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You know what?
Fuck anyone who says “get over it.”
I don’t care what it is they’re referring to.
Healing is a complicated process that works differently for everyone and does not cooperate on a damn timed schedule.
I don’t care how long it’s been. You take all the time you need. You’re valid as fuck and anyone who tells you to “get over it” can fuck off.
I collect blocked TERF accounts like pokemon. It’s not that I’m afraid of a debate, I’m just sick of hearing the same bullshit over and over again. Your opinions suck and everyone hates you, TERFs. Get fucked.
Fuck you to all those times you were made to feel guilty over nothing. Fuck you to everyone who has ever taken their anger or frustration out on you. Fuck you to all those days when you had to carry around that dull, empty ache. Fuck you to the feeling of apprehension every time you felt a bad day coming. Fuck you to all the people who ever put you down or made you feel small. Fuck you to every time you tried your best and someone came along and made you feel like it wasn't enough. Fuck you to those feeling of worthlessness. A massive fuck you to all of those times. You're worth more. You deserve better. You should be appreciated for the wonderful person you are.
Can we stop making fun of people’s triggers or telling them to “get over it” and go to therapy?
Therapy doesn’t magically make triggers disappear and not everyone can even go to therapy for a number of reasons.
Here’s a suggestion! How about we respect people’s triggers even if we don’t “get” them? It’s not up to us to “get” it. It’s up to us to respect someone else and their feelings.
Little Assistant
“Lia,” Mr. Styles grabs her, easily wrapping his hand around the entirety of her wrist.
“Liana,” she bites back quickly.
He laughs dryly and, with a small pull, she finds herself nearly flush against his chest and his mouth suddenly is just inches from her ear. Luckily, the party is loud enough and people are drunk enough that it doesn’t necessarily stick out as intimate. He whispers hotly, “I’ve been looking for a new assistant. I need someone that can meet my -”
“Mr. Styles, I don’t - I’m not taking that internship.”
“Listen,” he warns darkly, “Take the position and I will personally make sure you have any job you want after graduation. I can help you and you can help me. Win, win.”
Lia turns to face him, searching his features for any sign of him teasing, but all she sees is deadly sincerity.
She tries to pull her hand away and after a moment he lets her. “I don’t need free drinks or free opportunities from anyone.”
“Love, you’re overestimating my patience,” he quips, that now familiar smirk pulling at his lips.
Lia rolls her eyes, “No, Mr. Styles, you’re overestimating mine.”
His jaw hardens and nostrils flare as he bites back a filthy smile.
OR
Lia’s earned her dream internship and Harry’s her demanding boss. She thrives on her meticulously detailed five-year plan, thoroughly organised planner and being painfully put together. Harry thrives on watching those things fall apart and finding the girl buried underneath.
Lia mutters a quick goodbye and hangs up the phone before Liam can think of anything new to add. Liam’s a worrier and insistent - a terrible combination. It means that when she wants to isolate herself in her flat like a dying dog because she’s sick, Liam is calling and texting and, for God’s sake, sending her puppy dog Snapchats in order to try and get her to let him come over.
“You really shouldn’t be alone if you’re feeling poorly,” Liam had guilted.
She sighed because she’s sure that is the third time Liam’s shamed her with that line. Once again, she insists, “I will just get you sick if you come over -“
“I don’t care if-“
“Besides, I’d rather be sick on my own and not bothering people with it. I can take care of myself. “
“If your best friend can’t care for you, then who?”
And he was right, he really was her best friend. They had met through her boyfriend at the time, Niall; he and Liam shared a dorm. So, even though she still has to ignore thoughts of Niall when she’s in bed at night, she’s glad that Liam came out of it. He earned her trust in a way Niall was never willing to wait for.
“Stop making me feel bad,” she whined. “I’m sick!”
With the promise of a call if she needed anything, ‘even a cuppa,’ he had insisted, she shoved him off long enough to settle in for an afternoon nap.
So, currently, she’s cocooned in a comforter on the sofa, a pile of snotty tissues in the bin on the floor beside her and a cold bowl of chicken noodle soup abandoned to the side. It wasn’t a complete lie when she told Liam she was beginning to feel better. I mean, she was able to warm up some soup without getting nauseous, even if she wasn’t able to slurp down more than three spoonfuls of it. Also, she’s taken off the two extra blankets atop her comforter - so, small victories.
And truly, she would just have to feel guilty if Liam became sick because of tending to her. She already felt lucky that her illness had held off until Thursday afternoon and now the long weekend ahead can be used for resting and recovering and not batting off Liam with tea, and crackers, and puppy dog eyes.
And she needs to recover this weekend because her packed schedule looms overhead. Classes, grad assistant office hours, and the thought of her impending internship make her head throb. Her advisor had been hesitant to permit her to take such a demanding course load, but she had pleaded her case passionately. Her undergrad was decorated with top of class marks, club president recognition, and academic honors, and all in preparation to allow this semester to be spent solely on her internship. So, yeah, right now she’s completely overwhelmed, stressed and perhaps ill because of it all, but it will all be worth it next week.
She glances down at the calendar neatly spread out on the table ahead of her and sees all the crossed out events (blue pen), reminders (green pen), and due dates (red pen).
One week.
One more week of back-to-back classes, hours at the library, and office hours and then her diligent and neatly organized schedule gives way to two words: SONY internship.
And, while she could stare at that all day, she still thanks the planning God’s for the clean, blank, white boxes of this weekend, rubs some lotion on her red nose, and falls into a NyQuil induced sleep.
“Hello?’” Lia fumbles to hold up her mobile to her ear. The name on the screen looks blurry without her glasses. “Kate? You there?” The heaviness of the NyQuil is still fogging her brain.
“Hiya! Lia!” Kate chimes cheerfully from the other end. “Feelin’ better? Mum was proper loadin’ the car to come and dote on you, last I had a chat with her.”
Lia groans. Her mother forgets she’s an adult with a fierce independent streak and complete contempt for anything that looks faintly like dependency.
“Please tell me you talked her out of it.”
“Can’t say I did, love. Told her you were on death’s door and -.”
She huffs, “Are you serious, Kate? You know how she is. Mum will be -”
“Oi! Pipe down. Just told her I would check in on you. It’s my report that’s going to keep her settled.”
“Kate, I don’t feel well enough for this. What do you want?”
She tsks one too many times, “Always so uptight with you.”
“Katie,” Lia warns, her finger hovering over the end call button.
“I’m callin’ because I want you to be me date to my work social ‘morrow night.”
“What? Tomorrow night?”
“Yep.”
Of course Kate is asking her this now. It’s not that Lia’s an afterthought, but Kate lives too in the moment to think much of waiting until the night before to arrange plans. Where Lia has her schedule planned out to a T two weeks in advance, Kate just has the right here and right now.
“I hate last-minute things! You know this, Kate“
“S’last minute cause I was goin’ to skip but I was thinking on it and as the coordinator’s assistant I s’pose it might reflect bad on me loyalty.” She sighs heavily, “Proper important, I am. It might be a bit stuffy - a lot of old uppity-ups and their spoilt second-wives, but -”
“This all sounds horrible.”
Kate laughs, “I haven’t sold it, have I? Well, I thought it might be a good networking opportunity for you. It’s all the major record companies in the area so you might run into someone important… from Sony.”
Kate knows she’s piqued her interest now. Lia’s dream is a position in high management, Kate’s receptionist job at the company and been her inspiration to go after the internship in the first place, and she was chuffed at the offer she had received from SONY records last month.
“I don’t know…” she trails off hesitantly. Lia’s not sure she wants to run into someone she might work for. After all, she’s a smart, empowered, businesswoman, not a tag-along little sister.
“Oh, c’mon, love! Get out! Live a little!” Kate goads and it’s the same chiding she hears from her mum every other week - too much focus on school and work.
But having a plan and sticking to it is her thing. And her plan was to spend the weekend recovering and resting. She’s not the spontaneous social butterfly Kate is, she’s never been and she’s perfectly okay with that. Or, she’s come to terms with it anyway. Lia’s not loud enough, or witty enough, or open enough to really make an impression. She doesn’t charm people, or woo them with her beauty, she’s not that girl. She’s not Kate, she realises.
So, what she lacks she overcompensates with over-scheduling, diligence, and a relentless work ethic.
“But I’m terrible at being social.”
“I know.” Kate agrees somewhat sadly.
“I would feel awkward and out of place -“
“Pretend you’re some record executive’s sexy, young plaything. ”
Lia opens her mouth to argue -
“I’ll hold your hand the entire night, you big baby. ”
“You know what I mean!” she grumbles. “You will wander off with some bloke after a few drinks and I’ll be stuck holding your bag. I don’t want to be stuck waiting around for you all night at your party.”
“S’not my party,” she retorts.
Lia stays silent. She’s reaching for an excuse, but Kate’s never been one to let her off easily.
”Fine, you can either go for a few hours ‘morrow night or expect mum on your doorstep ‘morrow at eleven for a weeken’ stay.”
Lia whinges on because she’s sick and why does Kate always have the upper-hand?
“That’s not even fair,” Lia pauses allowing Kate to back down, and show that empathy she so often forgets, but of course she doesn’t. “Fine! I’ve been sick, and dehydrated, and in a NyQuil coma all day, but I will attend your last minute terrible party that you will inevitably ditch me at.”
Kate cheers happily, “Terribly exciting, innit?” She says chummily and Lia grumbles at her to shut up. “Pick you up ‘round half six, love. Wear heels and whatnot. It’s quite fancy, so do yourself up proper.”
“Even better - heels,” she mutters, but begrudgingly adds “See you then.”
By Saturday evening Lia’s fought off four calls from her mum, two from Liam, and seemingly the rest of her illness. All that’s left of it is a mostly empty stomach and a pitchy throat that croaks every few words.
Even though she really was not looking forward to the evening ahead, it is fun to be going somewhere that’s not work, or campus, or the gym - maybe she really does need to get out a bit more.
“You clean up well, love,” Kate says when she arrives in the cab. Even though just seeing her sister makes her feel completely underwhelming in her simple black dress. Kate’s glowing with a soft tan, golden, shimmering dress, and sun-kissed hair. Lia feels like the washed out version of her - a bit on the pale side with hair too white to be compared to the sun. More like snow, really.
They walk into the party late because even though Lia was ready at 6:10, Kate doesn’t arrive until 6:45 and then only has a “rough guesstimate” of where the event is being held. The last ten minutes of the drive Kate was bossing the cab driver around downtown London saying, “Maybe it was the next street…” or “This doesn’t look quite right…”
Lia wants a plan and a backup plan. Kate doesn’t even want the former.
Nonetheless, Lia’s at the party now and she’s either more boring than she thought or Kate really attends some wild parties because she’s pleasantly surprised by the place. The venue is terribly fancy. Predictably, the biggest record labels in London certainly demand a grand venue and the multiple chandeliers, wandering servers with their silver trays, and live soft rock band certainly fit the bill. She figures first impressions will be hard to make, too. There is so much alcohol being consumed that she can’t imagine anyone she meets will much remember her come tomorrow morning.
Plus, the room is huge and it’s absolutly packed full of people. The glossy floors and tall, decorated ceilings, both marble, amplify the sound and the pleasant hum of conversations fill the room. There are enough people (not all stuffy old men) that there’s always a “Scuse’ me, Miss” or “Pardon me” coming from one direction or the next in order to move through the crowd.
“Quite fancy, innit?” Kate whispers in her ear and Lia can only nod dumbly.
As Lia had mentally planned in the cab, she makes a beeline for the bar, Kate in tow behind her. Kate’s always good for a drink and Lia’s going to need at least one to loosen up. Unfortunately, Kate keeps bumping into people she knows.
At first, Lia stands dutifully by her side while Kate charms her way through conversations and she tries not to be jealous of the easy way her queen of social graces sister moves from pleasantries to something more substantial with each person.
It’s the fourth time Kate’s stopped that Lia has to discreetly roll her eyes. How many people can Kate people know? At this pace, she will suffer an awkward, chat-less, sober night.
Before Kate has a chance to chat-up the man waving her over, Lia turns quickly toward her, “I’m going to the bar.”
Kate spares the younger girl a concerned look, knowing just how out of her element Lia truly feels, but Lia reassures her with a nod and says, “I’ll bring you back something.”
And Lia really is out of her element, in many ways. First, as she wanders through the crowd, she feels terrible young. On average, she must be ten years younger than most of these people. She’s sure the women are glaring at her like that because they think she really is some record executive’s young plaything. Lia has to ignore the bite of insecurity that spikes somewhere in her chest and forces herself to hold her chin up higher to fake a confidence that she hopes blooms into something real.
By the time she leaves most of the crowd behind her and takes a seat at the bar, her feet are aching with the unfamiliarity of wearing high heels for any sustained period of time. She hardly ever has a reason to wear them and tonight seemed like the perfect occasion. They were candy red, matched her lipstick, and if nothing else, she decides she will have to happily bear the pain knowing how terribly put together she looks.
The bars busy, and the bartenders seem to bounce to everyone but her. The longer she waits the more time she has to ponder exactly why she’s here in the first place. She really should’ve stayed home, mum and all, and prepared for -
“What do y’want, love?”
The deep voice suddenly grumbles beside her, breaking into her thoughts.
Lia glances over ever so slightly in acknowledgment.
“I will pay for my own, thank you,” she nods curtly to the man standing close beside her. She waves her card more aggressively at the bartender, as if to prove the point, and keeps her mouth pressed firmly together to stop from shouting for his attention.
The man beside her chuckles. “Very independent” he confirms, leaning an elbow on the counter directly in front of her so she’s forced to acknowledge him. “S’cute,” he mutters.
He has a smirk on his face like he knows something that Lia doesn’t. It’s smug and confident and Lia hates it, or loves it - she’s not sure. His hair is soft, but tame on the top of his head and a soft stubble peppers his jaw. He doesn’t look quite as old as the rest of the people here, definitely older than her, but she pegs him for lower-management. She turns away quickly when she notices the deepening dimple at the side of his upturned lips.
“I am independent.” She finally locks eyes with a bartender who seems to be moving her way, “and it’s not cute.”
He laughs again and the bartender arrives but the guy is still leaning in front of her so she raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you mind?” she asks pointedly.
He somehow looks more smug, but doesn’t move, so Lia lift herself up to manoeuver around him. “Can I get two -”
“Is one for me?”
“ - No -” she spares him an irritated glance, “get two -”
The smug guy turns away from her slightly, glances over his shoulder to the bartender, and says, “Rum and coke, please. Three of them.” The bartender spares an apologetic look toward her, but still turns to shuffle down the bar.
Lia huffs and turns to finally look at the guy straight on. “That was rude,” she bites, crossing her arms across her chest. “I am perfectly content paying for my own drinks.”
The man just chuckles again, but there is something darker in his eyes this time. Something Lia can’t quite place. He rubs a hand along the stubble of his jaw, and she feels like she is being evaluated by him.
“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” he mutters, examining her closely. “What’s your name?”
Lia feels self-conscious, his gaze is unflinchingly rested on hers, so she looks away and tries to flag down another bartender. She gets ignored, again.
“What’s yours?” she counters, still attempting to gain someone’s attention.
He waits for a beat, forcing her to ignore his direct gaze even longer.
“I’m Mr. Styles,” he wraps his free hand on her thigh and she can feel the pressure of his thumb pressing into the inside of her knee. Still, she refuses to look at him. “Now, answer my question.”
Lia smiles tightly, and shoves his hand off of her. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Styles.”
The bartender returns with three drinks and the man tells him to put it on the Styles tab before Lia has a chance to shove her card across the bar. She looks at him again when he slides the drinks in front of her, this time with unfiltered irritation. “I don’t need you to buy my drinks.”
“I wanted to,” he nods and she reluctantly picks them both up.
“What about what I wanted?” she levels, hopping off the stool. He takes a step as she does, and, with a drink in each hand, she realises she’s trapped in between him and the bar.
She stares at his suit covered chest, hoping that he will budge, but he doesn’t and she’s forced to glance up towards him. It was easier when he was leaned on the counter and she was sat at the stool, their eyes evenly met. Now, she realizes he’s tall - like, really tall and as close as they are pushed together, she has to arch her neck to see him.
He smiles softly when she does.
He brings a hand up to her face and tucks a stray hair behind her ear. With both hands occupied, she’s vulnerable to his touch, so the best she can do is tuck her head away from his reach.
He huffs, a hot breath of air puffing from his lips, and rolls his eyes slightly as she leans away from him.
“Find me before y’leave,” he orders, leaning down so he is directly in her line of vision. His eyes are dark, and serious, his tone reflecting the same sentiment. “‘Alright?’
Lia nods, unsure what other choices she has.
It takes Lia at least ten minutes to locate her sister and by the time she does she’s already discarded one empty glass on a table and is halfway through the second. She can still somehow feel the man’s touch on her knee, and along the side of her face, and it hasn’t really allowed her heart time to slow down or her head to stop buzzing. She’s replaying it all in her head, becoming a little more infuriated with the whole situation. Him, so smug and cocky, ordering her drinks, touching her skin, telling her what to do, she’s never been around anyone quite so maddening.
The drink burns as it runs down her throat.
“I’d thought you’d been lost!” Kate jokes pleasantly when she locates her standing with a small crowd. The girl next to Kate has blue koi-fish patterned suit and there’s some girl with cotton-candy pink hair throwing back a shot next to her. Lia definitely feels out of place in her prim black dress and neatly pinned hair.
“Join us,” Kate chirps, grabbing Lia’s arm and gently tugging until Lia falls into her side. The drinks are quite suddenly taking hold of her nearly empty stomach. She regrets not forcing herself to eat earlier in the day.
Lia quickly glances up to notice that they all seem to be looking at her - expectantly. She lightly elbows Kate in the ribs for help.
“This is me baby sister, Lia,” Kate announces quickly.
Lia only has time to smile before Kate launches into a full narrative of her life since she moved to London. By the time Kate is detailing her upcoming internship, Lia’s ears are completely red and she can feel her cheeks burning.
It’s right then, when she lifts a hand to cool her burning cheek, that she sees him again.
His face is suddenly just there, demanding her attention from over the cotton-candy girl’s shoulder. Lia’s not sure if he’s been there the whole time or just wandered up. And this is really important because has he just heard her whole life story or is he coming in at the tail end of it? Either way, Lia decides she needs to take action.
“Kate,” Lia interrupts with a terse whisper, “I am sure they’ve heard more than enough.”
Kate ignores her and the guy has the same smug expression pulling at his features as he glances at her nearly empty drink and takes a sip from his own.
What an ass.
She turns abruptly to Kate, “Tell me how you know all these people.” It’s a forced transition, but Kate takes it in stride and begins telling some wonderfully interesting stories about how she met each person. Lia uses it as an opportunity to focus her attention on the people around her, but she can’t ignore the stare she feels coming from his direction.
It buys her a few minutes and she refuses to acknowledge him until her sister finally lands on him.
“Oi, Mr. Styles!” Kate’s voice is coloured in surprise. “I thought you had business in the States?”
The man shakes his head, greets the group, and then holds out his hand to Lia before Kate has a chance to introduce them.
“I don’t think I had the pleasure,” he quips, the same infuriating smile plastered across his face.
Lia hesitates but shoves her hand out after a pause. His fingers wrap around hers, strong and forceful. He doesn’t bother to look towards Kate, instead, all his attention is focused relentlessly on her.
“Pleasure,” Lia says tersely, pulling her hand back quickly and looking to the ground in a fluster.
“I didn’t quite catch your name, love. What was it?” His smile is sly, twisted with some secret only known to him.
She purses her lips, glancing at the man in irritation. “It’s Liana,” she reluctantly shares, forcing herself to not roll her eyes.
Something like recognition paints his features.
Kate breaks the tension by letting out a bark of laughter at her side. “Quite posh, isn’t she?” He doesn’t spare her a glance. Kate tells him that she goes by Lia and his face flashes with something that Lia, again, can’t quite place. Is it irritation or frustration?
She’s still wondering about it as Kate gives an overview of her and Mr. Styles’ relationship. Lia doesn’t process any of it until Kate says the word boss.
“Boss?” Lia mutters under her breath, sparing Kate a confused glance. Lia’s not sure what a boss should look like at one of the world’s biggest record companies, but it’s not him.
“Yeah, s’not my boss. Thank god,” she adds mischievously. “Heard you can be quite an arse, isn’t that right, Mr. Styles?”
He glances briefly to Kate, before flicking his eyes back to Lia. The break in his unrelenting stare allows her to take a breathe she hadn’t realised she was holding.
“I like to think I just have high expectations.”
Lia feels a lump in her throat.
Kate pokes her in the shoulder. “Ought to take Lia on as your intern. She starts her internship at Sony next week. Knows her way around a calendar, too. She’d keep you -”
“Kate! Stop -”
“What? Just sayin’ you would keep him on track. Probably meet his expectations and then some-”
“Don’t think I’m going to take that one,” Lia blurts quickly and then composes herself. “I’ve a few other offers and I am sure I can still arrange with my advisor to switch.”
“Aw,” Harry coos, smiling confidently even as he takes a drink. “That’d be a shame, Lia.”
“Liana,” Lia corrects tersely.
Whatever occasional glances she was sharing with the man have stopped. Now, she’s quite determinedly examining her cuticles. She’s sure if she begs, and pleads, and cries to her advisor, then she could somehow take up one of the other positions she was offered. If not, there’s always next semester.
She can hear the man clear his throat, but she ignores him and turns to Kate. “Didn’t you want a drink?”
Kate suddenly realises she’s been without one, “I thought you were getting me one?”
“Bar was too crowded,” Lia lies, nodding her head toward the bar and Kate promises the group a quick return before passing by Mr. Styles with Lia close in tow.
“Lia,” he grabs her, easily wrapping his hand around the entirety of her wrist.
“Liana,” she bites quickly.
He laughs dryly and, with a small pull, she finds herself nearly flush against his chest and his mouth just inches from her ear. Luckily, the party is loud enough and people are drunk enough that it doesn’t necessarily stick out as intimate. He whispers hotly, “I’ve already approved your application. I’ve been looking for a new assistant and I need someone that can meet my demands -”
“Mr. Styles, I don’t - I’m not taking that one.”
“Listen,” he warns darkly, “Take the position and I will personally make sure you have any job you want after graduation. I can help you and you can help me. Win, win.”
Lia turns to face him, searching his features for any sign of him teasing, but all she sees is deadly sincerity.
She tries to pull her hand away and after a moment he lets her. “I don’t need free drinks or free opportunities from anyone.”
“Love, you’re underestimating my persistence,” he quips, that now familiar smirk pulling at his lips.
Lia rolls her eyes, “No, Mr. Styles, you’re underestimating me.”
His jaw hardens and nostrils flare as he bites back a filthy smile.
The bar is still crowded, but because Lia’s with Kate, they don’t have to sit for more than a minute before the bartender helps them. He shoves two shots their way and nods his head, “These are from the lads to your right.”
Lia watches Kate look flirtily down the bar to the men sat off in the corner and gives them each a sweet wave. “I’ve found tonight’s entertainment,” she cheers and slides the shot Lia’s way. “Bottoms up!”
Again, can’t Lia just buy her own damn drink? She kicks it back anyway and winces as the liquor burns down her throat.
Kate orders another drink for each of them and pulls Lia along as they make their way over to the two lads. “The ones cute, innit he?” Kate remarks coyly before shoving her hand out to him.
Lia does the same and quickly learns the lad is easy to talk to, even if he’s not a charmer. The half-hour passes quickly, Lia using all her focus to continue the conversation because it means she doesn’t have to think about the night so far, or her internship, or Mr. Styles. Also, she has enough liquor in her system that she could have a wonderful conversation with just about anyone. She feels great. Or, like really drunk.
“I’m really drunk,” she chuckles, swaying slighting into the lad, Spencer, she learns.
She crawls up onto a bar stool beside her, throws back the last of her drink, and watches him take the opportunity to wedge himself between her legs. Kate’s already winked at her over her date’s shoulder twice and it’s clear what Kate’s plan is tonight. Her loud and edging on shrill laughter and suggestive touches leave little room for interpretation.
Lia, on the other hand, while drunk, can’t help but make her intentions quite clear.
She gives Spencer a small push and effectively removes him from his position between her legs.
“M’not usually like this,” she mumbles, her usually clean and pronounced accent slipping away.
“Like what?”
“Y’know,” she gestures to her face and clothes and the venue, “all drunk and sloppy at fancy parties.”
He laughs and Lia can feel his hand running up her thigh, as he re-wedges himself in front of her. With clumsy hands, she reaches down to stop him.
“I think we’re going to have fun tonight,” he leans forward to whisper into her ear.
Her eyes draw tighter and she leans back. “M’not that drunk,” she tries to push his hand off of her more forcefully, but he won’t move. Instead, he digs in painfully to her thigh and his other hand comes up to settle on the curve of her waist.
“We can change that, darling.” He leans into her, his lips finding the underside of her jaw, and she tries to squirm away.
“Kate, do you wanna -”
She looks over his shoulder to find Kate has disappeared into the crowd. Something inside her becomes more focused and clear at that. She tries again to peel his hands off her body, but it’s to no avail.
“Let me go. M’not gonna sleep -”
“Everything alright?”
It’s Mr. Styles. He’s looming over the guy’s shoulder, looking at Spencer’s hands groping her body.
“Sod off, mate. She’s none of your business.”
“M’fine, Mr. Styles,” Lia slurs, and even shoots him a tight smile. “Nothing I can’t handle. Spencer, here, was just leaving.” She accentuates the words by giving a particular forceful push to his chest and it’s enough to get him off her.
Spencer glares at her and then at Harry, clearly seeing no other way out of the situation. “Not worth it, anyway,” he seethes and marches off unhappily.
Lia takes a deep breath of relief and instead of acknowledging Mr. Styles, she works out the wrinkles in her dress and pulls out her mobile to see if Kate has texted her. She hasn’t - great. She decides she will go to the toilets as an excuse to search the crowd for her sister.
With a precarious hop, Lia slides off the stool, stumbles, straightens herself up and finds that she’s immediately stopped by Mr. Styles towering frame.
“Sit,” he orders, nodding to the bar stool she just ungraciously fell out of.
“M’goin’ to the toilets,” she argues, staring up at him.
“Sit,” he repeats. His eyes boring down into hers. No smirk to be seen, just something unidentifiable that tells her he isn’t backing down.
She glares at him but begrudgingly does as he says and scoots back onto the stool. “Happy?” she sasses, raising her eyebrows at him in irritation.
“Not even close.” He reaches around her to ask the bartender for a water. “Drink this,” he shoves a glass into her hands and watches her expectantly.
She wants to tell him off, but the room is spinning slightly, and, honestly, she wanted a water anyways. So, she sips it slowly as he watches over her the entire time. Their legs barely brushing, but his glare never leaving her.
She takes the last gulp of water and too-forcefully sets the empty glass on the bar. “Really, didn’t need y’help, with Spencer,” she notices that all her words are slurring into each other. “I had it-,” she hiccups, “handled.”
“Did you?” he asks dryly, clearly unamused. “Would never have been able to tell.”
She nods, “I did.”
“How many drinks have you had tonight?”
“Fourve. Four. Five,” She scoffs at him, “Why’d you care?”
His eyes flash dangerously and she huffs at him, and pops up off the stool suddenly, and uses his arm to find her balance.
“M’going to the toilet and then m’going home.”
She takes a breath, trying to regain her balance, and walks away even though she can tell he’s right behind her. She feels his steadying hand on the small of her back every few seconds as she trips on someone’s foot or her own. He doesn’t say anything until he’s holding the toilet door open for her.
“Give me your mobile. I’m calling you a cab” he has his hand out - waiting.
Everything in Lia’s nature tells her to argue with him because she’s very capable of doing that herself. She’s drunk, sure, but she’s not too pissed to take care of herself.
“M’fine,” she insists, trying to back into the loo, but his hand holds the door tight enough to block her entry. “I will just call -”
He quickly grabs her shoulder, twisting her slightly, so he has access to the bag laying across her hip. Before she knows it, he’s fished her mobile from her bag and is holding it out in front of her.
“Passcode?”
Lia feels a protest bubble in her throat, but his hardened face, and her suddenly spinning vision wins out.
“There’s a good girl,” he mumbles, punching in the digits.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, rather than acknowledging the spark that ignites somewhere deep in her belly, Lia huffs and walks into the toilet.
He’s not surprised to find every name in her address book labeled very professionally by last and first name. He shoots off a text to Kate and opens the web to search for a cab number. The last tab opened was information on the internship opportunity at SONY and Harry’s face flickers with irritation. “Stubborn thing…” he mutters.
If he’s short with the cabbie, his anger has been misdirected.
When Lia trips out of the loo she’s slightly worse for wear. Mr. Styles grabs her hand to steady her and tries to wrap her purse around her shoulder more securely, but she quickly reaches up to do it herself. His frustration finally getting the best of him, he grabs her wrist and pins them to her chest. The alcohol she’s consumed over the last few hours is fogging her brain and clouding her ability to read social cues. So, instead of recognising the unfiltered irritation on his face, she tries to fight her hands in his grip.
“Stop fighting me, Lia.”
“I don’t need your help, Mr. Styles.”
He ignores her and drapes the purse more securely across her body. She pouts at him and looks down pointedly at her still captive wrist, “And it’s Liana.”
Whatever dam of frustration was maintained snaps right then. He pulls her into the corner and pushes her back up against the wall harshly, a hand still keeping her wrists locked against her chest. He leans in close, his stubble brushing her cheek, and his lips pressed flush against her ears.
“Listen,” he whispers hotly, “I know y’want the Sony internship and I’ll be damned if I m’going to watch y’throw the opportunity away. I want you in my office, working as my assistant, being mine. Y’got that, love?”
It’s not a rhetorical question and he waits for her response. She nods, small, and slight, something beginning to burn hot in the pit of her stomach.
“Good girl” he mumbles and that same heat ignites somewhere through her chest and down into her toes. She squirms inside his hold. “The final papers will be sent to you tomorrow. You will sign them, and get them turned back in by midweek. Understood?”
She nods, again. Her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. The fogginess of her brain is overwhelming but she knows it’s not just the alcohol clouding her thinking.
“I’ll be y’personal assistant, then, Mr. Styles?” she asks, a heaviness coating her voice that the man doesn’t miss. He laughs warmly, his thumb reaching up to pull her lip out from under her teeth.
She knows it’s the alcohol, and the frustration, and his words, and the newness of being wanted so passionately, so fiercely, but the phrase passes her lips before she can catch it. “Kiss me, please.”
“Lia,” he says fondly, running his hand along her jaw. “You’re not in your right mind.”
“M’fine,” she lies, leaning into his touch.
The thumb trailing her jaw passes over her lips and slips past her teeth to run along her tongue. She wraps herself around it, closing her lips, and sucking on him desirously.
He leans in, running his nose along her jaw, his teeth nip playfully at a spot right under her ear. “Tell me you’ll take the internship.”
She shivers, the heaviness of his thumb in her mouth, and the bite of his teeth warm on her skin. Her hips buck up on their accord, pressing hard into his body, taking whatever give he’ll let her have. She gasps when he nudges at her feet, wedges his leg in between her legs, and allows her to brush up against his thigh. His thumb pops out of her mouth, reaching to the back of her neck, and pulling on a handful of hair until her neck is arched. His teeth just barely brush a spot of flesh, his bite threatening, but he holds back.
“I’ll take the internship,” she moans, a dull ache heavy in her core.
“Perfect,” he says, his voice a bit thicker than early. Without hesitation, he steps back, taking away all their contact. “I expect the contract no later than Wednesday.”
Lia’s still spread out embarrassingly against the wall. Her neck arched back, her dress bunched up slightly, and her eyes closed as she processes the loss of his touch.
She notices that Mr. Styles is looking at her quite smugly again. “Your ride’s here, pet,” he’s holding up her phone with a notification from the cab. “What timing?” he adds as she snatches her mobile from his hand and uses her thumb to clear up the lipstick she’s sure he smeared along her mouth.
“M’names Liana,” she snaps, following him as he grabs one of her hands and leads her to the door.
He stops at the coat-check, “Go grab your coat, quickly.
She shakes her head, “I didn’t wear one.”
He huffs, grumbles something about that needing to change, and wanders into the coat-check himself. When he returns he has a heavy peacoat draped across his arm. He stands behind her to drape it over her shoulders.
“M’fine without it. M’just goin’ to be outside briefly,” she assures him as he turns her to face him and begins to button down the coat. She bats away his hands. “Seriously, s’fine.”
He’s bent over to get to the buttons, so when he looks at her he’s directly at her level. He traps her wrist discreetly and buries his mouth next to her ear in what could be perceived as a loving whisper. “Stop fighting me,” his breath is hot on her ear, “or it’s going to make your life that much more difficult.”
Lia doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to voice, can’t even bring herself to nod or do anything more than blink in confusion.
He pats her bottom a little more than playfully as he helps her into the waiting cab.
“Sweet dreams, Lia,” he tells her with that same smug smile that she’s beginning to think is just in his nature.
Lia spends the ride home thinking about his thumb in her mouth, and along her jaw, and in her hair, and exactly what being Mr. Styles’ assistant entails.
[Masterpost]
I said this to a person without realizing I haven't talked to him in over 5 years and it may be aggressive
I'm laughing so hard omg if you're feeling down just go to the blog slightlyaggressiveaffirmations it's great
