size 10 feet

Sentiments Mean Nothing

A/N: Welllll, first Harry Styles fic because, honestly, I’ve been a hardcore fan of his and the boys since literally 2011 and his solo career has been hitting me right in the heart, my baby’s doing so well, I’m such a proud mother. So, have this. This is, by far, the longest shot I’ve written on this blog so let’s hope it doesn’t get too boring and you enjoy it as much as I did writing it x.

Warning(s): Swearing, very slight Daddy kink at the end, suggestive sexual nature throughout

Word count: 4,261

Pairing(s): Harry Styles x Reader / Harry Styles x OC (Original Character)


          You know, it wasn’t so much that she and Harry hated each other, per se, rather it was just that they had both developed a sort of, mutual dislike towards one another that, quite frankly, neither of them knew where it stemmed from. The pair had done nothing wrong to each other to deserve the hostility, but it was there and they both never really knew why. It was very much like an ancient feud between them.

Very Montague vs. Capulet-esque.

However, considering that they’d only had the pleasure of knowing of the other’s existence for about 2 years, the use of the word, ‘ancient’, seems invalid. Nevertheless, from the moment they first met, there seemed to have been an already established tension between the two personalities and needless to say, neither of them cared for the personality of the other.

See, he was a private person, an introvert, you could say; despite being a household name around the world, and preferred to keep himself to himself regarding personal matters but being quite the socialite when it came to public appearances.

She, on the other hand, she was… loud, in Harry’s books. An outgoing and excitable character that wore her heart on her sleeve within the comfort of her inner circle in contrast to the shy, non-talkative woman he had met through a mutual friend during a party.

With him being the one to instigate the conversations the whole time with a drink in his hand and a wide, fake-looking smile that looked practiced for situations like these, she found him pretentious and over-bearing. Talking to her as if she was a little girl who was too immature to talk to strangers.

And with her barely opening her mouth to answer his questions, nodding her head up and down or shaking it from side to side instead as an indicator of her feelings to avoid awkward stutters and embarrassing herself, all the while sipping from her glass and avoiding the glint in his eyes as he talked to her, he found her dismissive and arrogant. As if she didn’t have the time to converse with someone like him.

Despite their feelings towards each other, though, they had wound up spending extended amounts of time together over the course of the 2 years seeing as she had managed to pick up the job of his fashion stylist ever since the band went on a hiatus and he launched his solo career.

Although, the former cold-shoulders and silent treatments as they went on with their own tasks for the day started to dissolve. Their prejudices were still upheld, just shown in a slightly different manner as they became more accepting and comfortable towards their mutual distaste for one another.

During the first year, scornful glances and tight smiles were shared as they conversed briefly as to what Harry would be wearing for his next TV appearance. This was to be replaced during the second year with extra touchy-feely advances to tease and sarcastic remarks followed by cheesy pet-names to piss each other off were exchanged as she took Harry’s new measurements.

“You should buy me dinner ‘fore you get on your knees, sweetheart.” A dirty, but snide, comment was normal from Harry and she had honestly been expecting it from the moment she had started to measure his inseam.

“’S a good thing you pay for dinner then, i'n’t it? Tha’ way you can get on your knees for me.” She spoke in rebuttal before leaning back into a squatting position and standing back up. Her heels adding a good three inches to her height but still not nearly as tall as the 5'11" man in front of her.

She pivoted on her heel to place the measuring tape back in its rightful place before recording the numbers into her little journal of everything important she needed to know about Harry in order to fit him perfectly to his tailor-made, brand-name outfits.

She heard him step off the mini platform at the centre of the room and stalk behind her, his warmth radiating from his body to hers.

Why does he always stand so close, for fuck sake, it’s like he has no spacial awareness.” It was times like these where she thought to herself if there would be any chance in the world, where she could find a genuine bubble she could permanently place Harry in to avoid the close contact every minute, she would.

“Tell me again why we need t’ do these fitting things every six months? Seriously, ’m a grown man, my body doesn’t change tha’ much in tha’ time period.” Harry starting to fiddle with her pen she just used to write with as his minty breath fanned over the right side of her face.

“It does with your irregular fucking diet plans, Styles. Would it kill you t’ stick t’ one regime?” She spun around and leant against the grand table with her arms folded, looking up at the, now short-haired, tattooed man as he shifted to put his hands on the edge of the intricate furniture either side of her body.

“Mm, I think ’s jus’ 'cause you wanna try your hand at seducing me during these sessions.” His voice lowered down to a sultry, deep tone in an attempt to fluster his stylist but she, as always, stands her ground.

“If I wanted t’ seduce you, baby, I would’ve done it by now,” She leant up slightly, the endearing term fell from her mouth without hesitance while their breaths mixed between their parted lips as she continued. “And besides, size 10 feet? Not tha’ impressive.” She smirked subtly as she saw his face fall. He knew what she was indirectly referring to and, judging by the way he reacted, she knew she had hit a nerve in which she also gathered he would to try prove her wrong.

But before he could, however, she slipped out from underneath him and started walking towards the entrance to exit the room, her heels clicking against the expensive marble floors, not bothering to close the chrome door and yelling a, “make sure t’ lock the door when you leave!” to a rigid Harry who let out a sigh and rubbed his ring-clad hands over his face to let out some frustration towards the woman who was trapped in between him and the mahogany table not even thirty seconds ago, before slamming his hand on it and purposely leaving the door wide open in spite.


          “Change.”

Was the only word from the judgmental, but somehow always right, fashion stylist that Harry heard as he did a twirl in his new suit. Having quite the admiration towards the look, if he does say so himself, after inspecting it in the mirror.

“Whyy?” He drew out the word to emphasise his annoyance with the constant change of outfits. He might as well be a marathon runner, he’s breaking a sweat from changing his bloody clothes.

“Because, honey, the shirt doesn’t match the suit at all. That’s why I told yeh t’ wear black, not white, bu’ look who didn’t listen yet again.” She stood there behind him with her pen held in between her front teeth and one arm around her torso to keep her other elbow resting on top, catching his eye through the mirror.

He scans her choice of clothing today and, as per usual, she’s wearing the most stylish and trendy pieces that she matches so well with her heels. Harry’s never really understood how she so effortlessly throws together a look ready for the runway everyday when she comes into work but still manages to keep it light and casual as if it was the first thing she found in her closet earlier in the morning.

He trailed his eyes up her body, tanned and fit, may he add, to her subtly made up face which was glowing. He assumed it was from the highlighter she applied, because why else would he describe her as 'glowing’? That’s disgusting. He doesn’t like her. Not one bit.

“Have you quite finished staring at me, or do I need t’ get the camera for yeh so it’ll last longer?” She allowed the tease to be projected as she approached him, standing on the tiny platform, meaning their bodies were now pressed against each others’ closely before she shrugged off his suit jacket and started unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“'Ey, 'ey, 'ey. You normally need t’ get me drunk first before we can 'ave some fun, darlin’.” He smirked down at her, watching as she aggressively rolled her sparkling eyes at his comment. She continued to pull the shirt off of him and stepped down to grab the black shirt she had wanted him to wear in the first place.

As she turned around, she couldn’t help but notice a slight change in his physical appearance. His back muscles seemed more prominent. His thighs looked even more full than they already were when she last took a good look at them. His arms were bulkier. His torso now adorned with evident bumps of abdominal muscles. Even his cute, little bum seemed rounder and plumper which made her stifle a giggle.

“Awe, babe, have you been working out?” She had to bite her bottom lip to stop her bursting out into laughter when she caught him standing up a bit straighter, looking proud that his work was noticeable.

“Nice t’ know you were checking me out back there. Like wha’ yeh see, angel?” The pet-names were used as a kind of second nature to the pair of them now, but they were far from endearments. No, on the contrary, they were always laced with slight undertones of incivility and cheek. They were both familiar with them by now.

“Oh, most definitely. You been working out jus’ for me? I know ’m the only one you strip down for lately.” She referenced to the multiple outfit decisions they had to endure with every appearance he made in public, which people would be surprised as to how often that is, and she had to make sure that he was not seen repeating a look. God forbid he wore the same trousers twice.

She slowly made her way towards the, still shirtless, male stood in the middle of the high-ceiling-ed chamber, decorated with mirrors, as she ran her hands up and down his back before rubbing at his shoulders. Harry’s head fell back at the sensation of the soothing motions on his shoulders, he had been meaning to go to a masseuse to get the knots out of his joints for a while now. He closed his eyes and let out a content sigh, completely forgetting that she would be the last person on Earth he would want to touch him like this a few days ago but he allowed the action.

“Yeh know I was filming 'Dunkirk’, sweetie, don’t flatter yourself.” He retorted as he pulled her round to his front by her waist and leant his body against hers, his frame towering over her smaller one.

“’S a shame, really. And here I was, about t’ let you have your way with me only if you had jus’ admitted this is all for me.” She fake-pouted as she taunted him, something she has perfected over the years, with her hands resting against his naked chest. There was something about the way her clothed, soft chest was pressed into his bare, hard one that made the both of them lose control of the situation at hand temporarily as they focused on each other in that moment.

“Don’t tempt me, baby.” His voice switched to a low whisper, a threat almost.

“I don’t have to.” She replied with confidence, her eyes flickering to his raspberry-coloured lips that looked so inviting.

It was strange for the both of them, being in this position they’d never thought they’d see themselves in, but here they are. Through all the slight sexual tension covered up by distasteful remarks about each other over the years, clouded by the decision subconsciously made that they had a repulsion towards one another, they had failed to realise that attraction could’ve easily been confused with said repulsion, convincing themselves that it was a fact neither of them liked the other and that was final. Perhaps too afraid to confess and deal with the consequences of their feelings.

Just as they begun to come to terms with the compromising position they were in, and even more conflicting emotions fluttering around the space, the door was pushed open and two flailing bodies broke apart at lightning speed. Harry quickly finding his black shirt and fumbling with the buttons as the flustered stylist violently grabbed her journal and pretended to write in it whilst holding the pen upside down.

Not another word was spoken between the two of them as they complete the fitting session, everyone coming to a conclusion that the black shirt was indefinitely better than the white, much to Harry’s dismay, and their day was done.

The two parted and went their separate ways, however, the mental image of the other never left their minds for the rest of the week until they had to face the music at the next session.


          Harry was fucked.

Royally fucked.

So fucked, in fact, that he decided to wallow in self-pity at how fucked he was then he went out and fucked a random girl whilst thinking of fucking his attractive stylist he had now realised he had already fucked things over with.

If that doesn’t scream, “fucked”, I don’t know what does.

Though what he didn’t know, was that said stylist was also feeling the same way about him and was completely distraught over the idea that she might like Harry Styles. The same Harry that would make her want to rather die than converse with him for more than ten minutes. The same Harry that would tempt her to spit in his food whenever it got delivered during the fittings. The same Harry that would force her to socialise with large groups of people she didn’t know when he knew it made her uncomfortable.

But it was also the same Harry that, when he held her in his arms that other day, made her feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. And it was the same Harry with pink, soft lips that she wanted to kiss so desperately whilst, at the same time, tugging on his curly locks.

Though, more importantly, he was her Harry. He had always been her Harry to tease, to taunt, to tantalise, and to mess with until he’d get all riled up and sometimes push her against the wall (which she didn’t necessarily mind). But now, she wanted to describe him as being her Harry in a different way, and that scared the shit out of her.

She didn’t know what the fuck to do anymore, it’s like her life lost all purpose if she couldn’t make fun of the Cheshire-raised lad, and now all she wanted to do was tell him about her family and cuddle. She had actually begun to suspect she had developed some sort of illness and hoped it would go away like a common cold.

Although, she figured this was not the case the next time she saw him, in all his 5'11" glory, at a party very much like the one they first met at two years ago. Sipping on her alcoholic beverage, she observed him from far away as he mingled, as he always does so flawlessly, with people she had never seen before in her life. The very mere fact that he was in her presence not even ten feet away made her stomach tighten with new feelings she never thought she would associate with the musician and she hated herself for it.

Turning her body away from him towards the bar, she asked for another drink, slipping the rectangular note of currency towards the bartender as he fixed her up yet another glass. She knew she had most likely needed to have stopped drinking so heavily around the 'two hours ago’ mark, but right now, she really couldn’t care less, she just wanted to forget about Harry and if getting her stomach pumped for the first time means achieving her goal then fuck it.

Her motive was short-lived, however, since the charming man that was swimming her mind plopped himself on the stool next to her and gave her a sly smirk.

“Wha’ do we 'ave here?” He questioned, mainly to himself, as he observed the obviously intoxicated woman in front of him.

She rolled her eyes, hopping off the high stool, only to fall face first into Harry’s crotch which made him jerk back at the impact and let out a slight groan before cupping her cheeks and lifting her head up to inspect how far gone she really is.

“Heloooo, handsummm!” She tried her best to imitate a wolf-whistle seeing as she couldn’t actually whistle so instead made a sort of high-pitched, 'whi-woo’, as she trailed her index finger down the curve of his cheek and smiling drunkenly, “I misst yeww…” The slur in her words concerned him, not knowing how much she’s had to drink and she clearly could not stand up without support.

“’M gonna take yeh home, okay, baby girl? You’re alrigh’.” He scooped her up into his arms without any struggle and started to manoeuvre his way out of the clammy air of the bar to the nippy, fresh air of the London streets. He set her down on her feet for a second, leaning her against him to keep her balance, as he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her, knowing that even though his place was only a rough 20 minute walk from the party location, the chilly air would get to her more easily than it would him, she’d always been sensitive to the cold, and at this time of night, it certainly didn’t make the air more humid.

After a solid few minutes of walking to his abode, they finally reached the welcoming front door of his mansion, him fiddling in his pocket to find the right set of keys before twisting the lock and pushing the door open. A gust of warm, fruit-scented air hit the both of them as he stepped inside, laying her down on his extended white sofa in the living room before closing the door.

“Mmm, are yeh gon’ sex me up noww, Daddy?” Her sudden words making him choke on his own spit, as he cautiously walked towards the tiny figure resting on his comfortable seating area.

“No, no, ’m not, baby, not right now, yeh need t’ rest. I’ll get yeh some water and some Advil t’ take then we can go t’ bed, okay?” He spoke in a soft, calming tone that made her suddenly relaxed, only finding the strength in her to nod before he stroked her hair back from her face and made his way to the well-presented, expensive kitchen with more room than he needed.

As a matter of fact, all the rooms in this place were more than he needed, if he was honest, but he just didn’t know what else to use his money on.

Approaching the worn-out female sprawled across his sofa with a glass of fresh water and two pills in his other hand, he set down the glass on the side table whilst reaching his hand out to tilt her head up slightly and sit her up enough so she could swallow comfortably. He pried open her mouth by holding her jaw and placed the pills on the top of her tongue that had traces of alcohol left on it, bringing the liquid up to her lips and telling her to swallow gently. She obeyed and took the medication before slumping back onto the cushiony surface as he sighed, soaking in her beauty, even in this state of mind.

He watched as she closed her eyes and got comfortable, taking it as his cue to leave her to sleep, so kissed her forehead with care, and started to prepare to deal with whatever shit storm that was bound to happen, in the morning. Well, that was until he heard a small whine coming from her calling out for him.

“Harryy?… Stay wit’ meh? I wan’ cuddles.” She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling gently at the sight. She was just so adorable, how could he say no?

“’M right here, poppet, ’m not going anywhere.” He answered her before carefully laying down beside the inebriated girl he had grown fond of these past couple of weeks and tangled their limbs together, letting her rest her head against his chest and wrap herself around him in an attempt to snuggle and use him as her own personal pillow and blanket.

As he listened to her breathing become regular and so quiet he had to strain to listen to it, he knew she had fallen asleep so pressed another tender kiss to the crown of her head and whispered to her in her unconscious state.

“I’d never leave you.”

And it was in that sweet moment that Harry now realised that she had a hold on him, and he intended on not letting go.


          Harsh rays of bright sunlight beamed through white, sheer curtains and hit her face as she stirred from her slumber. It was a Saturday morning and she was definitely not in the comfort of her own home so thought the worst and groaned inwardly in shame at herself for letting herself get so wasted. The first thing she did was just look down at her, what she expected to be, naked body, but instead found herself and the mystery man fully clothed. Confusion overtook her features and something she noticed right away was that her 'pillow’ was breathing and they’re not supposed to do that, right? Or was she still tripping from the after effects of the amounts of alcohol she consumed last night?

A wave of pain radiated throughout her head as she groaned, bringing a palm to her forehead in an unsuccessful attempt to soothe it slightly. Her movements unnoticeably woke up her 'pillow’ and startled her when the familiar deep, raspy, and, dare she say, sexy morning voice sounded from underneath her.

Oh, fuck me, not Harry. Anyone but Harry.” She thought to herself, although not truly meaning it since she found herself absentmindedly wanting the situation to have been more… wild.

“Well, good mornin’, sunshine.” He chuckled lightly at her facial expression following the pet-name he had chosen.

“Wha’ the fuck happened last night?” She asked half-heartedly.

Part of her didn’t really care what happened whilst the other part dreaded what his answer would be.

“You really don’t remember?” His voice was thick with an emotion she couldn’t quite pin-point but she did know that she felt guilty after hearing it, sensing that he was a little disappointed.

She merely shook her head and bit her lip, titling her head up to read his clouded eyes, they always gave away whatever he was thinking, she detected this within the first few months of knowing him.

“It doesn’t matter, now can you get off of me, you’re starting t’ feel like a deadweight. I honestly can’t feel my legs.” His whole demeanour changed in a split second and she was a little surprised but what did she expect, really? He’s just the same old Harry, though she’d be lying if she said it didn’t hurt a little.

“I’m not getting up 'til you tell me exactly wha’ happened, Harry.” She was adamant. She was always the type of person to get answers out of whoever she wanted, he was starting to wonder why she wasn’t a fucking lawyer or something.

“Listen, nothin’ happe-.” He was cut off by her swollen lips pressed against his.

To say he was shocked would be an understatement, he was bloody flat-lining on the inside but he quickly reciprocated the sudden, but passionate, kiss as he wrapped his arms around her waist with her hands coming up to caress his cheeks. Her legs ended up either side of his torso and she pulled away just before he had the chance to poke his tongue in her mouth, just to tease, like normal.

“D'yeh want something t’ happen?…” She questioned him inquisitively, not 100% sure that he shared the same feelings that she had pent up inside of her for, what felt like, decades.

He responded by flipping her so she laid on her back instead and hovered over her, leaning down to peck her lips once more before moving down to her neck and pressing open-mouthed kisses along the skin.

“All ’ve been thinkin’ 'bout for ages, darlin’. Let Daddy make yeh feel good.” He smirked into her skin once he felt her gasp quietly and visibly tense at his words.

“I called you, 'Daddy’, last night, didn’t I?” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment once she heard him chuckle and answer with a muffled, “you did”.

“And it definitely won’t be the last time.” He commented in a sultry voice before raising his head to make eye contact with her and leaning down to connect his lips with hers another time.


He made a promise, and he was damn hell-bent on making sure he kept it.

I need decent purple shoes that could pass off as semi formal for a secret cosplay and the only ones I could find that weren’t either godawfully extra or normal sneakers were these

but they only come in size 11.5 and I’m a 9 and I can’t find them anywhere else and I want to cry

2

Okay am very proud of this. Our assignment was to use an unconventional canvas to work with ( and I had a bunch of these  sitting outside ). I thought that it would be cool to play around with the juxtaposition between what we expect to be on certain canvases and what kind of canvases we expect certain types of art to be on. 

anonymous asked:

All my friends are naturally snall like thin and pretty it makes me feel like shit for being the fat one of the group :(

If all your friends had blonde hair while you had brown, would you feel weird? If you had brown eyes while they all had blue would you feel like you didn’t belong? What if they all had size 10 feet while you wore an 8? Chances are you wouldn’t feel too abnormal. So why does another physical trait that you don’t share with your friends make you feel like the odd man out? There’s no wrong way to have a body! 💕

So one thing that always makes me happy is the idea of having a cute monster boyfriend/girlfriend. Lately it’s been on my mind. I love the idea of them being big enough for me to fall asleep on, but not too big that they don’t fit in the house. Like a mini giant size (10-15 feet maximum). I tend to favor nagas, driders, dragons scorpion taur types, and lately werewolves. A giant pupper would be wonderful haha

3

you know as long as I’m selling shit, I have a $300 pair of pink fluevog booties that I never wear, and that I’d be willing to let walk stylishly out the door for $200. they’re super comfortable and so so cute, I’ve never worn them anywhere without getting stopped in the street. size 10 and ½, but they fit my 9 and ½ to 10 sized feet. any takers?

i got new shoes yesterday (theyre not actually new they r from a charity shop and kinda scuffed and grubby) but they hav loads of extra space at the end so with shoes on my size 4 feet are the same size as my brothers size 10 feet when he’s not wearing shoes. its great!!!!!