“I want to,” you whisper. “It’s just that… I want you to know that I’ve never… I’ve never been with a man before.”

Searching in his eyes you look for any sign of what’s going on in his head wishing you could just simply read his thoughts.

“You’ve never been with a man?” he asks, seemingly not as surprised as you expected him to be. You nod, licking your lips, waiting for any kind of reaction, a part of you expecting to be upset, though you know he has no right to be mad at you for any of it. “Do you want me to be the first man?” he then asks, with a loving and warm smile as his hand on your hip pulls you against him playfully.

“Yes.”

“Then help me get you out of this jumpsuit, because I can’t figure it out for my life,” he chuckles making you laugh too.

You show him where the corset opens and then get you out of it with joined forces, finally leaving you standing in just your underwear. Harry’s gaze runs down your body, a look of hunger and passion shining through his green irises as he pulls you close again, kissing you with a lot more vigor this time.

Soon enough, his slacks slip to the floor and you climb to your bed, Harry following closely, climbing on top of you before rejoining your lips. Your knees open up wide for him, allowing him to sink his hips between your thighs, his crotch meeting your heated center, a moan slipping out your lips when you feel his erection rubbing against you through the material of your underwear. He kisses his way down your jawline and neck, gently sucking on the soft skin, peppering kisses along your collarbones before he reaches your chest. He easily unclasps your bra and slips the straps down your arms before getting rid of the barrier that’s been keeping him away from your naked chest.

“Fuck, Y/N, you are so damn beautiful,” he breathes out shakily, before his lips wrap around your right nipple, his hand cupping your other breast. You keep whining and whimpering as you feel his tongue swirl around your nipple before his mouth moves over to the other breast, giving it just the same amount of attention.

He kisses down your stomach, glancing up at you as he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties silently asking for your permission to go further, still so respectfully looking out for you. As an answer, you lift your hips up so he can easily slide the material down your legs and throw it to the side.

“Oh fuck!” you moan when his tongue and lips press against your bud, playing with it oh so perfectly, making you shudder. If you didn’t think Harry was perfect, his tongue work is now surely making a statement on that.

With every lick, kiss and suck he pushes you closer to your release that’s nearing in a fast pace like never before. Reaching down you lace your fingers through his chocolate curls, tugging on the lightly, making him moan against your core. You’re not sure how long you’ll last, but you want to cum with him inside you, so you pull him up, lips meeting again as you still taste your own juice on him. It’s heavenly.

Without breaking the kiss you reach down and into his underwear, palming his fully hard cock, earning a satisfied growl when you wrap your hand around him. The feeling is quite unknown, you’ve only once had to face a penis before, it happened back in high school when you were still figuring out what sexuality meant to you. Gave a wobbly and quite short handjob to a guy from the grade above you, never even talked to him again. The experience left a major effect on you, never even got close to being intimate with a man, but being with Harry now is putting everything into a whole new light.

“Do you have a condom?” he mumbles against your lips, clearly just as excited to carry on as you are.

“Yeah,” you nod and let go of him, rolling to the edge of the bed so you can dig into the drawer of your nightstand, successfully finding the little silver packet. Tearing it open you hand it over to Harry and get back to your previous position as you watch him kneeling up, rolling the condom on carefully. Your lips part when your eyes fall on his cock, seeing now how big he really is. Harry catches your eyes and leaning down he kisses you softly.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop, okay?” he kindly tells you, but you smile at him coyly.

“You might be the first man I’m with, but your dick won’t be the first thing to be inside me,” you answer with a smug smirk and it brings an amused look to his face.

“You are so fucking hot,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours in a hard kiss as he settles himself back between your legs.

Though you really tried to sound confident the other moment, you still feel a little nervous about it and Harry senses it right away. Holding himself up on one arm he cups your face in his other, kissing you slowly, taking his time with his lips, as if he is trying to make you forget about everything else but his lips.

“Are you still sure about this?” he softly asks, looking for any sign of hesitation in your eyes, but there’s none.

“Yeah, I want this. I want you,” you nod and reaching down between your bodies, you take him in your hands again, positioning him to your center.

Harry captures your lips in another passionate kiss as he pushes into you slowly, filling you up inch by inch. You gasp at the sensation, feeling a little tight around him, but not in an uncomfortable way.

“You alright?” he asks once he is almost fully in.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you breathe out with a small nod. He pecks your lips and slowly pushes all the way in before he starts to move out and then slide in again, picking up a not too fast but still firm pace with his movements.

You gradually get used to the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, it’s surely a whole different experience than using a dildo or any kind of toy you are used to. The thought that it belongs to him is bringing you a sense of intimacy you haven’t felt in a long time.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you dig your fingers into his hot skin that’s coated with a thin layer of sweat as he keeps moving, slowly picking up his pace as you both get closer to the endgame.

“Harry, faster, please!” you plead, legs coming to wrap around his waist so he can thrust in deeper, making you go completely nuts from the way your orgasm is already forming in the pit of your tummy.

He obeys without a second thought, slamming into you faster and harder, making you continuously moan his name, the room is filled with moans and panting, the slapping noise of his hips meeting yours.

Harry buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin, definitely leaving a mark, but you couldn’t care less. You just grab a handful of his hair, shutting your eyes closed as you feel yourself nearing the end.

“Harry, I’m gonna cum,” you pant, barely hanging on.

Instead of stretching it out and trying to play with you, Harry clearly wants you to combust. Reaching down between your bodies his index and middle fingers find your clit and he starts circling on it, adding that little extra you needed to fall over the edge.

Moaning and whimpering under his massive body, your orgasm washes over you in waves, bringing you such an intense satisfaction you’ve never felt before. He keeps up his thrusting and just a few moments later his movements fall out of his rhythm and mumbling your name over and over again, he gasps as he rides his high while you’re still trying to catch your breath following your own.

With a heaving chest Harry rolls off of you, gets rid of the condom and throws it to the small bin you keep next to your night stand and then lies flat beside you as you both just silently stare up at the ceiling, very much in the best kind of after sex haze.

“How are you feeling?” he then asks, rolling to his side, his hand coming to rest on your bare stomach. Turning your head to the side you crack a smile at him.

“I feel like I’ve just been properly fucked,” you bluntly answer, making him laugh wholeheartedly. Rolling to your side his arm falls to your waist as you scoot closer, your face only a few inches from his. He is so pretty up close, his features never fail to amuse you, hard to believe he is a real human, lying right next to you.

He closes his eyes a little, letting his head sink into the pillow as his fingers delicately dance up and down your side and back. You feel like you owe him to say something, dropping a major detail about yourself in a heated moment.

“I had two girlfriends,” you speak up, his eyes fluttering open to your words. “The first one was when I was eighteen, we dated for almost a year, then I briefly dated a guy, but it was barely just a month. And I had my second girlfriend when I was twenty. We were together for two years.”

“Are you still friends with them?”

“I still talk to the second one. Her name is Mila. We broke up because she moved to Spain for a job for a year and we didn’t want to do long-distance. Then we just… grew apart, but we still talk sometimes. She lives in Atlanta now, she has a girlfriend and she told me that she is planning to propose soon.”

A soft smile tugs on your lips as you talk about her. She was an important person in your life in a time that was truly challenging. Mila supported your dreams, she went to a lot of your concerts and she was the first one you called when you got your record deal even though you weren’t together anymore. She has seen you go from performing in dodgy bars to rocking the stage of arenas.

“Congrats to her,” Harry smiles through tired eyes. Reaching up he tucks your hair behind your ear before leaning closer he envelopes your lips in a soft kiss.

“We really shouldn’t have done this,” you hum, though you can’t wipe the satisfied smile off your lips.

“Why not?”

“Because we work together.”

“So what? We aren’t allowed to like each other?” he smirks cockily.

“You like me?”

“Thought I made that pretty clear,” he chuckles rubbing his eyes. “But yeah, I do like you, Y/N. A lot.”

“I… like you too,” you admit shyly. Leaning in he kisses you again before pulling you to his chest as he lies on his back.

“Can I stay the night or you want to throw me out?” he hums closing his eyes. Chuckling your snuggle to him, making yourself comfortable, enjoying the warmth of his body after so spending so many nights alone in this bed.

“You can stay, but you have to behave.”

“Oh I will behave my best, don’t worry.” A chuckle rumbles through his chest as you both fall silent and soon enough, drift off to sleep.

You wake up tangled in the sheets, but no one else is lying in bed with you. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes you look around and though there’s no sign of Harry in the room you spot his clothes on the floor. That’s when you hear the pots and pans clinking somewhere outside and you smile to yourself. You pull a t-shirt on with a pair of clean panties before heading out, finding Harry in your kitchen, wearing your pink fluffy robe and nothing else as he is making what seems to be pancakes.

“I don’t remember hiring a chef,” you joke walking closer, sliding a hand down his back as you lean against the counter next to the stove.

“Good morning,” he smiles. “I really wanted for you to wake up but I was afraid my growling stomach might wake you up,” he chuckles as he flips the pancakes in the pan with the spatula.

“Found everything you needed?” you ask, walking over the fridge to grab the orange juice.

“Yeah, you have a neatly organized kitchen,” he hums. “Sorry for snooping around though.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Pouring the juice to two glasses you hand one to him which he thanks softly before placing the golden pancakes to the plate on the counter and pours another bunch into the pan.

Sipping on your juice you watch him move around, making breakfast in your robe and you can’t help but smile at the sight of this fine man in your kitchen. Harry catches you eyeing him and he cocks an eyebrow at you.

“What’s gotten you so smiley?” he asks, his voice still a little groggy and husky.

“I just… really want to kiss you,” you shrug placing the glass to the counter.

“I think we are over this whole asking for permission thing,” he smirks, stepping closer he leans down and kisses you gently, tasting like orange juice and something sweet, he has probably ate one of the pancakes. His hand that’s not holding the spatula finds your waist, the t-shirt bunches up on your side as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss before you hear sizzling coming from the stove.

“Whoops, not trying to burn the place down,” he chuckles as he turns to the pan and flips the pancakes. You wrap your arms around his waist and kiss his jawline before stepping away from him to set the table for breakfast.

“Do you have any plans this weekend?” he asks over breakfast.

“I have a meeting with my label on Saturday, but nothing else.”

“I’m having a few friends over Saturday evening, kind of a late Grammy nomination celebration. Want to come over?”

“Yeah, that… sounds good,” you nod smiling.

“I was thinking that maybe you could spend the night and then we can finish recording on Sunday.”

“Alright, I’m in.”

Harry takes a quick shower after breakfast before heading out, promising to call you later and though it still feels a little odd that he says goodbye with a kiss, you very much like this new setup between the two of you.

Friday evening Taylor is over at your place, she loves helping you sort out promo stuff you get sent all the time, especially because you let her take whatever you don’t want, half her closet was meant to be worn by you.

Sitting on the floor with boxes surrounding the both of you, you’re digging through them with a bottle of wine, some 90’s music playing in the background, it’s a nice and relaxing evening.

Your phone lights up with a text on the coffee table and you already know it’s from Harry. You haven’t stopped texting since he left from your place just a few days ago.

Harry: Do you think it’s a look for the Grammy’s?

He attached a photo of himself in all denim, looking very much like 2001 Justin Timberlake at the AMA.

Y/N: Should I match and pull a Britney?

Harry: Is that even a question?!

“Okay, who’s the girl?” Taylor asks, making you tear your eyes away from the phone’s screen.

“Huh?”

“Last time I saw you smiling like this at your phone you were talking to that girl you met at that award show. So who is it this time?”

“It’s… not a girl,” you admit, placing your phone back to the coffee table.

“Oh, did a guy finally manage to sweep you off your feet?” Taylor gives you an amused look, genuinely surprised to hear that this time it’s a guy that has you wrapped around his finger. “What is his name?”

“Harry,” you shortly answer and see her eyes widen.

“Wait, is it… Harry as in Harry Styles?”

“Yeah,” you admit with a soft chuckle.

“Oh my God, I knew I could feel some sexual tension between you two at Jeff’s office!”

“There wasn’t any, what are you talking about?”

“You didn’t see it because you were too busy trying to blow off the duet, but it was radiating from him.” She gives you a look, putting the sweater she’s been examining to the side. “So, how are things? Are you guys an item, or…?”

“We didn’t label anything, he just said he likes me and I like him too. And he… spent the night the other day.”

“Wait, what? Spent the night as in—“

“Yes, we had sex,” you confirm blushing.

“That’s like huge! The first man you’ve been with!”

“I know,” you chuckle.

“How was it?”

“Fucking amazing,” you truthfully admit with a sigh. “I didn’t think it could be this good with a guy. Maybe it’s just because it was with him.”

“He surely looks like a guy that takes good care of his girl. So what’s gonna happen? Are you guys together?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to care about names and labels, he just likes to do whatever he wants and if I’m being honest it’s kind of refreshing. We are just… enjoying whatever we have.”

“That sounds very liberal,” Taylor chuckles. “But I’m happy for you. You’ve been alone for way too long, I think he might do good to you.”

“I really hope,” you nod with a sigh.

“How is the song writing going?”

“We’re finishing up recording on Sunday. I’ll send it to you when it’s done and we can start all the paperwork and everything.”

“Amazing, you are doing great, Y/N, I’m proud of you,” she smiles and climbing over she wraps you in a tight hug.

“Thanks, Tay,” you smile at her. “Alright, now do you want these lace socks or should I burn them?” you ask holding up a whole pack of them, making her laugh.

Harry said it’s just a chill get together, nothing fancy so you decide to wear a khaki maxi skirt with a shirt tucked into it that was a gift from a fan, your first album’s name embroidered to the front. It’s one of your favorite pieces and you like wearing things your fans make you, gives the whole fit a plus.

Arriving to Harry’s place you spot that there are a few cars already parking on the driveway. You leave your overnight bag in the trunk, grab the bottle of wine you’ve brought and head inside. Unlike every time you’ve been here, the silence is now switched up with soft music and chatters, quite a few people lingering around the house already.

Just as you walk farther inside, Harry appears on the stairs and his face lights up at the sight of you.

“Hey! Did you just arrive?” He jogs down the rest of the stairs and walking up to you he pulls you close for a quick kiss without hesitation.

“Yeah. I know you said not to bring anything, but I hate coming to parties empty handed,” you chuckle softly, holding the wine bottle up.

“Thanks. Have you eaten? Jeff is grilling outside, but help yourself with anything.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Sarah and Mitch are already here, but come on, let me introduce you to a few people.”

Harry takes your hand, lacing your fingers together with his. He drops the wine off in the kitchen before joining all the other guests. It’s really not that many people, just about thirty of his close circle. Musicians, people he has worked with and stayed close with, people he has known for long. Everyone seems welcoming and open, many already know who you are and it’s always a good conversation start, so there are not many awkward silences, especially because Harry is always near you, making sure you feel comfortable around his friends and it means a lot to you.

“Hey, everything alright?” Harry asks, when he finds you in the kitchen, refilling your glass. He walks up to you, placing a hand to your waist as he kisses into your hair.

“Yeah, your friends are nice,” you smile at him.

“I know, that’s why they are my friends,” he smirks, so full of himself. “Want to hear something interesting?”

“Always.”

“I was talking to Adam and our song came up and then out of nowhere I referred to you as my girlfriend.”

Seemingly he is testing the waters, trying to see how you react to the title, even a little afraid of what you might say, but it doesn’t scare you.

“Yeah? That’s interesting indeed.”

“Are you okay with it? I wasn’t really thinking about it, just slipped out.”

“It’s fine,” you smile at him softly.

“You don’t have to call me your boyfriend, call me whatever you want. It’s just a habit of mine, I guess,” he explains, popping some nuts into his mouth from the little jar on the counter.

“Alright,” you nod. Harry stares back at you for a moment before a smile stretches across his face and leaning down he kisses you shortly before taking your hand and walking back to the living room with you.

The last guests leave around midnight. After bringing your bag up to his bedroom you start cleaning up while Harry walks out the last couple leaving. You start loading the washer and put away things you’ve cleaned before.

“Oh, thank you for cleaning, but you don’t have to. I can take care of it later.”

“It’s nothing, I want to make myself useful,” you chuckle softly as you start the washer. Harry comes up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kisses into your neck.

“I have other ideas for that,” he murmurs, his nose nudging the side of your face.

“Yeah? What kind of ideas?” you teasingly ask, closing your eyes when you feel his hand slide under the waist of your skirt, moving down your abdomen until it reaches your core.

“Fun kinds,” he chuckles lowly. His other hand turns your head so his lips could meet yours, you’re still pressed up against him, melting against his chest with your back just right, like you’re two puzzle pieces.

“Fuck,” you breathe out when his fingers wander into your underwear and they start doing their magic. “Harry!” you whine, reacting intensely to his actions.

“I fucking love hearing my name from your pretty mouth,” he growls, kissing you hard before his lips part from yours and he starts bunching up your skirt.

You don’t protest, in fact, you lean forward, grabbing onto the edge of the counter as he pulls down your panties and you hear the zipper of his pants. Glancing over your shoulders you see him pull out a condom from his pocket and you can’t push down a laughter.

“Did you keep that in your pocket all evening?”

“Wanted to be ready when I finally got you all for myself,” he smirks, pulling his cock out of his boxer briefs, rolling on the condom.

His hands come in contact with your hips and ass cheeks, giving them a light squeeze before you feel him lining himself up with you. His palm slides up your back as he pushes into you, both of you moaning at the fulfilling sensation.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he breathes out as he pushes all the way inside before starting to pull out.

“Go hard, Harry. Please!” you whimper as he starts thrusting into you. Harry lets out a growl and slams into you, making you gasp at the harshness of the movement, but that’s exactly what you wanted.

The kitchen is filled with the noises coming from the washer next to you and the slapping noise of Harry’s hips meeting your ass with every forceful thrust he makes. His ring clad fingers dig into your hips, probably already making them red, but you couldn’t care less. You hold onto the edge of the counter, but then you move one hand to cover his on you, needing to touch him in some kind of way.

Leaning forward Harry kisses your back between your shoulder blades through the thin material of your shirt and you moan his name when he hits the perfect spot inside you.

“Shit, Harry! I’m g-gonna cum!” you gasp, perking your ass up more so he can go as deep as possible.

“Let go for me, baby. Come on!”

“I want to cum with you.”

“Yeah? Then hold on for a little longer, I’m almost there.”

You try your best to keep everything inside you under control, your orgasm is really on the edge and you can only hope he is nearing his end too.

“Harry! Please!”

“Fuck, okay, okay, cum for me! Let me feel you!” he moans and his words bring you the release.

You clench around him, moaning and whimpering and it finally pushes you into his bliss too. His thrusts slow down but they are hard and go deep, helping you ride the last bits of your high.

He pulls out and gets rid of the condom before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you up from your position so he can kiss your lips.

“How about we take a shower while the washer finishes?” he suggests, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Mm, good idea.”

Once the song is fully finished you submit it to your label after an agreement that it should come out through yours, but it wouldn’t be tied to your or Harry’s upcoming album. Everyone seems to love it, Taylor is over the moon when you show her the final version and Jeff is just as happy about it. Having only three more weeks left until the Grammy’s, you send them your request to perform the duet instead of the medley they asked. Their answer comes the next day and they are more than happy to have you premiere your new duet at the show. Everything seems to be on track.

Following a rehearsal for the Grammy performance, you’re staying over at Harry’s, just eating takeout and having a lazy evening after a whole day of working. You’ve put on a new Netflix movie, but every time you look at Harry you feel like his mind is somewhere far away.

“Want to share what’s on your mind?” you ask softly, not wanting to be pushy, you’re just trying to be there for him.

“I’ve just been thinking.”

“About what?” He looks up at you, clearly hesitant whether he should share it with you or not.

“About what you said about your parents.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. Pausing the movie you turn all your attention to him. “What about it?”

“I was just talking to my mom the other day, she is coming here for the Grammy’s and I thought about how you… won’t have your parents there with you.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Yeah, but then I thought about how you said you haven’t even let them contact you since then and that maybe they’ve changed their mind about the whole situation. You’ve clearly proved them wrong with building yourself a career, maybe they can now see that what they did was wrong.”

You remain silent, chewing on his words. You’ve been great at not thinking about your parents these past years, it feels weird to have a conversation about them out of nowhere. Harry takes your silence as a warning sign, though that’s not the case.

“You know what? I’m sorry for bringing it up. It’s not really my business, I shouldn’t have brought it up, sorry,” he shakes his head.

“What… would you do if you were in my place?”

Harry looks at you, surprised you are willing to continue the conversation. His hand finds your thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

“I think it might worth a shot to just… contact them. See if they want to maybe get in touch again.”

“And what if they don’t?”

“Then… you know you made the right decision leaving. I know it’s scary, but I think you should take a chance.”

“I’ll… think about it,” you nod shortly.

“Take your time, do whatever you feel comfortable with.” He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you get comfortable in his embrace before starting the movie again.

Two weeks before the show you are headed to a fitting with Harry, your matching sets are nearly done, but they needed you to try them on and make sure they fit just perfectly. True to your and Harry’s extravagant fashion, this performance won’t lack any over the top fits either. It was clear from the beginning that you would be matching, but you made it clear that you want to bring it to the level where you’d be wearing the exact same outfit, so now there are two sets of suits in the making, the pattern of the whole two piece is recalling a kind of space vibe, blues, purples and black meeting in the colors with hundreds of embroidered stars and planets littering the fabric with additional crystal stars to make it even more extra. It’s truly one of a kind, especially paired with the sheer, tulle shirt you both will be wearing underneath.

“We look fucking great, babe,” Harry smirks as the two of you stand next to each other, examining yourself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the small podium.

“We really do,” you smirk, satisfied with how the performance is coming together. It’s gonna be the perfect way to celebrate both your first Grammy nominations, a huge milestone in your and Harry’s career as well.

Grabbing his phone he quickly takes a picture in the mirror of the two of you, pulling you to his side as you smile into the camera through the mirror. Then you leave him alone on the podium as they are pinning his pants to make it the perfect size. Stepping to your bag you fish your phone out and reading just the first few words of Taylor’s last message she sent about ten minutes ago, you feel all blood rushing out of your face. Tapping on the notification you start reading.

Taylor: Please don’t lose your head, but we are dealing with this.

She attached several articles and you start digging through them.

“Is Harry Styles dating his new duet partner?”

“Harry Styles cozied up with Y/N Y/L/N at dinner with friends.”

“Can we expect some hot make out sessions at the Grammy’s from Harry and his new beau?”

And then there’s the absolute worst.

“Is Y/N Y/L/N going to take Harry Styles to court too?”

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mumble under your breath, vigorously typing back to Taylor to take them down. Two pictures have been leaked from the time you had dinner with Sarah and Mitch, it’s so odd because it’s been weeks since then, where were these pictures all along? Not that it matters, all you want is for them to be gone.

Against your better judgment, you go online and check your social media even though you know you shouldn’t snoop around now that it’s out there. No surprise, you and Harry are trending, but the reactions are very much mixed.

The impact of your case with Jordan is still major. It doesn’t matter that you won, people are still questioning whether he said the truth or not and now they are afraid you might drag Harry down just like you did with Jordan. That you are just trying to use his fame to get more attention and then ruin his career, making a victim out of yourself again, because apparently that’s what you’ve been doing.

You’re not only being dragged, but all of a sudden, nothing is about the music and the art you are making, people just want to know if you’re fucking Harry Styles or not. A lot of the times you’re not even named, only referred to Harry’s new lover or what’s worse, his hookup. You’ve lost all the credit you worked so hard for and for what? Because you dared to have dinner with a man?

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Harry asks walking up to you. Your eyes snap up at him and he immediately sees the shock and anger in them, setting panic in him as well. “What is it?”

“The fucking… pictures,” you hiss handing him your phone so he can see the articles for himself. He scrolls through them with furrowed eyebrows, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before handing the phone back once he has gotten to the end of it.

“Let’s finish this up and head home, okay? We’ll figure it all out.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you nod, trying your best to keep your anger at bay while the designers finish up on the outfits.

An hour later you walk into your place, talking on the phone with Taylor, discussing the situation though there’s not much you can do at this point. It’s all out, the pictures can’t be taken down. She suggests to just keep quiet for now, she’ll call Jeff to see what could be done as damage control.

Throwing your phone to the bed you feel your whole body shaking from the anger, it’s agonizing to know there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll figure it out,” Harry speaks up, trying his best to calm you down, but it’s not really working this time.

“Stop saying it, you don’t know that for sure. I can’t believe this bullshit is happening all over again,” you breathe out shaking your head.

“Again?”

“Yes! I’m being fucking dragged for something I shouldn’t be.”

“People will always have controversial opinion on everything, you can’t get them all to like you.”

“It’s not about liking, Harry!” you snap. “I couldn’t give a damn about people liking me, but they discredit my work. Have you read those articles? I’m seen with a man and suddenly, I’m not even seen as an artist anymore. I’m not even my own person in some of them, just a girl who is linked to you. How is that fair?” “It’s not, but stressing yourself about it until you’re sick is not gonna help anything,” he retorts in a firm voice.

“So I should just sit around and so nothing while watching all my work go to shit?”

“Nothing is going to shit! This is how it goes, there’s always something people talk about but they will forget about it in a week. That doesn’t take anything away from what you’ve proved through your career.”

“Now that’s a lie. Because if they did forget about things in a week, they wouldn’t be bringing up the whole Jordan thing now. I dared to stand up for myself against a man and look where it took me to! I’m the drama queen, the lying bitch who likes to ruin men for apparently no reason and they see me as a threat when it comes to you too. People are talking about how I’ll take you to court as well, they think I’m just using you even though they know nothing about me! And the worst part is that it wouldn’t be like this if I weren’t a woman. Whatever happens, however we react to the situation, it will never have the same effect on your career than it will have on mine.”

“So what, you’ll just live your life without ever doing anything that’s gonna upset people? There will always be someone who’ll judge whatever you do, you can’t do anything about that and if you let them get to you now, they’ll know they can mess with you easily.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore everything? And not do a single thing about it? It’s easy for you, you’ll walk away from this without a scratch on your name, because you are a white man who can do no wrong in the eyes of the world.”

“Okay, now you are being mean for no reason.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” you retort. “And you know what else is part of the truth? That I’m not even having it the worse. There are women who are even more targeted because of their religion, their skin color, their nationality or sexuality and people don’t even realize how hard it is for any of us. I’m sick of the injustice we have to live with just because of our gender!”

“I do acknowledge the problem on hand, I’m aware of it and I’m all for doing against it, but we are not gonna solve it instantly, it’s a long process. Sometimes we just have to pull back a little, be smart about things.”

“They will never stop about this,” you shake your head, stubbornly clinging onto your opinion. “I won’t be seen as a serious artist anymore, just some girl who was linked to you. It’s fucking done, over.”

“Y/N, what are you trying to say?” Harry asks with caution.

“Exactly what you are thinking about,” you reply with a bitter laugh. “I can’t be a respected artist if I’m with you.”

“That’s not true. It will die down, they will see that you are more than just who you’re dating and everything will be fine.”

“What’s not fair is that I have to work for it to be fine while you are still the same artist you were before it all blew up. Don’t you think it’s unfair?” you call him out and part of you knows you’re being mean and unnecessarily rude to him, but you just can’t control it any longer. You need to let it out and unfortunately, he is the one who is here to take the blame.

“It is, but what are you expecting me to do about it? Release a statement asking people to only talk about my dating life to make it equal? What can be done is that we try to fight this together, show them that you’re more than just a woman who is linked to a man in any kind of way.”

“Yeah, like realization is just gonna hit them,” you snap. “I’m at a turning point in my career, Harry. Whether I win a Grammy or not, this time is going to have an impact on my future. If I’m seen as just a girl linked to you, I’ll never make it. I’ll be forgotten and dragged again and I can kiss my career goodbye.”

You know you were way too harsh, but it’s what you think to be the truth. You didn’t fight your way to this point in life just to be seen as a man’s girlfriend rather than the artist you truly are. And right now, you can’t see yourself get out of this situation without letting go of Harry.

“Y/N, please don’t let this ruin what we have. We can get through this, you can’t let them control your life this much. Who are they to tell you what to do? That’s not the Y/N I know, come on!”

He tries to step closer, reaching out for you, but you take a step back, wanting to keep the distance between the two of you.

“I would prefer to be alone now,” you sternly say, folding your arms on your chest, closing yourself off from him as you don’t even look at him, because if you did, you know you would break.

“Y/N, please don’t do this, we—“

“Alone!” you snap, cutting him off.

He stares at you, hoping you might change your mind, but you’re quite set on this. He knows you well enough to know you won’t budge anytime soon. He lets out a shaky breath and slowly turning around, he heads towards the door as you’re already fighting your tears back. He stops right before he is about to walk out.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” he quietly says before walking out, the door shutting closed behind him.

The sobs start immediately and you fall to the ground, tears soaking your cheeks, already missing him more than anything in your life. You really thought it would be different this time, that things might get better, but you were naïve.

The next two days go by in a blur. The whole fucking internet is filled with those damn pictures of you and Harry, nothing has been about any of your Grammy nominations or even about your music, you’ve officially became the woman Harry Styles is dating.

Harry was titled as a Grammy nominee in every goddamn writing that surfaced, he was completely credited for his work while you could be happy if your name was written correctly. With every new article, your faith in having the career you worked so hard for lessened until you felt hopeless. You’ve officially became a dumb celebrity, just a woman who was known to be dating a man in the industry.

On the evening of the second day you have enough. You just read yet another degrading piece of you that was clearly written by a man, they once again talked about your case with Jordan, joking about history repeating itself and you swear you could scream and throw a tantrum like a baby at how useless and helpless you feel.

You put your laptop to the side and reach for your phone, dialing Taylor’s number.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” she asks right away, knowing well how hard these past days have been. She came over the evening you sent Harry away and tried to comfort you, but nothing could help you that night.

“Hey, I want to ask you to do something and not try to talk me out of it.”

“Oh God…” she sighs, already knowing you’re about to do something stupid according to her.

“I don’t want to perform at the Grammy’s.”

“What? With all due respect, are you fucking stupid?”

“I’m not stupid. But I don’t want to do it.”

“Well, this has got to be the most ridiculous move you’ve ever tried to pull. Why do you want to throw such a huge thing away?”

“I can’t… sing that song with Harry. If I stand on the stage and sing with him… I just can’t do it, Tay.”

“Of course you can! Suck it up! I know you miss him and it fucking sucks what’s happening, but you have to do it!” she tries to convince you, but you’ve already made your mind up.

“No. I’m not doing it. Please let them know that it’s going to be just Harry performing.”

And with that, you end the call.

Taylor knows better than to try to fight you, she doesn’t call back though you know she wants to murder you right now probably, but she’ll come around, she always does. You make yourself a tea hoping to relax your nerves with it though you know nothing can help you now. You wish you had someone to rely on, someone you could talk to right now, but usually Taylor is that person to you and lately Harry has been your support, but you can’t call either of them. The rest of the people you consider friends… they are just not that close to you. You’re left alone, again.

As your gaze wanders over to your phone, a thought pops up in your mind that makes your hands sweat. You think back to the conversation you had with Harry about your parents and you can’t shake the urge off to finally make that call.

“Fuck it,” you breathe out and grab the device, opening up the contacts until you find what you’ve been looking for. Your thumb hovers above the call button for a while before you finally tap on it and start the call. It rings four times before a voice speaks up on the other end.

“Halo?”

“Hi mom,” you reply and hear a gasp from her at your voice.

There’s less than a week left until the Grammy’s. For your own sake, you haven’t been online outside of answering work emails, you just can’t deal with the shit show your life has become on the internet.

You haven’t left your home unless you really needed to go somewhere, did most of your meetings over the phone or videochat and postponed a fitting as well. You’ve officially caved yourself up in your apartment and you are not planning on leaving anytime soon.

Taylor keys herself in, she hasn’t even mentioned that she might drop by, but you’re not surprised. She is probably here to try to bring you out of this pity party you’ve been holding for days. When she sees you lying on the couch in sweats and messy, unwashed hair, she sighs, shaking her head.

“You really need to pull your shit together, Y/N.”

“I’m fine,” you mumble, pulling your fuzzy blanket up to your chin.

“No, you’re not. This is not the bad bitch I know.”

“Bad bitches have bad days too.”

“This is not a bad day, you look like a fucking zombie. This is not what a Grammy nominee should look like days before the big show.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’m performing or anything,” you shrug, but the look in Taylor’s eyes make yours go wide. “Taylor, I’m not performing, you informed them about it, right?”

“This is why I’m here,” she sighs walking closer, sitting on the other end of the couch. “I never cancelled on your performance.”

“I told you I’m not doing it!” “I know, but I was hoping you might come around. But you seem to be still acting like a stupid bitch, so that didn’t happen. However, I’ve gotten an interesting email today.”

She pulls out her phone and opens the email before handing it over to you. Shooting her an unhappy look you start reading.

-

Hi Taylor!

I got your email address from Jeff, wanted to write to you myself. I’ve officially pulled out of the Grammy performance so it’s going to be only Y/N in it. We are also working on a statement to release over the whole ordeal and my lawyers have been after the bigger gossip sites to get the articles down. I want Y/N to have the Grammy experience she deserves and I know it can’t happen with me in the performance. Tell her that I’m sorry for ruining it for her, she deserves so much more. I’m sorry she was brought into this.

I hope to see you soon, take care!

Harry

-

With parted lips, you look up at Taylor who is smiling softly at you.

“He… pulled out for me.”

“He did. Talked to Jeff on the phone, they have already let them know Harry wouldn’t be performing, they will make it official tomorrow.”

“But he deserves this just as much as I do. He is a nominee too.”

“Well, seems like he values you more than his own success.” Taylor lets out a long sigh and scooting closer she places a hand to your knee. “Look, I know you’re upset about how the media treats you just because you were seen out with Harry, and I know that you’re afraid of getting labeled as just the girl he dates and not get taken seriously as an artist, but you can’t let them stop you from living your life how you want to. There will always be judgment, there will always be men who are worse than trash and want to bring you down, but you are stronger than that. Pushing Harry away and being alone for the rest of your life is not a solution. What you can do to put them to their place is give them a big fuck you, date the hottest man in the industry and continue being the bad bitch that you are, fighting against the way you are being treated. Speak up, show them who they are dealing with, share your truth, like you always do! But you can do all of this with Harry by your side. You deserve to be happy and he makes you happy, don’t make yourself miserable because we live in a world where men are still placed above women. Fight for the change but don’t forget to think about yourself as well in the process.”

You feel the tears sting in your eyes. The weight of this past week is just way too heavy to carry, but Taylor is right and you are realizing that you’ve made it harder for yourself. The sobs come before you could stop yourself and Taylor pulls you into a hug.

“I know, I know. It fucking sucks, but you can’t let them win,” she soothes, running her hands up and down your back. “Show them how big of a bad bitch you are and get the man too.”

“You think Harry still wants to be with me?”

“I think that man would be on his knees for you in a heartbeat if you asked,” she chuckles pulling back. “Statement about the performance will be released tomorrow. That’s how long you have to figure it out,” she tells you with a knowing look before leaving you alone with your thoughts, however you don’t have to think long what you have to do.

You have not been the only one these past days took a toll on. The fight the two of you had left Harry completely drained, angry and helpless. He hated that he was the reason you weren’t credited as the talented artist that you are and he couldn’t stop thinking about ways to make it better. That’s when he came up with the idea of pulling out of the performance.

Now he is ready to spend the remaining days until the award show hidden from the world, not even leaving the house. Everyone close to him knows he is better not to be disturbed now, so he is quite surprised when the security system lets him know that someone has arrived.

As you drive up to his house you spot him immediately, stepping out the front door with a shocked look on his face, probably expecting you to be the last person to be there at the moment. You wipe your sweaty palms against your thighs as you walk up to him, feeling anxious to see him and talk to him, especially after the last conversation you had.

“Hey, I’m sorry for coming here without calling or anything…” you shyly start, stopping in front of you.

“Don’t be silly. Come… Come on in,” he clears his throat inviting you inside.

You’ve walked through this front door so many times in the past almost two months, but this is the first time you feel so odd, standing out, like you have no place in here and it’s all thanks to yourself.

“Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?” Harry walks past you but then turns to face you, talking to you with such warmth and kindness, even after how you acted, putting blame on him for something he has no control over. It completely breaks you and can’t stop your eyes from watering as you look at him. You really hoped you’ve run out of tears in the past days, but it seems like that’s not the case at all.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” you breathe out shakily and you step closer to each other at the same time, he envelopes you in his strong arms and you fist his shirt at his chest. “I know it was none of your fault, I just got so desperate and afraid that it might ruin what I worked so hard for.”

“I know. And you were right about everything. Everything you said was true and I’m sorry you have to deal with it.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t right to be mad at you just because you have different privileges, it’s not like you can change who you are. So I’m really sorry about that, and also for pushing you away when you were just trying to be there for me. I was so stupid,” you breathe out, wiping the tears sliding your cheeks down away.

“You just panicked, it’s okay. Don’t apologize for wanting to protect yourself.”

Resting your forehead against his shoulder you wait for your sobs to die down before you look back up at him. Reaching up he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, smiling down at you warmly and that smile alone ensures you that you are exactly where you are supposed to be, with the right person.

“Taylor showed me the email you sent her,” you bring it up, clearing your throat.

“You deserve it all to yourself so people can see how amazing of an artist you are.”

“I’m not doing it without you,” you shake your head stubbornly. “We wrote the song together and we’re gonna perform it together or else I’m not doing it either.”

“Y/N, you know if we step on that stage together they are gonna twist the whole thing and make it about something else. I want you to have this opportunity for your career without me ruining it with just my presence.”

“Fuck them, if they take it as something it’s not. They are not gonna take the chance away from us to perform our song. If they are such fucking dumbasses that they make it all about what’s between us, that’s their own personal problem. If I need to, I’ll go on a Twitter rant and tell them this myself. I want you on stage with me or else I’m not doing it either.”

Harry breathes out through his nose, pressing his lips together as he stares back at you, probably realizing you are dead serious about pulling out of the performance and he is right. He doesn’t even know you were the first one to cancel on it, you’d do it again without hesitation.

“I guess we are performing then,” he cracks a small smile and throwing your arms around his neck you pull him down, lips smashing against his, the kiss mingling with giggles and smiles.

Harry wraps his arms tight around your waist, pulling you up from the ground as he spins you around, making you squeal as you hold onto him.

“I have to call Jeff to call the Grammy’s not to post the statement,” he hums against your lips and he pecks them a few more times before letting go of you to quickly make a call to his manager.

You move over to the couch in his living room as he talks to Jeff, who is luckily very understanding about the sudden change. Hugging your knees to your chest you watch him pace the floor, exchanging a few more words with the man on the phone before ending the call, his gaze dropping to you again. Sitting beside you, he kisses your temple, dropping an arm around your shoulders as you lean against him, head resting on his chest.

“I called my mom,” you drop the bomb suddenly and you can feel him tense up for a moment, probably shocked by your words.

“You did?”

“Yeah.” Lifting your head your gaze meets his as you carry on. “She was… very shocked to hear my voice.”

“I bet,” he hums. “What did you talk about?”

“I just… asked how they are doing and told her that I’ve been thinking a lot about them. She sounded genuinely touched by it and said I’m always welcomed for dinner or lunch if I’d like to see them.”

“That’s amazing! See, I told you they would love to hear from you!”

“Yeah,” you smile at him softly. “I think I want to go over sometime after the Grammy’s.”

“I’m sure it’s going to go well.”

“Would you please come with me?”

Your question catches him off-guard he seems surprised that you would want him there, but then his expression softens as he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“I would love to, if you want me there.”

“I do,” you nod.

“Then it’s settled,” he smiles warmly as you lay your head back to his chest, his fingers gently dancing up and down your arm and for once in your life you finally feel settled, like everything is going to be fine.

Highlights of the 63rd Annual Grammy Awards: Y/N Y/L/N blows up stage with new hit duet

The killer duo surprised us all with a brand new duet titled Floating Through Space, performed it together on their big night. Wearing matching galaxy themed suits, Y/L/N and Styles have closed off the evening with probably the most success, the latter winning two out of his three nominations, receiving the award for Best Music Video and Best Pop Vocal Album with his latest album, Fine Line, while Y/L/N was titled best new artist, becoming a Grammy winner early in her career.

Tabloids blew up earlier this month when the two singers were photographed cozied up at dinner with friends, speculations started about their possible romance, but Y/L/N has made a clear statement on the question with her red carpet appearance before the award show. Wearing a head to toe black Gucci gown paired with a dramatic cape, the message “I’M AN ARTIST, ASK ME ABOUT MY ART” painted onto it in red, making a bold statement about her opinion on the way the media has been treating the star.

Both singers remained silent on their alleged romance, but proved to be the best of their time with their joined performance with their new emotional duet. Following the song’s debut on stage it was released to the public as a single right away, taking over all charts with its overwhelming success.

Listen to Floating Through Space now on Spotify and Apple Music!

Your knuckles are turning white from the tight grip on the steering wheel as you stare up at the home you grew up in. It looks almost the same, sometime through the years you haven’t been around your parents have painted it a light blue color from the paste yellow, but it’s still… the same.

“Hey.”

Turning to your right you look at Harry who is smiling at you warmly as his hand reaches over and squeezes your knee gently.

“It’s going to be fine. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you, you’re still their daughter.”

“That’s not what they told me the last time I was here,” you whisper, feeling your throat closing up.

“We all say things in the heat of the moment. Seeing how happy they were about this lunch proves that they regret what happened.”

Nodding you take a deep breath to get ready for whatever is going to happen. Leaning over the console you pull Harry in for a kiss and it calms your nerves a little. Getting out of the car he takes your hand and squeezes it to let you know he’ll be right by your side all along. As you walk up to the front porch a sense of strong nostalgia washes over you.

You didn’t have a bad childhood, your parents provided you so much growing up, it’s sad to think what it has become. In a way you feel more anxious than walking the red carpet a week ago for the Grammys even though you’re just meeting your parents, but this is a turning point in your life that needed to come sooner or later.

“I’m right here, baby. It’s going to be fine,” Harry murmurs, kissing your forehead before you ring the doorbell, feeling weird that you come here as a guest, not as someone who belongs here.

You hear footsteps approaching on the other side, two frames appear through the clouded glass of the front door and then it flies open, pushing all air out of your lungs, clinging tightly onto Harry’s hand. There’s a moment of silence and just staring at each other before the tiniest smile tugs on your lips.

“Hi mom, hi dad.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

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[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part Two)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Butterflies getting caught in throats with no words to help explain. Time standing still with a heart breaking. Determination and a willingness to see it through float away in sleep.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw injury (nothing major, just a wrist injury)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 6644

Shoutout to @damianodavide​, who was a superb help on this chapter and the real life nurse behind this one ;) 😘

***

Damiano’s head was spinning. As soon as he closed his eyes, Y/n’s face appeared in front of him, eyes hooded, lips plumps from just having kissed him, and an expression that promised a need for more. It left him bothered in a way that he knew would not let him sleep until he took care of it. Trying to pretend it was her feminine hand instead of his own rather undignified touch, he reached into the waistband of his underwear immediately letting out a hiss at the contact. 

He was desperate for her, but if he couldn’t have her, his imagination would have to do. Pictures flashed through his mind as he moved his hand. Her on her knees, looking up at him through long lashes. He had already gotten a taste of the way she reacted when he complimented her, watching her eyes go wide as he called her a good girl. Her being good for him. Her on her back, ready to be devoured by him in any way he pleased. Feeling his hands go into her hair pulling her face up to look at him. Her bent over whatever furniture he could find, willing to let him have his way with her. Deeply, madly, irrefutably, he wanted it all. She was truly making him lose his mind. Her body and the way she moved were infatuating. Her laugh when someone did something dumb. The look in her eyes when she teased him back. He could still feel the kiss she left on his lips. He never wanted that feeling to end. Brava ragazza mia.

He came with an embarrassingly loud groan, unable to hold back or keep quiet. For a moment, in the silence, he wondered if anyone had heard. He was well aware that his room was surrounded by those of bandmates and crew, but he couldn’t remember who it was exactly anyway, and it didn’t bother him for long, his hazy mind drifting around once again. 

***

“Where is your mind at?” Y/n looked up as Victoria pulled her out of her thoughts unexpectedly. Y/n had stopped in Victoria's room after breakfast, trying to keep tabs on what everyone’s plans were on their day off. She had meant to get some work done as Victoria was busying herself getting ready, but it had ended up with her staring into the distance, laptop almost forgotten on her lap.

“Oh, sorry. I’m here, what were you saying?” 

“I asked where your mind is at.” Victoria fell forward laying on the bed. Y/n knew that the blonde was starting to learn to read her like a book and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“Yeah, um, listen. What would you say to someone that may have absolutely decimated her career, by maybe accidentally kissing her boss while they were all high?” She didn’t dare look at the bassist, bracing herself for whatever negative reaction would potentially come from this.

Victoria sat up in surprise, eyes wide and the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “I’m going to need a lot more information than that.” Without giving in to Y/n’s slight protest, she removed the laptop from the assistant’s legs, closing it shut and putting it away. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, there wasn’t much to it really. We sat on the couch, you know that. And I said something stupid about how his eyes looked like chocolates, or maybe gemstones? I don’t quite remember. Anyway, then he pulled my hair out of the hair-tie. I went to kiss his cheek, but he turned his face. Fuck, it was bad. Not the kiss! He is very good at that! But I shouldn’t have done that. And then he just went ‘it's cool, it happens’. What does that even mean?!” She was talking much too quickly, getting it all out before the rational part of her brain would make her shut up. Make her remember she was talking to someone she’d only just started getting to know a week ago, who she was working for. “Then Thomas crashed and you know how that ended. Now I might be avoiding him. Just a bit.” She looked at Vic with a slight panic in her eyes, unsure if she had said too much.

Victoria, on the other hand, seemed delighted to no end, if a little shocked. “Wait, as if you kissed with all of us there and no one noticed!” She exclaimed, briefly pausing, contemplating, but shaking it off to get back to the conversation. “So… Good kiss, huh? Did you enjoy it then? Wanna do it again?” Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Victoria! That is not what I am worried about here! I could lose my job. I- I could never show my face out there again if people found out. And I really enjoy this job, you know!” Her face scrunched a little bit, calming down with a sigh. “...But also, yes, he was a gentleman, and if he wanted to … kiss me again, I probably wouldn’t say no. But I also wouldn’t say yes. I work for you. This is not the time to be thinking about how much I enjoyed kissing Damiano!”

Her eyes went wide as her voice dropped to a whisper, looking down at her hands. “Ah fuck, I said that out loud.” 

“Okay, let’s look at it from a rational standpoint then.” Victoria turned slightly more serious at seeing her panic. “There is no way you’ll be losing your job over this. Maybe I wouldn’t advise hopping into bed with the whole band and crew, but we always got a tight-knit relationship with people we work with anyway, you know that. None of us would rat you out to management or anything. Plus, if you liked and Damiano liked it… wouldn’t it be a shame to worry about anything else instead of going for it?”

“I don’t know if he liked it. I was busy trying not to pass out, to be honest. I avoided him this morning by going straight to your room. I actually kind of avoided everyone, I’m scared the words of what happened will just come out to anyone who asks… Kind of like they just did with you.” She let out another deep sigh, switching between looking at her nails, picking at them, and out the window. “If he ...you know ... Then maybe. I honestly don’t even know what I would do with that information. On the off chance that he did like it though. And wanted to go for it then I’d consider it.” She tried to remain as put together as possible and, well aware that she was failing miserably. 

“Well, in that case, we have to find out what Damiano wants!” Victoria’s enthusiasm was back with a vengeance. “You should talk to him! Or should I talk to him? Maybe I should lock you in a room like those romcoms and threaten to not let you out again until you kiss.”

“Or you don’t do that because that is entrapment. I think I would be cool with you talking to him. But I still have to do my job. That comes first. Because as far as I am concerned,” Y/n got up and grabbed her laptop again, “it is business as usual. And last night was a fluke. Not to crush your rom-com dreams, love, but if I spoke to him I’d put my foot in my mouth faster than you can play bass.”

The smirk on Vic’s face didn’t promise anything good. “We’ll see about that, we’ll see,” she ominously muttered, before jumping up from the bed. “Now stop trying to pretend you got work to do, we’re going vintage clothes shopping.”

*** 

The thrift store turned out to be a small hole-in-the-wall kind of place, just off a side street - perfect for shopping in peace without getting much attention at all. Y/n hadn’t been all that keen on keeping the band company for this little adventure, but Victoria had insisted, claiming she needed a female perspective in case the boys were being stupid again. It had only taken a serious case of the puppy dog eyes to win her over, and Victoria found herself making a mental note to remember it.

The store was stuffed full of clothes, a kind of chaos that seemed to have an order that only the owner really understood. But it looked like heaven, and within seconds everyone had vanished into some corner or other, dying to find their newest favourite piece. For a moment, Victoria contemplated who she wanted to follow first, feeling the need to talk to at least two different people but also never wanting to miss out on a chance to go crazy with Thomas. Ended up deciding on Damiano. It seemed the more pressing issue. She hadn’t failed to notice how he would try to pretend that everything was normal, yet continuously evading Y/n’s eyes. She had kept her distance all the same. This wasn’t acceptable. She had to do something, Victoria decided.

She found the singer shuffling through some blouses, although much more half-heartedly than he tended to be when it came to vintage clothes. Looking out from the racks Victoria saw Y/n doing the same. She briefly considered how to go on about this - admit that Y/n had told her what had happened? Pretend she had actually seen the kiss last night? - but figured that Damiano would start talking on his own accord sooner or later. Especially if this was affecting him the way it was Y/n, and she was almost hoping it was.

“Okay, spill, what’s up with you today?”

Damiano shrugged, pulling a shirt out from the rack, and holding it against his body, waiting for Victoria's opinion. She raised a brow and put it back wordlessly.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he responded rather vaguely.

“Damia, you’ve barely spoken at all today. Normally you can’t shut up. And you know, I’d be thankful for some peace and quiet from you, but you’re actually worrying me. So what’s going on with you?” 

Damiano had a panicked look on his face as he scanned over the racks of clothes, his eyes flickering back and forth, obviously noticing Y/n shuffling through some things and slowly getting closer. Taking Vic by surprise, he dragged her into the dressing rooms. 

“Okay, that’s…. Weirdly intimate, but go on,” Vic mumbled to herself as he closed the curtain behind them, still nervously looking around the small space.

“Rather talk to you in here, than her hear me out there. I may have fucked up, royally.” He crossed his arms over his chest and Victoria was sure he would be burning a hole into the wall with his vision if he possessed that power. He was avoiding looking at her and she knew it.

“Explain,” she simply demanded, sitting down on the tiny stool in the corner and looking up at Damiano. She wanted to hear it from him, hear what had happened in his version of the story, hear what was bothering him so much.

“So we were at that bar, right? Y/n was sitting next to me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you were there. Anyway. We were talking. I don’t know if it was the smoking or whatever else, but I looked at her and - I don’t know why I did this but I did. I pulled her hair out of her hair tie.” He leaned on the wall, his head hitting the brick behind him. He groaned but Vic assumed it didn’t have anything to do with the pain. “And… and she was so beautiful. Her hair just all around her. So soft. And at that moment, she was laughing and it sounded heavenly. And I went to look at her again and suddenly my lips were on hers…” His voice softened at the end, losing his train of thought and drifting. She had never quite seen him like this. “Then she was freaking out, and I told her some fucking stupid line like ‘it happens’. I just wanted her to calm down but… Now she must think I’d just...” He groaned, slumping a little and finally looking over at Vic. “Then she ran off to help Thomas.” 

“So, what you’re saying then is that you did enjoy it? Potentially wanna do it again?” She felt transported back to the conversation she’d had with Y/n just hours earlier, posing almost the exact same question. She had never been this involved with any of her friends’ relationships to this extent, but something told her that her help was desperately needed in this case.

He raised a brow at her. “Did you not hear the part where after we kissed she then proceeded to freak out? I doubt that she even wants to see my face right now.” A heavy sigh left him and Victoria found herself laying a hand on his arm. “And of course I want to kiss her again, Vic. I close my eyes and she is there. Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!” 

*** 

Y/n stood in the shoe aisle holding a pair of heels in her hand, contemplating for a second, before putting them on. Turning towards Ethan, who was walking towards her now, she realised it had eliminated all height differences between them. Definitely too high, she thought to herself. Holding onto his shoulders, she clumsily took them back off.

“Hey Ethan, find anything good?” The smile on her face felt forced but she was praying he wouldn’t see it.

He proudly holds up a black, studded belt with an intricate design on it, as well as a pink suede jacket. “How about you? I think I saw some nice trousers over there that might suit you. Wanna check it out?”

Y/n scoffed. She didn’t want to let her mood out on Ethan, trying her hardest to stay diplomatic. “Love the idea, but I doubt any of the clothes in here would go over my thigh. They’d fit you guys just great though. The jacket looks good, by the way.” She tried to distract herself from - well, everything - by putting the shoes away, mindlessly letting her fingers wander over the other pairs standing there.

Ethan looked at her in contemplation for a moment, but seemed to decide against following his train of thought. “At least try on some more shoes. Here, what about these?” He excitedly grabbed a pair of high-heeled boots, very much in the style she could see any of them wearing on stage - much less the one she usually went for when working.

A little intimidated, she took the shoes, if only to humour him. Ethan was nothing but a sweetheart, this was the least she could do. She put them on only with some slight struggle. She once again reached his height, almost amused by the feeling of seeing eye-to-eye with him, but the shoes felt strange. Very far removed from the usual flats, sneakers, boots, or whatever other pair that would allow her to keep running around all day without regretting it in the evening.

“Do I look silly?” 

“You look gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.” His voice had the most earnest tone to it and it was only supported by the way he studied her, looking her up and down. “Maybe walk a few steps to see if you can get used to it.”

She laughed as she proceeded to strut and partially dance some steps down the aisle to the song playing in the store. “I haven’t worn heels in so long, still got it though!”.” Her small smile grew into a grin, rather proud of herself for still being able to keep up. Going to the mirror near Ethan she looked at the shoes, then at herself in the shoes, then back at Ethan. Still, the insecurity took over for a moment. Her voice seemed small when she asked, “You think so?” 

“I wouldn’t lie to you like that,” he replied, putting a hand over his heart for emphasis. “Want to go and see what the others think? I saw Thomas over there, and Vic and Dami disappeared into that corner a while ago.”

“Right, good idea.” She walked over to the dressing room looking for Damiano and Victoria, figuring they had gone to try on some things. Well, she was mainly looking for Victoria, still uncomfortable at the thought of facing the singer. She was in the middle of calling out for them when Damiano’s voice seeped through the curtain instead. She didn’t mean to listen, only to wait for him to stop so she could interrupt, but the second she realised what he was saying she wished she had never come over.

“Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

She stepped back. Frozen in place. Her heart was beating out of her chest, hurting, aching, breaking just that little bit. Processing what he had said seemed to happen not at all and then suddenly all at once. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. Anything but this suffocation. She needed to leave.

“I need some air.”

The words came out of her mouth much louder than anticipated, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that people were looking at her now. She didn’t care that was still wearing a pair of shoes that she had definitely not paid for yet. She just needed out, out, out, and away from all this. From him.

She didn’t realise she was walking on cobblestone until she wasn’t anymore, her ankle giving way, arms desperately trying to keep her from falling as she stumbled.

***

Damiano and Victoria stopped in their tracks as they heard someone approach from outside of the dressing room. Both heads turned towards the sound, when Y/n’s voice came through, telling maybe no one in particular that she needed some air. Her voice sounded strange. Damiano was convinced he had never heard that particular tone in it. As he threw back the curtain, he saw her stumble outside, clearly hectic, and he could feel a surge of panic run through him. Something wasn't right here. He forgot all about the conversation he was having, all about Victoria, and made his way outside. Not quite running, but the worry had him out of the door quickly. His heart sank when he saw her, lying on the floor just outside of the shop, holding her arm awkwardly, some scratches already beginning to bleed a little. As she looked up at him, he could see tears pricking at her eyes.

"Fuck, are you okay? What happened? I just saw-" The look on her face - or rather, the way she turned away from him - shut him up instantly. This wasn't the time to bombard her with questions. It didn't matter anyway. Instead of bothering her further, he quickly knelt down beside her, helping her sit up in return. He was acutely aware of the way she pulled away the second he touched her skin. Like she had been burned. ´

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry to ruin the shopping trip, you can go back in if you want to," she mumbled, trying to wipe some tears away but instead spreading some dirt and drying blood onto her cheek instead. Damiano wanted to touch her, clean her up, dry her tears, but the way she had pulled away a minute ago made him not want to try. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm her more. He watched as she pulled out her wallet, handing it to him. "Go pay for the shoes please. And stop looking at me like that, I said I’m fine."

Yet, as soon as she moved, she winced in pain, taking a deep breath before getting herself up to a standing position. He found himself holding her arm in support, but she only accepted it for as long as necessary. As he let go, she let out a small cry of pain, obviously holding her hurt wrist the wrong way.

“You’re obviously not fine,” Damiano sighed. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, but she was already in tears, turning away, and it simply didn’t seem like a sensible option. He looked around at the others as they gathered around Y/n. Only Thomas was missing, probably still blissfully unaware inside the shop and browsing for clothes. He tossed the wallet to Ethan. “Would you mind paying for her shoes real quick?” Ethan nodded, walking back into the store. Y/n was still standing between them, holding her arm close to her body in a protective gesture. Almost a similar expression to the one she had had on her face on the plane all those days ago. He wondered if something was scaring her the way the turbulence did back then. 

“I am and will be fine, Damiano.” Her voice was stern. “I cry at a lot of things, this is no different. I wrap it up, put ice on it for a while and I’m golden.” 

He watched as Victoria put a tentative hand on Y/n’s shoulder. She didn’t pull away from her touch, he noticed. “Y/n, that really doesn’t look like nothing. Look, it’s starting to swell up already.” 

"What do you want me to do then?" She almost sounded resigned now as she looked back and forth between Damiano and Victoria. "We are in Amsterdam. I don't exactly have a GP on speed dial here. Now, where is Ethan with my wallet?"

She started walking towards the door of the shop, but Damiano defiantly held out his arm to stop her. "We are taking you to A&E."

Her face seemed to drain of all colour, and this time it was not because of the pain. "You are not taking me to a hospital."

Damiano looked at her, determination in his eyes, trying to make her understand that this was non-negotiable. Just for now,  he would forget about the way she was brushing him off, the way she was evading his touch, the way she did not even want to look at him. Because right now she needed him and he would be there for her, if she wanted him to be or not.

"Yes, I am. Final decision. You would do the same for us if we got hurt. But we're responsible for you too, you're part of our crew, and right now, being responsible means getting this checked out. Besides, you're not getting your wallet back until you agree."

As soon as Ethan stepped outside again, this time with a slightly confused-looking Thomas in tow, Damiano snatched the wallet from his hands only to put it in his own jeans pocket. She was mad, obviously turning whatever was bothering her into anger, but Damiano was having none of it and he hoped the look in his eyes told her so.

"Fine! Take me to the hospital. But know that I am not happy about this."

"I don't need you to be. I just need you to come with me."

***

A quick refresher of her rudimentary Dutch verified that she was indeed looking for "spoedeisende hulp", another search on the internet confirmed that there was a hospital nearby, and before she knew it, she had been whisked into a taxi with Damiano. The others had decided to make their way back to the hotel, no point in clogging up the waiting room. Damiano promised to call with any news immediately.

Y/n wouldn't tell him, certainly not right then and there but she was happy that Damiano seemed to take the lead for once. She wouldn't have had any problems had any of the others needed medical help - but having people fuss about her? Making her the center of attention in a way she did not intend to be and having to accept help from others?... It was a completely different story. Still she appreciated the way he handled the situation, making sure she got registered with the administration straight away, listening attentively for further instructions, and leading her into the waiting area. She was also glad that it seemed to be quiet, not only because it would result in less of a wait, but also because the bustling would have made her all the more nervous.

This was out of her comfort zone. She had managed to avoid hospitals for the majority of her life, and yet here she was, because she panicked and couldn't handle her shoes. Looking down at them, she wanted to curse them. Curse the fact that they made her walk over to Damiano and Victoria in the first place, curse the fact that she had heard Damiano speak about her that way, curse the fact that they carried her out the door but not much further. She didn't even know where her actual shoes were. Hopefully, Ethan had kept his head and collected them on the way out after paying.

A few seats down, someone coughed loudly, reminding her exactly of where she was. It wasn't the worst hospital she had ever been in, that much was true, but she would rather not see one from the inside at all. She was dying for some comfort, some soothing words, a gentle touch, but as soon as Damiano made any attempt at reaching out to her she pulled back. His words were still heavily playing on her mind, the swelling of her wrist and the heat that seemed to seep from it a painful reminder. There was no way she was going to let herself fall, be reassured and consoled by him when he was so obviously sick of her presence. She wouldn't do that to either of them. Victoria with all her good intentions be damned. At least right now. 

“Why are they not calling you in, it doesn’t even look like they’re doing anything,” Damiano grumbled next to her, eyes on the nurse’s station where a few of them were sitting. A few eyes were on them, something that looked like an excited discussion.

“Stop it, I’m sure they’re busy at work. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean they aren’t”, she bit back, slightly harsher than intended. He shot her a look, eyebrows raised, but she turned away, not looking to have a deeper conversation.

It left Damiano sitting in silence. Leaving both of them in the same situation, again. Y/n and him alone. Well, alone enough. Alone enough to not have anyone distract her from the uncomfortable feeling that settled over them. No Thomas being silly, no Victoria making a dumb comment, no calming presence of Ethan. Through this whole process, Y/n had basically crawled back into herself. She wished she could disappear.

She didn't know how much time had passed when they were finally called, too preoccupied with her own thoughts and the pain in her wrist. The nurse that beckoned them over had the warmest smile on her face, albeit tired eyes and it surprised Y/n how much comfort she found in the soft expression of the woman. White slacks, rolled up sleeves, pockets so full it looked like they were bursting at the seams, dark hair up in a bun. She found herself looking over at Damiano, wondering if he was aware of how gorgeous this woman was, how kind and calming her aura was, but his eyes were trained solely on her. She didn't allow herself to get lost in his gaze, quickly dropping hers and following the nurse into an examination room.

“Hi, I’m Ana, I’m going to be your nurse for today. You only speak English, am I correct?” She asked, gesturing for both of them to sit down, Y/n on the examination table and Damiano on a chair next to it. There was a slight twinge of an accent in her speech, but it was clear that she was fluent, which was a relief. Y/n didn’t even want to think about trying to get this done with the few words she knew in Dutch. She nodded, gratefully. “We’re going to go over what happened, and then I’ll do a physical examination, and the doctor will see you after as well.”

Y/n watched as the nurse fumbled with the computer, seemingly already typing things before Y/n had even said anything. “So, what exactly happened?”

“I, uh, tried on some heels and tripped on the cobblestone outside,” Y/n explained, taking a moment to glare at the offending shoes still on her feet. “Fell forwards, tried to soften the blow with my hands and now my wrist looks like this.” She held up the offending arm, gathering that the sight would speak for itself. The dried blood of the little scrapes on the palms of her hand did its best to make it look more dramatic than it felt.

“Oh, yeah that looks quite painful,” the nurse winced. “I see you’ve scraped your knee as well.”

Y/n looked down, slightly confused, only to realise her jeans had torn, revealing a beat-up knee underneath. Crap, she hadn’t even noticed, too occupied with… well, everything else. This felt like it was getting worse by the second, she never wanted to get back to a hotel room this badly. She felt like crying, but letting Damiano see her composure waver was the last thing she would allow.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed, moving her legs as if it gave her a chance of hiding her bruises.

“It’s not nothing, Y/n,” Damiano sighed next to her, before turning towards the nurse. “I think it’s more serious than she’s letting on.” In the same determined tone from before. 

The nurse looked back and forth between the two of them. “It’s probably the shock of it.”

Oh yeah, the shock. Mainly that of finding out that Damiano didn’t want her around, apparently.

The nurse asked a few more questions, time of the accident, previous medical history, medication she was taking regularly, but they barely reached her. She found herself answering curtly, with Damiano filling in where he could. She wouldn’t tell him she was thankful for it. Even though the idea of him taking care of her made her emotional. 

“Right, let’s get that wrist looked at then.” Y/n had feared it would be painful but as soon as the nurse started handling her? She knew it was her job to feel the joints, test her range of motion, move her arm. But unwelcome tears emerged in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to push Damiano’s hand away, as she almost reveled in the comforting touch on her back. The small talk didn’t even begin to make for a distraction. Yet, something was nagging at the back of Y/n’s head as she watched the nurse interact with Damiano. There was a familiarity in her eyes… Did she know who he was? Surely not.

“This will need an X-Ray to make sure it’s not broken,” the nurse concluded, finally letting go of her wrist. Damiano whispered a quiet ‘You okay?’ over to her, but she couldn’t do anything but nod. “I will bandage the scrapes a bit while we wait for a doctor. So, what brings you to Amsterdam today?”

“Work,” Y/n answered, trying to keep some degree of privacy, but Damiano didn’t seem to mind butting in immediately.

“I’m in a band, we’re on tour. She’s our assistant and overall angel.” She wanted to shoot him a look, both at the unnecessary honesty and the over-the-top way he was describing her, but a touch to her banged-up knee distracted her.

A doctor popped into the room quickly verified everything the nurse had told him And before she knew it she was being led down a hallway to get an X-Ray. Damiano stayed behind in the room.

“Cute couple, the two of you,” the nurse piped up next to her.

“Um, yeah, no. Not a couple. Just a working relationship.”

“You sure about that?”

Y/n almost wanted to stop dead in her tracks, ask the nurse what on earth had given her that idea, but she also knew she was here to get examined and the last thing she wanted to do was annoy the person responsible.

“Very. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s made that crystal clear.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t look like you in a way that suggests he doesn’t like you. If anything, I would have guessed he was head-over-heels for you.”

Y/n was stumped for a reply. Was this woman making fun of her? She didn’t look like someone who would. So why would she say these things? With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, Y/n decided she would have to talk to Damiano at some point. Have him either stand by his statement and back off, or explain what the hell he was doing. Because she was starting to lack comprehension about any of it.

She was glad the rest of the appointment seemed to fly by in a hurry, or maybe Y/n’s brain had simply gone into power-saving mode, not really taking it what as happening around her anymore. Her exhaustion was tangible. The X-Ray was done quickly enough, someone sent her back to the  examination room, and before she knew it, the doctor had announced that it was, in fact, not broken. A quick wrap around her wrist, some instructions on how to care for it (that Damiano seemed to listen to more closely than she did), and she was almost out the door. She was sure she would have fallen asleep on the examination table.  It was only the nurse quickly saying her goodbye and adding another comment that almost threw her off balance again.

“Bye, guys. And by the way, nice show yesterday. I promise I wasn’t the one who threw the bra.”

***

It was dark out by the time Y/n and Damiano made it back to the hotel. He had made sure to text the others, telling them to go for dinner without them, they’d be fine, and he figured she would need some rest. The hotel restaurant was quiet enough and he motioned towards it, but Y/n shook her head.

“I’ve got a few snacks in my room, but honestly, I’m not hungry at all. I just want to go to bed.”

Yet, tired as she was, it only took one pointed look for her to shut him up, so he simply nodded and led her towards the elevators.

“At least let me bring you to your room and see if you need any more help. And I can give you your wallet back.”

He could tell in the way she stiffened next to him, the way she barely reacted to his words, that she wasn’t keen on the idea, but he wouldn’t let her get away with it. He was desperate to find out what was bothering her and why she was so distant, but he couldn’t figure it out. Was the kiss still playing on her mind? Was she uncomfortable with him? It was the last thing he wanted. He needed to show her he was willing to be there for her.

Closing the door of her room behind him, a shout rang through the room.

“These fucking things, I hate them!” She was loud and angry while trying to get her shoes off, but her voice was wavering and if he watched her in just the right light he was convinced he was seeing the beginning of tears forming in her eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’s fine,” he tried to soothe, unsure if he was going about it the wrong way, but quickly bending in front of where she was sitting on the bed. She kicked her heels once more in frustration, obviously unable to get them off with her wrist still compromised.

“Don’t shush me when it’s all your fault,” she whispered and he almost stopped dead in his tracks, but he figured she hadn’t meant for him to hear. He stayed quiet, against everything in his heart telling him to find out what she was talking about. Instead, he focused on removing her shoes, gentle touches against her bare skin. Looking up at her, he realised that she was studying him, watching his every move, and he concentrated even harder on being the perfect gentleman. Yet, when he pulled the second shoe off her, he couldn’t help letting his hand rest on her calf a little longer than necessary.

“Come on, let’s get you into some pyjamas,” he decided, getting up and putting some distance between them. Too afraid of getting ahead of himself, of letting his hands wander more than appropriate places, of saying something he shouldn’t. He threw what he gathered to be her sleepwear in her general directions. “If you need any help changing because of your wrist, let me know.”

He hoped his smile was as sincere as he meant it. Either way, she didn’t give him much of a reaction, grabbing the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. A few sharp hisses reached him through the door, but he knew better than to offer his help again.

He wasn’t sure what the acceptable place for him to sit was, but since the room didn’t offer anything but a worn-out armchair and the bed, he decided that choosing the far side of the mattress wasn’t too bad. He didn’t even realise she had left the en-suite until her voice reached him.

“We really need to talk, Damiano.” She sounded resigned and tired and he wished he could wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was alright, but it didn’t seem like the right time. As soon as she reached the side of the bed opposite him, she all but collapsed on it. She sleepily grabbed one of the many unnecessary hotel pillows they placed on the bed and nuzzled her face into it. 

“There will be more than enough time for that tomorrow,” he replied, grabbing the blanket and making sure she was fully covered by it. “It’s been a long day, try to get some rest.” 

She didn’t even manage to argue anymore, eyes already fluttering closed, breathing slowly becoming more steady. She was gorgeous like this. A soft calm overtaking the scene. No wall up that kept everyone else from her inner thoughts. No front that she put up in desperate attempts to remain professional. Just a softness etched into her features that highlighted her natural divine beauty.

He wanted to take her worries away. He hoped that whenever they did get to talk tomorrow, it would yield some clarity. The last thing he wanted was for her to ever feel this way. He had grown so attached to her, so obsessed with the idea of having her around, that he already feared the end of the tour. If she would give him any option to stay in her life, he would take it, whatever way it was.

Damiano barely noticed the way he was slipping down on the mattress, his fingers softly patting her head, eyelids getting heavy. The last thing on his mind was Y/n, sleeping soundly next to him and wishing for nothing but to make her happy.

***

Taglist | @damianodavide @lizstans @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you @vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3  @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy @till-you-scream-and-cry @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @marriedwithmarktuan @bookish0918 @mehrmonga @kanevill @butterfly-skinnylegend @lidiyabest @killerqueen1985 @ccweasley @bluscryn @deluxeplanteater @ohtorchio @messyhairday-me @bidet-and-legolas @maybanksslut @katyldamusic @fuckim-so-gay @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @petit-poussin @fedorable-killjoys @luvbadass @buttercup-beeee @navs-bhat @etaerealboyv  @tryymebitch @mell-bell @fenhakwe @solacestyles @softforlukescurls @vicsangel @theimpossiblehologramtree @alina-exe @cherricola66  @supercorp-mari @onlykissystyless @thatonebraziliangirl @dannasixxworld @immrbrightside @lifeofa-fangirl @gr8rainbowpunk @que--sera--sera @unitersmoonshine @achilleveleno​

#maneskin fiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x you #damiano david x reader #damiano david fiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x you #maneskin x reader #quiet music #bethanysnow #mywriting

[jarofstyles]

yes yes! please continue the CEOrry! SO GOOD

Of course 😎

If you enjoy this, check out our Patreon!

——-

Harry never imagined himself in a situation like this.

Pining after women wasn’t something he did often. They usually threw themselves at him and he either had his fun for the night, or rejected them. He didn’t think too much of their feelings, or their interests. He didnt hang on to their words as they spoke and write notes into his personal journal about things she likes and dislikes.

The list so far?

Likes:

-orange cats

-caramel coffee

-the summer rain smell

-the colors pink and yellow

-quesadillas

-crochet tote bags

-silk eye masks

-thrift stores (especially with shop cats)

Dislikes:

-chocolate orange flavor combination

-overcast days

-bowler hats

-the mailman (unknown reason)

-popcorn kernels

-in n’ out (bad experience, apparently.

She was overtaking his own personal life. Being his assistant, of course she would be more prompt to being deeper than more employees. But he couldn’t help but pick out red ties more often because she complimented him in the color. She had gotten him a refrigerator magnet in Ocean City when she went for a girls weekend, and it was the sole magnet in the small water fridge in his office. She left traces of herself in his life that he couldn’t possibly ignore.

The most invasive and troublesome being his sex life.

He was getting to the point where he couldn’t get off without thinking about her. About her voice, her touch, the smell. His tiny, filthy and shameful snippets of when she leaned on his desk and he had caught a nice glimpse of breast, or the couple times she had bent over and given him an eyeful of her tiny panties and ass… how her dress would cling to her or the time she had accidentally soaked her white shirt with her water bottle and given him a view of her braless chest by accident…

Yeah. Every time he wrapped his hand around the thick shaft of his cock, it was a fantasy of her. The best orgasms so far in his life, only to be rudely awoken by the fact it was all fantasy. So what the fuck was it going to be like if he got his hands on her?

Y/N, unbeknownst to him was in the same boat. Smitten with his snarky comments, his thoughtfulness not many saw, and god, his beautiful face. It wasn’t lost on her that his gentleness was only to her. She had seen him yell too many times at other people and as soon as she would walk in, his tone would soften when directed at her. She got away with a lot more than others did and it did make people… talk.

They talked all about how she must have slept her way into the job. Placed bets on how long it would take her to get fired for not dropping to her knees fast enough. And while it wasn’t everyone, she did overhear it enough to make her upset. Hell, she wished she was getting dicked down by her boss, bur she wasn’t! And they still had all of the nerve to say it just because she had managed to stick around longer than the others. Understandable, Burt hurtful.

Harry was stuck, really. He knew that he either had to ignore it or make a move. But still, he was unclear about if she was actually into him- or if it was just wishful thinking. She was so kind to everyone, and he really wasn’t warm and fuzzy. His feelings were probably a bit more obvious, he thinks, and she hasn’t made a move. Was it because there was no reciprocation, or because they were at work?

He would need to figure it out.

“Y/N?” He called out to her desk which was outside of his. Another thing that had changed was his door staying open during the day more often. He liked to hear if anyone came up and was flirting with her, if he was being totally honest with himself. He had caught it a few times and that unholy possessiveness reared it’s ugly head. Plus, it made it easier to call to her.

Y/N perked up, standing up and striding towards his door. Upon his instruction of closing the door and coming closer, she did. Her mind went to mush though, because he looked…. So fucking good. With his hair slightly messed up for once, his white button up a bit tighter than normal around his biceps… she felt weak and dazed simply looking at him. His powerful aura was so, so sexy.

“I need help with a project after hours.” He was winging it. Completely and utterly winging it. “I’m redoing my den area in my home… and I’d like you to help me do it. You’ve got design experience, yes?” He crossed his arms, trying to not stare too hard at anything other than her face. It was hard.

“Oh- I’m, yes? But I’m not too good, I just make those Pinterest boards like I showed you? I was just planning and-“

“Good. I liked when you showed me them. My home is very boring. Sterile. And I would like some more… character.” In reality, it was just going to make him go insane even more at home. Seeing her in his living space. Things she picks out in his living room. It was so stupidly dangerous for their professional relationship considering how close Harry was to jumping her bones, but he wanted time away from the office to see if he was imagining her flirtations.

She was overwhelmed by the offer, but couldn’t say no. Not when it gave her an excuse to see him… in potentially casual clothes, and feeding her nosy imagination for his house. Plus, she loved to decorate. What could go wrong?

“O-okay, sure. When would you like me to be doing this?” Her voice raised in pitch, showing her nerves slightly. Adorable. He loved getting reactions out of her.

“Some hours during the weekends. You will be compensated and fed, of course. And I will be with you. We will do the shopping wherever you see fit. But you know me. I am very particular, so I wish to be involved in this process. The most I can be.”

Weekends. Alone with his assistant that he wanted to make his own so badly that he had to clench his fists to avoid grabbing at times. The assistant that had been the main star of his fantasies, the assistant that made his palms sweat and heart race.

He was interested in seeing how it turned out.

#ceorry #ceo harry #harry styles one shot #jarofstyles #blurbs #blurb #writing #harry one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #fluff

[eremiie]

Hiya! I saw that you followed me so I wanted to be nice and send a lovely request :>

I am sending this for Eren since we have good taste 😌 and so here’s your prompt—

Prompt; Reader is wearing baggy clothes (just cause that’s my thing, you don’t have to include it if you don’t want to) while blasting music and dancing; just having a fun time, not paying mind to the fact Eren is watching everything, occasionally recording and taking pictures, that is until he gets caught by the reader and attempts to share those visuals. It’s preferably fluffy, but I don’t mind having some or twist. Run wild!😉

delete it!;

❥ eren x reader | 1.3k words | fluff

❥ thank you so much for being nice & sending in a request i appreciate you sm!! & yes we both do have some immaculate taste i see😏. i also love baggy clothes so i love that we are alike in that aspect hehe i hope you enjoy🤲.

❥ in which eren jaeger is a sneaky thing, and takes pictures of you while you dance your heart out.

��i’m going back to 505!” you were prancing around your bedroom listening to your playlist for the first time in a while. it had been so long since you last listened to your favorite tunes and it was a shame since the last time you clicked on your spotify you added a lot of new songs to your playlist and then blatantly abandoned it for a few weeks.

eren had took you thrifting earlier and here you were, trying on some of the clothes for the umpteenth time making sure everything was to your liking and deciphering if you had to tailor anything or if you could revamp some of the shirts and jeans you bought. he rested on your bed scrolling through his phone, throwing you quick glances as you danced a little bit before throwing one of your shirts onto the bed and bending down to pick up another one and putting it on.

“it seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye!” you giggled while you turned around in your full body mirror making sure the current outfit you had on was cute, your jeans were baggy with ripped in the knees, the bottom overlapping your feet in the slightest while your shirt hung loosely around your waists, a graphic design detailing the front. “eren, is this cute?”

he looked your way his eyes lingering for a second too long on your frame. he absolutely adored the way you dressed and thought it was the cutest thing ever, how you dressed so comfortably and made everything look so good. he especially loved when you adorned your body with jewelry, pretty necklaces, rings and bracelets; but one thing he never understood was your infatuation with expensive sneakers. he watched you shake your hips and use your fist as a microphone while singing to yourself in the mirror and voicing the lyrics. he couldn��t help but smile at his girlfriend’s antics and chuckled. “yeah, i told you i like all your outfits.”

eren went to his snapchat on his phone, making sure his ringer was off before pressing down on the white rimmed button down near his home button, recording you singing to yourself in the mirror grinning stupidly at you. when you bent down to pull off the pants you were wearing eren immediately stopped recording, wanting to get more photos and videos of you to embarrass you later first. he saved the video to his snapchat memories.

“okay well i’m gonna put on these sweatpants since we’re not going out again.” you said while standing up to pull the sweats over your legs. “this shirt is cute though so i’m keeping it on.” eren hummed in response, now on his camera to wait until you did something ridiculous to take more photos.

the song switched and your hand slapped over your mouth, smiling underneath it. “eren, baby this is my song!” you bounced on the balls of your feet and went over to grab the hairbrush from your dresser beside your mirror, turning towards eren to give him a show. “eren, watch.” you said, snapping your fingers to draw his attention, little did you know it was already on you the entire time.

you stuck your leg out, stuttering your hip and grinding in mid air with your hands covering your face and eren immediately went to snapchat to begin to record again, you beginning to sing. “you got more than 20-20, babe. made of glass the way you see through me...” you started to laugh at yourself as eren’s smile got bigger and he began to laugh as well. you pointed at the brunette directing the next verses towards him with the brush up to your mouth.

“i wanna love me, the way that you love me! oooh, for all of my pretty, and all of my ugly too,” you stepped towards eren dragging your feet behind you singing dramatically while he snapped more photos of you acting silly, absolutely in awe with you, his girlfriend. “i’d love to see me from your point of view.” and with every word of that line you twisted each leg back and forth with your hands on your hips before busting out into laughter at how stupid you looked, eren joining in again.

“did you like my performance?” you asked him goofily heading over to straddle his legs on the bed.

“the song isn’t over, keep going.”

“so you do like it?” you poked at his chest right underneath where his phone was propped up by his arms before smoothing your hands over his shirt in adoration at the man in front of you.

“of course, now keep going!” he insisted and you huffed stretching your arms out.

“i couldn't believe it or see it for myself, boy, i be impatient, but now i’m out here

falling, falling, frozen, slowly, falling got me right,” you pumped your fist with every drag of the last couple words oblivious to the fact that eren was recording you from down below once again until the chorus came back around and you leaned down. “you’re not even paying attention to me you’re staring at your phone!” you whined flipping the device back with your hand and eren grabbed it hastily.

“baby i was paying attention.” it took you a second to process that was you who he was staring at on his phone, as a matter of fact it was a whole video of you singing to him, moving aimlessly sat on top of him, and you began to get flustered.

“eren! was that me on the phone? were you recording me? oh my gosh, this is so embarrassing, delete it!” you groaned reaching for his phone while he laughed at your despair.

“noo, you looked so cute and good and pretty.” he continued adding on words to butter you up, he didn’t want to delete the photos.

“eren!” your tone came out whiny. he grabbed your wrists and pulled you forward against his chest wrapping a secure arm around you and trapping your arms on either side of him so it would be hard for you to reach up and grab his phone which he kept at a distance.

“______, just look,” he went to his camera roll and went to the first photo he took of you and you narrowed your eyes, realizing it was when you had the jeans on and we’re dancing in the front of your mirror. he then swiped and the next one was you turned towards him with the same jeans on, the photo slightly blurry but you seemed to be about to sit on the floor.

“eren, this is embarassing, oh my gosh stop.” you were restrained from reaching for his phone and pouted against his chest, your cheek smushed.

“no it’s not. you’re so gorgeous baby, look,” you looked up at the phone again and he was now on snapchat, attempting to show you videos of you dancing without a care in the world, you using your hand as a microphone.

“i bet you’re gonna post these on my birthday, you’re so annoying.”

eren kissed your forehead and rubbed your shoulder with the arm wrapped around you. “i could post them now if you want.”

your body tensed up and you began flailing in eren’s arms causing more laughter to leave his throat. “eren stop! give me your phone!”

he flipped the two of you over so he was now on top of you, cooing you with soft ‘shh’s. “i’m just kidding, i’m just kidding.” you pouted again, but you were secretly relishing in the feeling of your sweet boyfriend on top of you, basking in his warmth as he closed his eyes. “just cuddle with me for a little bit babe.”

another huff of annoyance came from you, but you secretly too didn’t mind cuddling with him; no matter how many embarrassing photos or videos he had of you, and no matter how annoying he was.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren jaeger #eren jeager #eren fluff #eren yeager fluff #submission

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 3)

Parts 1 , 2

“are you taking it or not?”

the question isn’t even loud--it’s a murmur nearly lost to the noise of the ancient metal fan running full power in the small store, blowing the garments on the racks with a pitiful little breeze, but it’s enough to kick the gears into lena’s brain into grinding again.

she stares at the flannel shirt she’s been holding for too long--it’s a faded plaid of green-and-black, a men’s size that has probably shrunk in an unfortunate tumble in someone else’s dryer before ending up at this thrift store in the four-lane town they’ve stopped at.

lena blinks, feeling the fabric under her fingertips. it’s much softer than it looks, feels almost familiar in a strange way she doesn’t care to analyze. “what sort of weather am I even supposed to be packing for, anyway?”

kara gives her a look, but doesn’t answer her question. her eyes waver from lena to the shirt and back again a few times before she finally sighs. “take it. it goes with your eyes.”

lena assumes they’re not going anywhere too cold, since kara doesn’t buy them anything warmer than light jackets with the money she dug out from the road a few hours back. she hasn’t told lena where it came from or how she knew it was there, and lena hasn’t asked. talking, if there ever is any, has been done in short bursts and mostly out of necessity-- a ‘we’re stopping here’ or an ‘I need to pee.’ they certainly don’t discuss anything important, and given their situation, a mysterious briefcase full of money seems somewhat important.

they leave the store laden with paper bags full of clothing lena would probably never wear under normal circumstances, but that’s kind of the point, so she’s not about to complain. she knows better by now.

instead of going directly back to the car, kara leads them to a pay-phone down the street, and lena follows silently, waiting with the bags outside as kara produces a roll of quarters from her pocket and gets to work.

lena tries not to zone out as she hears the clicking of the phone, the mashing of buttons, and the clinking of coins. inside the booth, kara seems frustrated--she huffs in what lena knows is exasperation, but continues with whatever it is she’s trying to do without a word.

she doesn’t know how exactly, but she feels it, can’t really explain how she just knows, but it’s like someone dumped a bucketful of ice over her head; just like that, lena’s eyes snap open and she feels the hairs at the back of her neck standing at attention and she knows they’re being watched.

her heart is hammering in her chest in dull, rapid thumps that would definitely alert kara something is off if she still has her super-hearing (lena isn’t sure yet what the verdict is on that). lena tries, as discreetly as she can in her state of sheer panic, to look around, faking a stretch to crane her neck until she sees it.

there;s a man standing at the corner on the other side of their street. he’s leaning against a boarded storefront and trying to light a cigarette. it’s all completely innocuous, dare she say it, but their eyes meet across the street for a fleeting second and that sends a chill down lena’s spine.

an old, rumbling bus hisses and creaks down the street between them, and once it’s gone, so is the man.

it’s probably nothing. but a wanted criminal and the person she supposedly killed can’t exactly take any chances.

“kara,” lena calls out softly as she taps on the booth’s dirtied glass, trying to sound natural and failing horrible if the way her own voice squeaks out of her is any indication. she also realizes with a start this is the first time she’s spoken kara’s name since.. well. it hits her like a truck and this probably isn’t the time to dwell on it.

“kara,” she hisses again, opening the cabin. the blonde shoots her an incredulous glare that wilts into worry as soon as she registers lena’s panic. “kara, someone’s watching us.”

the phone clangs back into its hook loudly, and kara curses under her breath--lena has never heard kara curse before. she grabs her bags on one hand and takes lena by the wrist with the other, leading her back to the car at a near sprint.

“who? where?” she asks as they walk, her grip so tight around lena’s grip she would have broken the bone into dust were she at her full power.

“a man, at the street corner just now,” lena gasps, struggling to keep up.

“where did he go?”

“i don’t--I don’t know--kara, you’re hurting me!”

kara stops so quickly lena almost slams straight into her back, but the blonde’s grip relaxes immediately and she moves to entwine their fingers together instead, resuming her walk at a more sedated pace.

“sorry,” she whispers, so low lena strains to hear. “did you happen to see where he went?”

lena can only shake her head, afraid a moment of uncertainty may have unnecessarily led to more stress and fear. “no,” she finally says, trailing off with shame. “i’m not even sure if he was actually watching us. i just... i just had a feeling.”

to her surprise, kara nods and squeezes her hand in reassurance as they reach the jeep. “always trust your gut.”

their newest purchases are tossed in the back without ceremony, and in a matter of seconds kara’s peeling away from the empty car park, tires screeching as she speeds onto the road.

the silence is tense, this time. not that it hasn’t been tense in the last few days, but the sheer adrenaline running through lena’s veins and the worry kara fails to conceal work together to add another heavy layer of tension like the icing on top of a particularly disgusting cake. lena can’t take it anymore.

“where are we going, kara?” 

it feels weird to use her name now--like lena is undeserving. kara’s only answer is a grimace she fails to hide in time.

“where did that money come from, and how did you know it was there?” lena pushes, watching the needle of the speedometer climb up from the corner of her eye. “who were you trying to call? why are you even running with me?”

“stop,” kara grits out, muscles straining at her neck and jaw. her grip on the steering wheel tightens as the speedometer climbs, and lena knows, she knows she should stop, but it’s been days and days and days with no answers and she’s had enough.

“no!” she practically shouts. “you’ve been dragging me up and down the country--is there a plan here? if so, what is it? why are we running together?? how can you even stand being near me? how come,” and then she chokes, realizing she’s crying far too late to do anything about it. “how come you didn’t actually die?”

“i did!” kara shouts, hitting the breaks and swerving into the shoulder so suddenly it gives lena whiplash. they come to an abrupt stop in the thankfully deserted road, and kara is panting, shaking so hard the entire car trembles with her.

“what?”

“i did die,”she says, softer this time, voice trembling almost as much as her shoulders. “i was unresponsive for five whole minutes. alex brought me back.”

lena wants to say something, anything, but her brain is completely stuck on the fact that supergirl did die. words don’t make it past her throat; all that rises is bile, and she narrowly makes it out of the door and onto her knees on the pavement as she vomits.

It plays in her head on a loop, supergirl falling out of the sky, riddled with green, kara--kara, her kara, lying dead for however long in a crater on the pavement.

and it was all lena’s fault.

<< Previous || Next >>

#nara's word vomit #supergirl #supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #fanfiction #femslash #just enjoy the ride folks #we may be here a while #this really got away from me huh #LBitR

[thechangeling]

But you like her better: Part 2

Sorry it's been a minute! I hope you like it.

Cw: Some brief ableism, mentions of internalized biphobia, and self injurious stimming.

2013

It was raining when 16 year old María Machado Sotomayor first met Kit Herondale.

Marí had always loved the sound of the rain. It was peaceful and rhythmic, creating a nice tingly feeling in her skull running straight down her spine. It also good for the plants. Which meant that Marí arrived (on time for once) at her favorite class in a pretty good mood.

Marine biology was their one of their three special interests, the other two being lacrosse and Base guitar. So Bio was usually pretty fun for them. However this time was different.

Her mood was instantly dampened when she walked into class and saw someone new sitting in her usually seat. A blond, short and white kid who looked far too pretty for his own good. A new kid most likely.

A new kid who didn't realize that Marí always sat by the window every single day. It was their spot. Still Marí was determined not to overreact. They marched over to the new kid  and approached him with their best masking smile.

Remember eye contact. She told herself. Keep your tone light and breezy but not too lifeless. Smile. Appear friendly and non threatening. Try not to sweat. Try not to scream.

"Hi excuse me," Marí began in a sickly sweet tone. "That's actually my seat! Sorry!"

The boy instantly looked embarrassed and apologetic. "Oh I'm sorry!" He blushed. "I didn't realize there was assigned seating." He had an American accent, California maybe?

Wonderful. A white American boy. Just what they needed.

Marí chewed their lip and fought the urge to rock or tap. "There isn't actually," they admitted. "I just usually sit there. So can you please move?"

Now the new kid looked a little offended. A cold look settled over his face. "Well why should I?" He bristled. "This seat isn't really yours. It's not like it has your name on it."

Marí rolled her eyes in frustration. "I tried that already but then I got in trouble."

He stared at them curiously for a moment. Marí took the opportunity to break eye contact finally and scuff their heel against the floor. They were wearing the new black suede chunky heels with the gem stones that Marí had gotten when they went thrifting with their friends.

"María!" The harsh voice of her teacher snapped her back into reality. Everyone had arrived and taken their seats while she was arguing with the American and now everyone was staring at her. "Could you please explain why you are not seated young lady?" She snapped in her extra pretentious sounding posh English accent.

The one that said, "I'm better than you."

Marí tried not to growl at being called a young lady. They weren't feeling particularly female today. Not that Marí was going to bother explaining that to some old British hag.

"He won't get out of my seat!" Marí protested. Instantly laughter broke out around the classroom. Cruel mocking laughter that made Marí feel like her skin was crawling.

"It's ok!" The new kid cried out, practically jumping out of Marí's seat. "I'll move! I'll go sit over here." He grabbed his bag and moved to the back of the room as quickly as possible.

Marí smiled in spite of themself. His random act of kindness was surprising, but they were grateful. They took their seat near the window and sighed in relief.

Marí would always look back on that day with fondness no matter what. It may not have seemed like much to him, but it meant the world to her. After Bio class she had asked Kit to come eat with her and her friends. They had made their introductions and the rest was history.

They became close friends very quickly, bonding over movies and music. They sent each other playlists of their favorite songs and songs that reminded them of each other. Marí made Kit a queer playlist with songs by queer artists and told Kit that they were bisexual and a demigirl. They hadn't even told their friends that last part yet at that point.

Marí also told Kit that they liked to use she/they pronouns, but so far was only using them online. Kit asked Marí a lot of questions then confessed to Marí that he was also bisexual but he was still kinda getting used to it.

"I grew up in a shitty situation," Kit had told them. "I guess I still have a lot of shame."

Marí didn't hold it against him. She bought him queer literature and resources for queer history including "Bisexuality and Queer Theory" and her printed copy of the article published in the 90s called "The Bisexual Manifesto." She gave him advice on websites and people to follow online.

They also just talked. Talked about life and their experiences. Their feelings and their relationships with their sexualities. Bonding with another queer person was always special but spending time with Kit always made Marí feel so...light.

Despite how close they were getting, Marí didn't always want to touch him. They were touch averse in most cases unless they were very comfortable with someone. Sometimes it just depended on the day. On the days where Marí found they could not hug Kit they had invented their own way to show affection.

They would place a hand over their hearts and tap it, as if to say "I care about you" or "I love you." Sometimes Kit would say "tap my heart" as a substitute for actually doing it.

He introduced her to his close friend Janessa, the wayward vampire who was incredibly hot and kind of made Marí all nervous and tounge twisty at first. But as they got to know her, Marí realized that she was also incredibly kind, passionate and clearly cared at great deal about Kit. Janessa was a gamer who had named herself after a video game character. She drank cups of warm blood in novelty mugs with giant swirly sparkly straws and was pretty good at making people laugh.

Janessa, or Nessie as Kit had affectionately nicknamed her, was flirtatious and charismatic, but also brutal and deadly in a fight. She was full of surprises. And maybe, just maybe Marì was a little bit into that.

However as much as Marí didn't want to admit it, they were also were starting to realize that they were way more into someone else. Someone with perfect golden curls that Marí wanted to curl their fingers into.

Eventually Kit came out to Marí as genderfluid and requested that she use alternating he/they pronouns for them. They both made the decision to collectively tell their friends their pronouns. Marí, Kit and Nessie sat around her gorgeous leather couch and talked for hours about gender, identity and transness. Kit pointed put that they may never be able to fully explain their gender to the other two, just like Kit might have a hard time fully understanding Janessa's relationship with gender, or Marí's because everyone was different.

"It's personal Nessie," he had said. "Everyone has their own unique perspective on gender and every trans person has their own complicated feelings about gender and what their own gender identity means to them, and those feelings might not completely match up with another trans person's. But that's ok. You don't have to understand the other person but you do have to respect them."

Janessa's understanding of gender came from being a trans women. It was about a strict  binary with clear lines and rules. Rules that Kit was starting to make a habit of fingerpainting all over and Marí could tell that it was stressing her out.

And Marí had no idea where the hell they fit in these rules. They had stopped playing the game.

But those two loved each other more than anything, and Marí knew they could work anything out. And sure enough approximately seven hours and four margaritas later (only two for Marí,) they had come to an understanding.

2014

She kissed Kit for the first time a month into the new year.

They had been trying on clothes in Marí's room and Kit was wearing one of their old dresses that Marí thought they looked amazing in, but Kit wanted to give it away. It was dark navy blue and sparkly with spaghetti straps, coming to about mid thigh. There were cut outs on the sides, filled in with black sheer fabric, and it had a low v cut at the neckline which was also filled in with black sheer.

Kit had been infodumping about one of the Marvel movies again, Marí couldn't remember which one, and she had kept getting distracted by his tan smooth skin peaking through the sheer fabric and fullness of Kit's moving lips. He smiled excitedly and Marí had stepped forward and kissed him.

Their first thought was that Kit tasted like chocolate. Their second was that they should have done this months ago.

Kit had melted into the kiss, smiling slightly against her mouth and pulling her closer. They kissed her feverishly, sliding their tounge inside Marí's mouth and moaning when she deepened the kiss eagerly. They moved against each other with almost lazy, comfortable precision, kissing each other for what could have been hours or days or maybe only seconds.

Marí couldn't have said.

When Kit finally broke the kiss and pulled away from Marí, his eyes were practically gleaming with joy and love. And that was when they knew.

I love him.

2015

I love him.

Ty's words ran in her ears. Repeating over and over again, maddenly bouncing around inside of her skull until she was forced to utter out loud,

"I love him".

They whispered it under their breath but Marí could tell that both Alyssa and Ty had heard them. It was so quiet you could probably hear a pin drop.

But of course. Of course he does. It was obvious. This whole time Marí had noticed there was something wrong with Ty. Just like there was something wrong with Kit. The way they stared after each other when they thought the other one wasn't looking. The loving and worshipful glances mixed with the bitter glares.

Marí had already known that Kit was in love with Ty of course. But the way they had told the story made it seem like they were positive that Ty couldn't be in love with them.

But then again maybe that made sense. Given Kit's history and who he was. But then Marí couldn't help but think of Ty and how confused he must have been. God it was a giant mess.

Speaking of...

The room was still silent. Marí found that she couldn't read Ty's expression as he stared back at her flatly. But his body was shaking, his fingers fluttered at his sides. She wanted to soothe him.

They stepped forward carefully. "I'm not mad at you," Marí assured him. "I was hoping we could talk?"

Ty's left eye twitched. "We are talking," he pointed out. Alyssa snorted.

"Ty, they mean about the proverbial bomb you just dropped a few seconds ago," Alyssa said with a laugh.  Marí smirked to themself slightly.

It wasn't really a bomb. More like a flare.

She really needed to talk to Ty. The only problem was Alyssa had an annoying tendency to never leave his side. It wasn't like she had a problem with the girl. Of course not. But her presence meant that Marí hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Ty one on one.

They cleared their throat. "Alyssa could you please give Ty and I some space to talk?" They asked. Marí hoped they didn't sound too rude. Alyssa looked to Ty and he nodded slightly, signaling that he was ok with her leaving.

That was so strange to Marí. Their relationship. The way Alyssa, a werewolf who hated shadowhunters even more then Marí did, essentially took orders from him and clearly trusted him more than anyone else. But perhaps she wasn't one to judge.

After all, she loved Kit.

Alyssa left the room with a pat on Ty's back and a quick, "call if you need me." Marí shifted their weight back and forth as they rocked slightly from side to side as they waited for Ty to speak.

He stared back at her silently, most likely doing the same. Marí blew out a loud breath and forced herself to stay still, crossing her arms.

"Are you going to say something or should I?" Ty asked expectantly. Marí bit their lip and shrugged.

"I'm still thinking of what I wanna say," she admitted.

Ty smiled at her softly. "So am I."

There we go. Cracks in the armour.

"I'm sorry," Ty whispered suddenly. "I never meant to-"

"You don't have to apologize!" Marí blurted out. Whoops they had interrupted him. "Oh shit sorry you were still talking!" They reached for their hair nervously and realized that they were wearing that Morticia wig for their costume.

Great. Marí moved on to chewing on her knuckles.

"It's ok," Ty reassured her. "I don't really know where I was going with that sentence. And you shouldn't do that." He pointed to her hand.

Marí scoffed, "yeah well you shouldn't dig your nails into your palms." He glared at them and they laughed.

"Not so fun playing a game of Mirror Image is it?" They teased. Ty didn't respond, just stared at Marí solemnly.

"You know I really admire you," he said, aiming his gaze close enough to hers to create the illusion of eye contact. "I always have. I never wanted to hurt or upset you."

Marí wished for a brief moment that they could touch him and then shrugged the impulse off. "I know love," they cooed. "Me too."

Without really understanding why, she pressed her hand to her chest directly above her heart and tapped, just like how she did with Kit. Ty studied Marí for a moment and then followed suite.

Marí in spite of themself, actually felt bad for him. They could clearly see the toll the last three years had taken on him, specifically the last few weeks. Maybe his family couldn't see it, and they definitely knew that Kit couldn't, but Marí could.

Marí of all people could see past the mask because they knew what masking looked like. It wasn't just about appearing normal, whatever that word meant. It was about hiding your feelings. Taking that heart you wore on your sleeve and locking it up tight. But everytime Marí looked at Ty, they could see it. And it was bleeding.

Ripped and bloody and broken, just like her own and yet they both still had the sheer audacity to keep breathing. Marí was proud of them both.

"You need to talk to him," Marí prompted. "You both need to be honest with each other."

Ty furrowed his brow. "Honest? About what? He doesn't feel the same way." He had gone back to flicking his fingers as he stared at her, looking puzzled.

Bloody hell between the two of them, Kit and Ty were giving Marí the mother of all headaches.

They took a deep breath. "Yes they do Ty," Marí tried not to sound exasperated. "Kit is in love with you, believe me. They told me."

It hurt Marí's heart to have to say it, but it was true and Ty deserved to know the truth. And they knew deep down that Kit wouldn't really be happy, he wouldn't be Kit until he had Ty. And Marí had to make their peace with that.

Ty looked understandably confused. He ran a frantic hand through his hair. "But why are you telling me this? Why are you helping me?" He asked. "Don't you love them?"

She fought the urge to cry as tears gathered in her eyes. She found herself digging her nails into her palms despite chastising Ty for doing it a few minutes ago.

"I'm telling you all of this because I love them" she cried desperately. "Because Kit cries out your name in his sleep Ty! Because everytime he sees you, he stares at you like you are the moon the sun and the stars! Because everytime you speak they hang onto absolutely every word, and when you laugh-" Marí cut herself off.

They squeezed their eyes shut and took deep long breaths. Ty said nothing. Marí opened their eyes to see Ty staring at them in dismay. He looked like he was trying to think of what to say to help.

Marí shook their head. "I know Kit loves me. And they probably always will. We were close friends even before we started dating." Marí groaned and shook out their entire body this time, jumping up and down a few times as well to get rid of the tension. If Ty thought this was weird he didn't comment on it.

Marí wiped her eyes carefully trying not to smudge her mascara. "But you Ty?" His eyes refocused on her again at the sound of his name. Marí chuckled humourlessly. "Fucking hell, he is in love with you. And right now he is thinking that you hate him and I know it's tearing him up inside."

Ty stared at Marí hopelessly, looking overwhelmed and exhausted. "So what do I do then? What am I supposed to say?"

Marí shrugged. "I can't help you with that I'm sorry. It has to come from you." Ty looked even more panicked.

They gave him what they hoped was an encouraging smile. "Don't be scared Ty," they murmered. "It's Kit remember. They're not scary. You have nothing to worry about."

Ty didn't answer her. He had wrapped his arms around his body, squeezing tightly. "Marí do you remember those dead moon jellyfish we buried on the beach?" He asked.

She was a little confused as to why he was bringing this up now. "Yeah? Why?"

"That's what I feel like right now," Ty admitted. "Like I've washed up on the beach and now I'm just waiting for someone to come along and step on me."

Marí's heart sank. "Oh Ty," they breathed. "I promise that won't happen with Kit. I can't make any promises for anyone else, but I do know that Kit has absolutely no intention of hurting you again love."

Ty looked pensive. Marí could only hope that Ty would make the decision to trust them.

With a sudden jolt Marí remembered the party.

"Hey we still have the Halloween party to go to," she said, shaking Ty out of his stupor. "Do you still wanna go?"

To their surprise, Ty nodded. "Sure. I think Alyssa might kill me if I back out now."

Marí snorted. Alyssa Reyes could be pretty terrifying at times.

With surprise Marí found that their spirts were lighter having cleared the air with Ty and with the prospect of a party being renewed.

She smiled. "All right then let's head out!" Marí smoothed down the long black wig over her shoulders and quickly smoothed out the long skirt of her black slinky dress before turning and exiting the training room.

She knew that she would have to talk to Kit at some point and that conversation would be brutal. But at least they could have one last night together.

It's better this way. Marí told themself as they walked back towards the main living room where everyone was gathered.  At least now Kit can be happy.

It's for the best.

It has to be.

So I'm actually planning on writing a part 3 from Kit's pov because the drama isn't over yet! 😏

Tag list: lmk if you wanna be added/removed.

@playwithravenclaw @lavender-scented-rat @jazzkaurtheglorious @waterlillies   @nott-the-best @stxr-thxif @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @clarys-heosphoros @queenlilith43 @arangiajoan @hardlymatters @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @tired-vin @phoenix-and-dragon @the-blackdale @adoravel-fenomeno @the-wckd-powers

#tsc #twp #kit x ty #marí the werewolf #the wicked powers #maría machado sotomayor #we stan autistic bonding #we stan queer bonding

[wagner-fell]

Mari kicked down the dressing room door with a bang so loud Kevin jumped and spilled his hot coffee cup all over himself. Hearing his yelps of pain, Astrid peaked her head out of the curtain, laughed at his expense then shut it again. Maria ignored that.

They strutted out to where the boys were sitting and struck a pose. “Can I rock cottage core or can I rock cottage core?”

Kit didn’t trust himself to speak. He simply nodded instead. While the baby blue dress with short, ruffled sleeves looked a bit out of place paired with Mari’s bulging muscles, she looked absolutely stunning.

The Merry Hoes were located in the back room of the antique store Kevin’s family owned. The Chu’s just got a large donation of vintage clothing. Mari had just gotten their pay check from the downworlder gym she worked at. Kit and Astrid really didn’t want to do their maths homework. It was destiny.

Despite being downworlders both Blessica and Kevin still lived at home. Mari, though, lived with the rest of their pack in an old Edwardian mansion a few blocks away from school. However the five of them slept over at each other’s place of residence so often they blurred together in the young Herondale’s mind. He could really only tell them apart by their smells.

Mari’s reeked of dirty laundry as they were one of four folks on the feminine side of the gender scale out of the lycanthropy of London, Blessica excluded. Her house smelled like Ube, a type of yam her Filipino parents put in everything. Kit couldn’t complain. Ube flavoured ice cream was the best thing he’s ever eaten. Aside from Mari. Though he wasn’t usually the one… Nevermind.

Kevin’s house smelled of Longjing tea and red wine. A peculiar combination that oddly enough, worked quite well.

Astrid had two homes as her parents divorced at the age of six. Stepping into her mom’s house was like stepping into a cookie factory. Which made sense as her mom owned a bakery and lived above it. Kit didn’t know exactly what Astrid’s dad’s place smelled like, let alone looked like, but he could make an educated guess that it was similar to the Los Angeles Institute because it was in LA too.

After they separated, Miss Yang fled to Devon to dodge the possibility of seeing her ex-husband when they exchanged Astrid. Kit related to her on a deep, personal level.

Now Astrid spent her summers in America and Kit drained his battery on international phone calls.

Her three months in the USA each year helped him bond with her better when they had first been introduced. For example, her ringtone was the Perry the Platypus theme song. Blessica, Kevin and Maria had no clue what it was but when the music reached Kit’s ears, the two sang an epic duet that put Kiss Me More (the second most iconic duet in history) to shame.

“How much is this anyway,” asked Mari, turning in a circle to see if there was a price tag. In the process she sent the fabric fluttering as she went. It made them look more magical than ever.

“There is no price on fabulousness,” said Astrid. She had on loose, black dress pants, a white shirt, and black suspenders with gold blemishes.

“Yes there is,” replied Kevin. “54 euros.”

“54 euros,” exclaimed Mari.

“Well it would have been €34 but you made me spill my coffee and this shirt was 20 so..”

“Seriously, Kev. I will fuck your mom. You think I won’t?” A pause. “Wait, only twenty €20?”

“Oh, I know right! There is this incredible thrift store down on Fleet Street and-”

“Don’t care,” interrupted Mar. She took one last look in the mirror before turning back to him. “I’ll give you your parents' price, not your dramatic ass’s one.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Fine. But it’s an extra €10 for the shoes.”

Mari looked down at her tan sandals. They leaned against the door they just excited to take the footwear off. “Racist,” she muttered under her breath.

“I’m literally Chinese.”

“Homophobic, then.”

“Pansexaul,” he sang.

Mari was silent for a moment before she banged on the door into the room Blessica was changing into her rose pink gown. “Blessie! Do I have permission to call Kev transphobic in your name?”

“Hey,” said Kevin, looking up from his task of rubbing a paper towel across his sheer, white shirt. “That’s cheating. Blessie, don’t listen to them!”

The nickname ‘Blessie’ was what her family exclusively called her. She turned red when they had first found out. Granted, it wasn’t hard to make Blessica blush. All she had to do was stand in Kevin’s general area.

“Blessica,” called Mari once again. When she still didn’t answer, Maria stood up and pressed their forehead against the changing room door. “You okay?”

“No,” Blessica croaked out finally. Her hoarse voice was laced with sorrow. Upon hearing her speak, Kevin abandoned any hope of saving his top and joined Mari at the door. Kit and Astrid were quick to follow.

“Hey,” said Astrid gently. “What’s wrong?”

Blessica began to sob. “The dress doesn’t fit right,” she whimpered.

“That’s okay,” soothed Kevin. “We have other sizes.”

“Kev, it doesn’t fit my body because it wasn’t made for my body. I just feel so ugly.” All the other Merry Hoes made various sounds of distress. Kit was instantly reminded of Dru,

He was suddenly fifteen again. In Ty’s bedroom as he told him of all the times she’d been told she wasn’t pretty by members of the Shadowhunter society. And all the times Emma or Julian or another member of her family had reassured her that she was. The thought occurred to Kit that maybe they weren’t Emma-y as Blessica needed them to be.

“It’s just like,” started Blessica, “I started taking Estrogen seven months ago, you know? And I still don’t have anything to show for it.”

His mind was racing a mile a minute. “Yes you do,” he said.

“I do?” she asked, sounding dubious.

“Your voice!”

“You do have a really nice voice,” agreed Astrid. “You could totally narrate audiobooks or something.”

“No it’s not,” grumbled Kevin.

“Kevin,” said Mari, glaring daggers at him. ‘Kevin’ in this case didn’t mean Kevin. It meant ‘Shut your mouth right or I will actually kill you’.

“No, not like that! It’s just…” he was blushing profusely now. “Her voice is like the rain. Most of the time it’s soft and warm and it wraps you in one big, wet hug. You can’t help but feel, well, blessed to get to feel it touching your skin.. But when it rains hard you feel every single drop land. But no matter what kind of rain it is, the impact is always enormous. Uh, yeah, her voice is like that.” There was a moment of prolonged silence, where Blessica had stopped crying but no one was brave enough to talk.

The door opened and Kit, Kevin and Astrid stumbled backwards. Mari didn’t. Stupid gorgous jock, Kit thought as she survayed her inferiourors.

Blessica stood in the open doorway. Her eyes were puffy and red. The dress looked perfect on her. Not that this style hadn’t looked perfect on Mari but their arms were so thick, they filled up the entire selve. Blessica was so petite you could see her bones clearly through the skin. It highlighted the flowness of the gown extremely well. “You guys like my voice?” Then, “why are you all staring at me, is it that bad?”

“Blessie,” said Mari. “You can’t just put on that in front of four people who like women and expect them not to stare.”

“Respectfully, of course,” added Kit.

“Just tell us if it makes you uncomfortable,” agreed Kevin.

“Step on me,” breathed Astrid.

“But then again,” said Mari, “you validate yourself too.”

“Run me over with a cement truck.”

“We can see your hot as fuck. But more importantly you have to believe you’re hot as fuck.”

“You could literally kill me and I’d get on my knees to thank you.”

Blessica was blushing as hard as Kevin now. They sheepishly smiled at each other before turning away. “Simp,” said Kit and he held out his hand. Astrid dutifully rewarded him with a high five.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I am on the trans spectrum but I am not mtf. If you are and you feel misrepresented please feel free to private message me or just leave a comment tell me how I can fix it.

@the-wckd-powers @book-dragon-not-worm @thechangeling @the-blackdale @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @illusions-give-reasons-to-live @shelvesofgold @arangiajoan @maxboythedog @noah-herondale-lightwood @its-taff @cncnbr @sofiatheskeleton @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @adoravel-fenomeno

Let me know if I left anyone out. Also let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list.

#The Merry Hoes #Kit Rook #Kit Herondale #mari the werewolf #mari machado #astrid yang #blessica reyes #Kevin chu #dru blackthorn #drusilla blackthorn #ty blackthorn #tiberius blackthorn #tsc