Zo Kravitz In High Fidelity (2020) Teaser

Zoë Kravitz in High Fidelity (2020) teaser

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Harry performing Falling at the BRIT Awards - February 18

It’s None Of Your Business

You’re passionately singing along to Harry’s album in your car while stuck in dead-stop traffic on the way home from work. You don’t know, but Harry is watching from the car next to you (1.6k).

***A/N - This is my first time ever posting fic so please give me some feedback!!! I’m in the process of writing a longer fic but I wanted to bite the bullet and post something short. A big thanks to @yes-daddy-i-will for coming up with the perfect last line!!***

On most days, you’re really bothered by heavy traffic. On any day but today, you’d be muttering obscenities under your breath at every stop and start of the cars in front of you. You might even let out a bit of road rage that you sometimes let slip when particularly frustrated. But it’s been a great day, and you don’t even care that it might take you an extra half hour to get home. Today you were praised by your boss, received a bonus that will pay for your upcoming car insurance, and there’s now a long weekend to look forward to. It’ll be the first real break you’ve had in months since starting as a full timer at work, and you’re looking forward to properly resting and seeing a few neglected friends. A year ago you would have thought that four days off in a row is nothing, but now you’re jumping for joy at the mere thought of what you could do with the time. You usually spend your weekends catching up on sleep and relaxing just enough to not feel like a trainwreck by Monday, and now you have two whole extra days to do anything that you want.

You’ve only been driving for ten minutes when the cars in front and around you all come to a complete stop on the highway. You can’t see anything but you assume that there’s been an accident or something of the sort. You can hear some distant honking and yelling but you are determined not to let anything ruin your mood, so you turn up your music to drown out the commotion. You’re listening to your favourite artist, Harry Styles. It’s been quite a while since his album came out but you’re still obsessed and listen to it on repeat. A car somewhere to your left is honking relentlessly, so you switch the song to Kiwi and turn it up even more to drown out the noise. It’s blasting through your speakers and other drivers can probably hear it but you’re in too good of a mood to care.

She worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes

Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect

And all the boys they were saying they were into it

Such a pretty face, on a pretty neck

She’s driving me crazy!

You’re so fully immersed in the song that it’s probably a good thing that the traffic isn’t letting you go anywhere. The lane to your right shifts forward slightly and a black Range Rover pulls up completely parallel to yours, windows aligned with your small vehicle. Its tinted windows don’t allow you to see into the car and you’re momentarily insecure about the fact that people can see you but you can’t see them. You glance at the cars to your left and the two in your line of sight are also expensive cars with tinted windows. This is what I get for working in a rich area of L.A., you think to yourself.

If it was any other day you’d probably be too embarrassed in stock-still traffic to sing your heart out. Usually you wait until you’re flying down the highway to roll your windows down and let your voice ring out in the rough breeze. Since you live in an apartment complex where there’s always someone around, singing in your car is your only chance to really let yourself go. It’s always been an outlet for you and you’re happiest when you’re singing to your favourite music. You don’t have to worry about anyone hearing, or complaining about the noise, or judging your voice. Singing in the car makes you feel free and happy, which is why you decide fuck it and sing as loud as you want while surrounded by other drivers who can clearly see and hear you.  

But I’m into it, but I’m into it

I’m kinda into it

It’s getting crazy

I think I’m losing it, I think I’m losing it

And are you losing it. The lyrics fly out of you as you sing along in a trance and bob your body to the beat as much as you can with the restrictive seatbelt.

I’m having your baby!

It’s none of your business!

You’re almost putting on a show of your own once the chorus hits, gesturing wildly in front of you and drumming on the steering wheel to the beat of the song. You glance into the rear view mirror and notice that you’re smiling widely, enjoying the moment. You’re doing all that you can do while stuck on the highway, and trying not to be annoyed by what is out of your control. If there was an accident, you just hope that everyone is okay. People in the cars around you are becoming more and more impatient, honking more frequently and leaning out their window to see what’s going on. There’s a man a few cars in front of you that has turned off his car and gotten out, walking forwards a bit and peering over cars to see the source of the hold up. There isn’t anything you can really do about the traffic, so you just try to drown it all out. You finish the chorus thrashing about in your seat and take a swig from your water bottle before the next verse.

It’s New York baby always jacked up,

Holland tunnel for a nose that’s always backed up

When she’s alone she goes home to a cactus

In a black dress, she’s such an actress

Driving me crazy!

It’s a little embarrassing that you have this part a little bit choreographed, because you’ve listened to the song so many times and it just sort of happened after a while. You’ve been told that you’re extremely dramatic, but right now you don’t have a care in the world about how ridiculous you probably look.

Before the second chorus, you’re thrown back into reality as the car in front of you moves forward a few yards, and you lift your foot off of the break for a moment before you come to another dead stop. The car to your right is still parallel to you, which is unexpected as there’s enough room for the car to move forward quite a bit more.

You’re at a standstill again, and fall straight back into the song. You’ve never been able to actually scream like Harry does in the song, so you just mouth along and punch the air to the beat of the drums.

She sits beside me like a silhouette

Hard candy drippin’ on me til my feet are wet

And now she’s all over me

It’s like I paid for it, it’s like I paid for it,

I’m gonna pay for this.

Your head is shaking back and forth by this point and your shoulders are bobbing one at a time. It’s an awkward and uncoordinated spontaneous dance that shows just how much fun you’re having letting it all go. You play around and improvise a harmony to sing along with Harry for the last chorus, even though it’s a bit of an odd song to create a harmony for. You’re having such a good time that you’re feeling a bit out of breath even though you’re sitting down.

As the song comes to a close, you notice some movement in your peripheral vision. The car to your right is rolling down the window closest to you, so that you can see into the interior for the first time. You barely even register that the passenger seat is empty, because you can’t see past the driver who is staring straight at you. It’s like your brain does a double take, even though you can’t move a muscle.

It’s the face you’ve only dreamed about seeing so close, and it’s weird seeing him anywhere other than on a screen. The first thing you notice is the hair clip sitting atop his head, holding his messy locks together haphazardly. It’s clear that he hasn’t shaved in a few days and he’s wearing a ratty t-shirt as if he’s just come from the gym. His eyes are covered by a pair of plain black sunglasses, but you don’t question for a moment that it’s Harry. If there was ever any doubt, it would have been immediately quelled when you glance down at his arm tattoos peeking out from under his t-shirt. Your eye is drawn to the rose on his elbow, which is resting against the window frame in a relaxed manner. Your whole body starts to feel like it’s on fire at the knowledge that it’s actually him. The boy you’ve been in love with for years from afar. The boy who wrote music that you cried to, sang to, and danced to. The boy who you assumed would never look you in the eyes like he’s doing now.

You don’t know how much time you’re staring at each other, whether it’s a few seconds or a few minutes, but eventually he begins to smirk. It’s such an intimate moment that you’re afraid to even blink. A voice in the back of your head tells you that Ever Since New York is now blaring through your speakers, but your focus on Harry has dulled everything else around you in a haze. You think he might say something so your hand reaches for the dial to turn down the music, seemingly of its own accord. You don’t break eye contact with him once.

“If you’re having my baby, love, don’t y’think it’s my business?”

Fairy Godmother

Featuring a matchmaking Nick Grimshaw who’s not nearly as clever as he thinks he is, a bouquet of fresh peonies, a bout of hay fever, and a very sleepy Harry Styles.

happy reading! x

Nick Grimshaw loves love. He loves when people are bashful and embarrassed and happy with hearts in their eyes at the first signs of romance, and he loves when they’re settled and comfortable and content as time goes on—there’s just something so pure and unadulterated and human about love and being in love. He especially loves when his mates are in love, because there’s nothing like a little romance to keep people smiling and glowing and warm—and really, that’s all Nick could ask for for his friends.

It’s the reason why his entire body is absolutely humming with delight tonight, as he jogs up the front steps of Y/N’s adorable terraced-house in Kentish Town with a bottle of Pinot Grigio tucked under his arm.

Nick’s never fancied himself a matchmaker before, but he reckons he should think about going into a profession change. It’s been less than a month since he added two of his best mates into a group chat with the intention of introducing them, and if you asked him, things are going pretty nicely so far—the group chat name is constantly evolving, because if there’s one thing Nick has fancied himself before, it’s a comedian; right now he’s pretty sure the chat is named Operation Harry Hurry Home to Y/N, and Don’t Forget the Condoms, with a couple eggplant emojis, because Nick knows Harry’s blushing about it during his flight across the Atlantic (and if there’s one thing he loves more than love, it’s embarrassing his mates).

The group chat’s been lively, livelier than Nick ever could have hoped for, constantly shifting from banter about reality TV shows to stories about each other’s days to One Direction memes that Nick has been steadily building a collection of over the years. His two best mates have taken to each other quickly, flirting and making fun of Nick in a way that he only tolerates because he’s trying to see the big picture (that of course being the two of them eventually getting married, and hopefully naming their firstborn after him).

It all could’ve gone to shit, really, after the first and only time he introduced the two in person—at Nick’s house a few weeks ago, over a few romantic comedies and a couple buckets of popcorn that Harry pretended not to want and promptly stole all of. They could’ve not gotten on, or told Nick off for meddling too much, and it could’ve been painfully awkward, but none of that happened. Nick thinks it’s safe to say things are steadily creeping in the right direction. He is, after all, on Y/N’s front stoop with a bottle of wine and ingredients for lettuce wraps she asked him to pick up on his way over, and a text from Harry in his back pocket confirming that he’s just landed at Heathrow. That means that it’s only a matter of time before Nick can play Fairy Godmother, as he so loves to do, and set his latest plan in motion.

Keep reading

HARRY STYLES at the BRIT Awards 2020