#One of my biggest regrets for that album | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loveesiren · 7 days ago

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𝒮𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒

Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon) x Reader

a/n: see the full request here! I changed it a little, hope you don't mind! I wrote this while kind of tipsy so it's not my favorite, sorry if the proofreading was shit/if there's any mistakes! I hope you enjoy regardless! <3

synopsis: After their fight, Y/n is surprised to hear that her best friend still needs her so desperately.

warnings: angst, language, panic attack, fluff

wc: 3.7k+

Spending time with your best friend has always been your favorite thing in the world. Jiyong was your safe space, your person—the one you could sit in comfortable silence with or talk to for hours on end without ever running out of things to say. But lately, that joy had been overshadowed by a growing concern gnawing at your chest.

BIGBANG’s tour was just around the corner, and their new album was about to drop. It was supposed to be an exciting time, and it was—you were beyond thrilled for them, for him. You had always been his biggest supporter, ready to help in any way you could. But as you sat in the dimly lit practice room, watching Jiyong push himself to his absolute limit, that excitement soured into unease.

His voice was raw from overuse, cracked and strained in a way that made you wince every time he spoke. He practiced his choreography until he was drenched in sweat, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Some nights, he worked himself to the point of collapse, and you were the one left to pick up the pieces—carrying his limp, exhausted body to bed, draping a blanket over his shaking form, whispering for him to rest even though you knew he wouldn’t listen.

Tonight was no different. The music blasted through the studio speakers, and Jiyong was lost in the rhythm, his body moving on autopilot despite the evident exhaustion written all over him. You watched as his steps faltered, his balance wavering. Then, just like that, his legs buckled, and he went crashing down.

“Jiyong!” You rushed to his side, your heart hammering as you kneeled beside him. His skin was clammy, his breathing ragged as he tried to push himself up. You grabbed the water bottle you’d brought for him and shoved it into his trembling hands.

“Drink,” you urged, your voice softer now, laced with worry. He took a few sips, barely able to keep the bottle steady. “Ji, you’re worrying me,” you admitted, eyes searching his for any sign that he’d finally listen, that he’d see what he was doing to himself.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Just have to make sure I’m ready for tour.”

You shook your head. “Ji, you’re overworking yourself. You’ve got everything perfected, okay? Give yourself time to rest.”

He exhaled sharply, pushing himself to his feet despite your hand reaching out to steady him. “You don’t get it, Y/n,” he said, brushing past you, already making his way back to the center of the room.

You stood as well, crossing your arms as you watched him stubbornly reset the track. “I get that you’re tired, Ji,” you said gently, trying again. “You’re just hurting yourself at this point—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped, cutting you off as the first beats of the song echoed through the studio.

Your chest tightened. “I’m just worried… I mean, you fainted and now you just want to keep going like nothing happened?”

Jiyong clenched his jaw, his fists balling at his sides. He turned to face you, eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, frustration, desperation?

“Look, Y/n,” he said, his voice cold and sharp, each word like a blade slicing through your chest. “You’re a bartender, alright? You don’t have to be that skilled at anything.”

The air in the room shifted instantly. You felt the words like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat.

Jiyong must have seen the way your face fell because for a split second, his expression flickered with something softer—regret, maybe? But then it was gone, replaced by a steely determination as he turned back to his practice.

“If I’m not perfect, then I’m done. Alright?” He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “If you can’t handle it, then fuck off.”

Silence.

You scoffed, a bitter chuckle escaping your lips even as you fought to keep the tears at bay. “Wow,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Fuck you, Jiyong.”

You turned on your heel, grabbing your bag with shaking hands as you stormed out of the studio. You half-expected him to call after you, to chase after you and take it back. But he didn’t.

The only sound that followed you was the relentless pounding of the bass as he started the song over again.

The moment you stepped outside, the cold night air hit you, but it did nothing to dull the sting of his words. Your vision blurred as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. You barely registered getting into your car, hands gripping the wheel so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

You had always known Jiyong could be stubborn, obsessive even. But this? This was something else. This was him drowning, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull him back to the surface.

And worst of all, he didn’t even want you to.

You barely made it into your apartment before collapsing onto your bed, burying your face in the pillows as sobs wracked your body. You cried until there was nothing left, until exhaustion took over, pulling you into a restless sleep.

How is he? You texted Seunghyun, your fingers hesitating for a moment before hitting send.

A few minutes passed before your phone buzzed with his response.

Being a total prick.

You sighed, pressing your forehead into your palm. It had been three days since you last spoke to Jiyong. Three days since he spat those words at you, since you walked out of that practice studio, feeling like the ground had been ripped from beneath you. Three days of silence.

And now, with BIGBANG’s first show of the tour just four days away, all you could do was check in through the others. You had been messaging Seunghyun and Daesung, hoping—maybe even praying—that Jiyong would come to his senses, that he’d realize how badly he had hurt you. But instead, he was still working himself into the ground, still burning himself out, and in return, treating everyone around him like shit.

You bit your lip, debating whether to text him. Your fingers hovered over his contact, but your stomach twisted at the memory of his voice.

"You’re a bartender, alright? You don’t have to be that skilled at anything."

That one line alone still stung like hell.

Jiyong had always been intense when it came to his career, but never—not once—had he spoken to you like that. You had been his best friend for years, his shoulder to lean on when things got too heavy. And yet, the moment you expressed concern, he shoved you away like you were nothing.

Was that really how he saw you? Just some nobody?

You blinked back the fresh sting of tears. No. You refused to let yourself dwell on it anymore. Instead, you did what you always did when life became too much—you threw yourself into work.

Extra shifts, late nights, anything to keep your mind occupied. And it worked… for the most part. But when Saturday rolled around, that familiar ache settled in your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake.

You had never missed one of Jiyong’s home shows. Not once. From his first-ever performance to the biggest sold-out stadiums, you were always there, watching from the V.I.P section, cheering him on. But this time? This time, you weren’t even sure if he wanted you there.

So, you made the decision. You picked up an extra shift at the bar. Saturday nights were always hectic, and if nothing else, at least the tips would be good.

Still, as you got ready for work, your heart ached. It felt wrong not being there.

You glanced at your phone. Zero messages from Jiyong. Nothing. He wasn’t even going to check in. Not even a half-assed apology. Your fingers tightened around your phone, debating one last time if you should reach out.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath before quickly typing out a message.

“I love you, Ji. Good luck at your show tonight.”

Short. Simple. To the point.

You sent it before you could overthink it, shoving your phone into your bag and focusing on finishing your makeup.

Meanwhile…

Jiyong sat in the dressing room, his body slumped against the couch. His vision swam as he stared at his phone, your message illuminating the screen. His hands trembled as he gripped the device tighter, reading and rereading your words.

"I love you, Ji."

God, his chest ached.

His head was pounding, his skin slick with sweat despite the AC blasting in the room. He was exhausted—more exhausted than he had ever been in his life. His entire body ached, his muscles screaming in protest with every movement. He had barely eaten in days, barely slept. And now, the crushing weight of knowing you weren’t here—knowing that he had done this, that he had driven you away—was suffocating him.

She should be here, he thought bitterly.

You were always there. Always in the crowd, always waiting for him backstage with a knowing smile and a bottle of water, telling him how proud you were. No matter what, you were there.

But not tonight.

And it was his fault.

“Jiyong, are you okay?”

He barely registered his stylist’s voice until he felt the cool press of her hand against his forehead.

“You’re burning up,” she muttered, concern evident in her tone.

“M’fine…” he mumbled, swatting her hand away weakly.

She frowned but didn’t argue, instead focusing on finishing his hair, even though the strands were already damp from the sweat clinging to his skin. No amount of styling product would keep it in place—not with the way his body was overheating.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to push through the exhaustion. One hour until showtime. Just one more hour.

But even as he tried to rest, the shivering wouldn’t stop.

“Jiyong!”

His eyes snapped open at the sound of Seunghyun and Taeyang’s voices.

“What?!” he snapped, his patience paper-thin.

The two men exchanged a glance before Taeyang took a cautious step forward. “Dude… you don’t look so good.”

Jiyong scoffed, turning onto his side to face the couch. “Fuck off, I’m fine…” His body trembled violently, contradicting his words. “Just leave me alone.”

Seunghyun frowned. “You’re sweating like hell, and you’re shaking, Ji. You seriously think you can get through a full show like this?”

Jiyong gritted his teeth, forcing himself to sit up. “I said I’m fine,” he ground out, even though the room spun around him.

The others weren’t convinced. They had seen Jiyong push himself too far before, but this? This was different. He looked pale—too pale. And the way his shoulders trembled, the way his breaths came out shallow and labored, sent a deep sense of unease through them all.

“We need to tell the manager,” Seunghyun finally said. “If he collapses on stage, it’s gonna be bad.”

Jiyong let out a bitter laugh. “I won’t collapse.”

“Bullshit,” Taeyang muttered. “You can barely sit up.”

The room fell into tense silence before Daesung finally spoke up. “I’m gonna call Y/n.”

Jiyong’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing with something unreadable. “No,” he croaked, but it was weak, barely a whisper.

“She can help,” Daesung insisted, already pulling out his phone.

“Yeah, good idea,” the others agreed.

Jiyong clenched his jaw, his fists tightening in his lap. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him like this—to see him so weak, so broken.

But deep down, past all the pride, past all the self-inflicted suffering…

He just wanted you.

Because no matter how badly he fucked up, no matter how much he pushed you away…

You were the one person who could always put him back together.

The moment you stepped away from the bar, you broke into a sprint toward the bathroom, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your phone buzzed relentlessly in your pocket, each vibration sending a fresh wave of anxiety through you. Hands trembling, you yanked it out, eyes widening at the flood of missed calls.

Daesung. Seunghyun. Taeyang.

Something was wrong.

You barely had time to inhale before hitting Daesung’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“Y/n, Jiyong needs you.” His voice was tight, urgent.

Your stomach clenched. “What’s going on? I’m at work.”

“I think it’s a panic attack or something. I don’t know—he won’t let any of us help him. Y/n, please, just come.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching. “I don’t… I don’t think he wants me there, Daesung. We had a fight. He—he said some things…”

“He’s shutting down, Y/n. Our manager is thinking of canceling the show.” His voice cracked, desperation seeping through the line. “You’re his best friend. If anyone can get through to him, it’s you.”

Your fingers dug into the bathroom counter. The things Jiyong had said to you still echoed in your head, sharp and unforgiving. But was that really him talking? Or was it exhaustion twisting his words, pushing him past reason?

He was your person. Your best friend. And right now, he needed you.

“I’m on my way.” You hung up, moving quickly to gather your things, but before you could slip out, your boss caught sight of you.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going? It’s packed out there—we need you!”

“I’m sorry, sir. Family emergency,” you stammered, throwing your apron onto the counter.

“If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back.”

You met his glare, then—without a second thought—flipped him off and stormed through the crowded kitchen to the back door, heart hammering as you reached your car. You tossed your bag onto the passenger seat and peeled out of the parking lot, heading straight for the stadium. The city lights blurred past you, neon signs flickering against the darkening sky.

Your phone rang again. It was Daesung. “Hey, I’m almost there. Where do I go?” you asked breathlessly.

“You’re on the list,” Daesung said. “Just head backstage.”

You barely parked before jumping out of the car, navigating through the maze of security and flashing lights. The walls of the venue were lined with photos of legendary musicians, their eyes seeming to watch you as you ran past. Your pulse thrummed in your ears.

Then you heard Daesung call your name. “Y/n!” Daesung waved you over, his relief evident.

You didn’t waste a second. Following him down the hall, you turned a sharp corner and stepped into the dressing room. The air inside was thick with tension.

Jiyong sat hunched over, his elbows braced on his knees, his face pale and drawn. A paramedic stood beside him, pressing an ice pack to his head, murmuring something you couldn’t hear.

“Ji…” Your voice came out softer than you intended, your heart twisting at the sight of him. “What happened?”

His head lifted at the sound of your voice. His dark eyes met yours, wide and glassy.

Then, as if gravity had yanked him forward, he surged up from the couch and threw himself into your arms. His entire body trembled against you, his grip so tight it nearly stole your breath.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking.

You barely had time to steady yourself before he buried his face in your shoulder. His weight pressed into you, as if you were the only thing holding him up.

“Ji…” you whispered, your hands sliding up his back, fingers threading into his hair. “I’ve got you.”

His breath came in shuddering gasps. “I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have said those things. I should have listened to you—I shouldn’t have pushed myself so hard. I—” His voice cracked, raw and desperate. “I’m just so fucking sorry.”

The others watched silently as he clung to you, their faces a mix of relief and quiet concern.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, rubbing slow circles into his back. “I forgive you.”

His shoulders shook as he let out a quiet sob, the dam finally breaking. The weight of exhaustion, pressure, and regret poured out of him all at once.

“Can you guys give us a minute?” you asked over his shoulder, still holding him.

Daesung nodded, ushering the others out. The paramedic handed you an ice pack and a bottle of water, giving you a small nod before exiting.

Jiyong let you guide him back to the couch, collapsing onto it with a heavy sigh. He wiped at his tear-streaked face, sniffling as you handed him the water. You pressed the ice pack gently to the back of his neck.

“Ji, tell me what happened.”

He took a slow sip, his voice hoarse. “I fucked up, Y/n.” He shook his head. “You were right. I shouldn’t have pushed myself so hard. I—” He exhaled sharply. “I’m exhausted. And then you weren’t here, and I just… I don’t know. I lost it.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t think you wanted me here after what you said to me.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, guilt swimming in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it. Not for a second. I was out of my head, Y/n. I’ve been beating myself up over it for days, but I was too ashamed to call.”

Your heart softened. You reached for him, pulling him close and pressing a light kiss to his temple. “I know, Ji.” You stroked his hair gently. “I just worry about you.” A quiet pause. “I love you.”

His breath hitched. “Can you ever forgive me?” he asked, his voice small. His big, innocent eyes searched yours, raw and vulnerable.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing a tear from his cheek. “Of course I can. Just don’t ever say some dumb shit like that again.”

A weak smile tugged at his lips. “Cross my heart.”

“Do you feel any better? Do you need to cancel the show?”

He shook his head, squeezing your hand. “You fix everything. You always do. You’re magic like that.” He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against them.

Shivers ran down your spine.

“Here.” You tugged him down gently. “Lay back. You have forty-five minutes until the show. Rest as much as you can.”

With a deep breath, he let himself relax against the couch, his fingers still loosely curled around yours. You ran a comforting hand through his hair, cooling him down with the ice pack.

“How’s he doing?” Taeyang and Seunghyun appeared in the doorway of the dressing room, their faces laced with concern but softened by the sight of Jiyong sitting upright.

“I’m fine,” Jiyong muttered, his voice still a little hoarse. He ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling slowly before flashing them a sheepish smile. “Sorry for being such a prick…”

Taeyang let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “We’re just glad you’re okay, man.”

Seunghyun smirked, glancing between the two of you. “Y/n, I think we need to keep you around more often. Seems like you’re the only one who can get through to him.”

You grinned. “Well, I just lost my job, so I’m free whenever!”

“What?” Jiyong snapped his head toward you so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. His smile faded instantly, replaced by guilt and concern.

You waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine, Ji. My boss was a fucking dick anyway. I was gonna quit eventually.”

But Jiyong wasn’t convinced. He looked down, his fingers twisting the hem of his shirt as his jaw clenched. You could see the thoughts racing through his mind—this was his fault. Another thing to add to the weight he carried.

“Hey.” You softened, reaching out and tilting his chin up with your fingers, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “You’re more important, yeah?”

His bottom lip quivered ever so slightly before he muttered, “M’sorry…” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with emotion.

Your heart clenched. Without thinking, without hesitation, you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

He froze for half a second, as if his brain was struggling to process what was happening. But then, slowly, he melted into you, his hands coming up to cradle your face as he deepened the kiss.

It was hesitant at first—uncertain, full of unspoken words—but then something shifted. His fingers tightened against your skin, his lips moving with more urgency, more need. Like he had been waiting for this just as long as you had.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made you both jolt apart.

“Uh… show time in five,” Seunghyun said, eyes wide with amusement before he and Taeyang practically ran out of the room, leaving you and Jiyong in breathless silence.

As you pulled back just slightly, your noses brushed, his breath warm against your lips. His dark eyes were searching yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“W-what was that for?” he stammered, voice cracking slightly.

You bit your lip, hoping you hadn’t just overstepped everything. “Good luck,” you whispered, offering him a small smile.

Jiyong blinked at you, stunned. Then, to your surprise, his lips curled into a slow, boyish grin before he cupped your face and kissed you again. This time, it wasn’t hesitant—it was filled with silent promises, unspoken confessions, and years of built-up longing neither of you had dared to acknowledge until now.

You smiled against his lips, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“Now go!” you laughed, gently shoving him toward the door. “You don’t wanna miss your first show.”

Jiyong stumbled back slightly, his grin never faltering. As he reached the doorway, he hesitated, his fingers lingering on the frame as he turned to look at you.

“You’ll be here when I get back?” he asked, almost shyly.

Your expression softened. “I’ll always be here, Ji.”

Something in his eyes shifted, like he was silently thanking whatever higher power had brought you into his life. Then, with a final, wide smile, he spun on his heel and took off down the hall, his energy renewed.

From backstage, you watched him take the stage, his presence electrifying the entire stadium. The roar of the crowd was deafening, but all you could focus on was him.

And as he stood under the blinding lights, microphone in hand, he turned his head ever so slightly—just enough to catch a glimpse of you in the shadows.

A private smile ghosted across his lips.

Your stomach flipped.

This was only the beginning of a whole new chapter in your life.

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eilishalways · 1 year ago

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all you wanna do is kiss me

summary: billie eilish runs into her crush at the grammys 😻

warnings: a LOTTTT of blushing LMAO

a/n: so billie came out???!!!?? also - part two is out!!

billie was nervous. very nervous. not because she was at the grammy awards, but because you were gonna there. billie had a massive crush on you. since 6 months ago. it was all because of one cheeky insta post you had made. billie remembers freaking out when she saw it, and that’s when she knew. you two had talked to eachother at events before but weren’t actually friends or anything like that. billie was really hoping that something would change tonight.

as she took her seat beside finneas at the table, she half hoped you’d be on the other side of the hall, and half hoped you’d be sat beside her. the second part of her was happy. as you sat down, billie tried to suppress her giddy smile. she quickly noticed though, your perfume. musky and wet - you were wearing eilish no 2. billie freaked out in her head knowing that YOU were wearing HER perfume.

“hey billie!” you said. billie said hello back, and you greeted the rest of the table. “how are you?” you asked billie, a smile forming on your face. billie blushed slightly and replied, “i’m good - kinda nervous though. how about you?” “i’m nervous too. i really hope i win something tonight.” you laughed. last year’s grammys had been a bad one for you - you didn’t win anything. “i’m sure you’re gonna sweep it tonight,” billie reassured you, “your album was fucking amazing. i was listening on repeat for a week after it released.” she laughed, before regretting the oversharing she had done. you seemed eased though, and thanked billie for her support.

a waiter came round with flutes of champagne. you reached one, and billie did the same. you both reached for the same one, before billie removed her hand from your hand and grabbed a different one. you both laughed but you were both left blushing. billie didn’t notice this though.

“i like your dress.” billie said to you, trying to keep the conversation going. you smiled at her and replied “thank you!! i wasn’t sure if i liked it too much, but my stylist insisted. i’m so glad you like it.” billie blushed again at your comment, and became hyper aware of how red she must be at that point. you two continued to talk about your outfits, hair & makeup until a photographer came up to your table looking for photos. everyone at the table smiled for the group photos before the man moved on to taking photos of pairs. he waited to get a picture of you and billie until he was done, and billie tried not to all out scream when you pushed yourself into her arm to get in frame. the man went on to the next table, but you remained on her arm for a few seconds, saying to her “you look really good, by the way.”

billie was about to lose her cool at that point, so she was excused herself to the bathroom. she came back just in time for the awards to start being presented. she hasn’t put anything out that year, so she wasn’t nominated for anything, but she watched as the winners received their awards and made their speeches. the night was nearly finished and the final, biggest award of the night had its nominees announced - album of the year. you were among one of the nominees, alongside some very big names. you didn’t think you had any chance at all, but billie reassured you that everything would be fine.

“and the winner is… y/n l/n - (album name)!” the woman announcing the award said. you screamed in delight, and hugged billie. you slowly made your way up to the stage, accepted the award, and started your speech. you thanked your team, family, friends - all the usual stuff. but then, you thanked billie. you said into the mic “and i wanna say thank you to billie eilish. girl, you’re one of my biggest inspirations. i love you. i wear your perfumes every day! and thank you for being my hype girl tonight!!”, and then you walked off stage and back to your seat. you winked at billie before she blurted out “can i have your number?”

#eilishalways #billie eilish #billie eilish x reader

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souperbloom · 6 months ago

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in through the out door. [A.I.]

title snatched from the led zeppelin album of the same name

🪴roommate!Ash x reader

cancelled plans and a Saturday night in with your roommate, Ashton, brings you to make some rash decisions. ones that you don’t necessarily regret.

a/n: i’ve been obsessed with the roommate trope since this has been sitting in my drafts. i’ve been working on this one for so long im absolutely in love with roomie ash he is my golden boy

heavy inspo from @badomensbaby (i’m obsessed with you)

the gif i put is exactly the ash i pictured for this but feel free to picture whatever era you’d like :3 cocktail chats!ash is vERY GORGEOUS TO ME!

this is a long one, brace yourself. thinking abt making roomie ash into a series— let me know!

CONTENT WARNINGS: fluff n’ smut!, brief mention of smoking, playful banter/pet names, oral (f/m!receiving), size kink (kinda), pnv/riding, praise kink.

WORDCOUNT: ~10.3k

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Stars glistened in the velvety pitch black sky while the pale moonlight trickled down to illuminate your apartment balcony. A perfect summer night, somewhat dictated by cancelled clubbing plans, had now left you stranded.

Okay, stranded may be a bit harsh. You suppose ‘unsatisfied’ was a slightly more fitting word to describe the scenario you had been left in.

The cancelled plans in question prompted a late night hang out and smoke session with your long time friend and roommate, Ashton. Also known as, the biggest pain in your fucking ass.

"Heads or tails?"

Ashton was a homebody. Occasionally stepping out of his comfort zone in order to entertain the people he loved, Ashton was no stranger to making quick celebrity appearances at social gatherings. But he was also no stranger to dodging plans and making excuses to stay home and rot.

So when your old friend Luke had texted the two of you in a group-chat saying that plans had gone awry, Ashton had no complaints.

"Why are you asking me that?" you chuckle towards your slightly dazed roommate, sitting crisscross in your wicker patio chair.

"Don’t ask. Just pick. Heads, or tails?"

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek for a moment, watching as Ashton tosses a quarter mindlessly in and out of his palm.

Watching the coin occasionally catch the lighting of your balcony made you wish it was some sort of disco ball or strobe light. But then again, there was no possibility of you changing the events that unfolded well over two hours ago, so it was in your best interest to just forget about it.

"Hm. Heads."

"Heads?" Ashton echoes, sitting up slightly in his chair to take a hit of the joint you were splitting.

"Yeah, heads. Don’t know why but— I just feel it."

With an eyebrow raised, he shrugs, before tossing the coin up into the air and catching it with his other hand. He slaps the quarter onto the inside of his wrist; but the up side remains covered by his palm.

"Heads, right?"

"Yeah. Heads. That's what I just said, dumbass."

His side glance to you indicated that your blunt insult had rolled right off of his shoulders. He took in an exaggerated deep breath before removing his palm from the coin.

"Tails."

"No shit. You’re lying. Show me."

Ashton chuckles and picks up the coin, showing you the tails side of the quarter; the side it had landed on.

"You had a 50/50 shot and you blew it. What are the fucking odds of that?"

Slightly annoyed by this stupid game of chance, you scoff. "Did you really just make a big show of that to make me feel stupid?"

"I wasn’t trying to make you feel stupid. Then again, it’s not my fault that you are—"

You cut him off by shooting him an icy glare. A watch your mouth kind of glare.

"—Sometimes. Not all the time."

"That’s what I thought… Now, pass it. You’re hoggin’ the shit."

Begrudgingly, Ashton does what you had asked of him. He ashes the joint into the ashtray before extending his arm across to you. You pluck the stick from between his fingers with a satisfied smile, before taking a pull yourself.

Ashton’s mannerisms, although mildly annoying, had become somewhat of a comforting thing to you. You appreciated the way he always did the things you asked him to; despite occasionally putting up a fight about them. He was also very kind when need be— a shoulder to cry on, an open ear to listen. You lucked out in the friend department, and you couldn’t have been any happier with the outcome of the game of chance you played when you asked him to be your roommate.

The second bedroom of that two bedroom apartment could’ve gone to anyone. But Ashton jumped at the chance.

Now that you thought about it; it was kind of like a coin flip. 50/50 odds of success.

"The sky is so fuckin’ clear tonight. I feel like I’m tripping or something."

You shake your head, briefly knocking you out of your Ash-induced space out, "Nah, I see it too. It’s like, so clear, that it feels like it shouldn’t be— y’know?"

Ashton turns to face you, biting back a teasing smile. You return the glance as well. "What? Why're you making that face?"

"Be honest with me. Do you think about the end of your sentences before you say them?"

"You’re such a dick!" You chuckle, knowing full and well that whatever you had just said indeed made zero sense, "I thought you were too blitzed to notice."

"I’ve got the tolerance of a 100 year old tortoise. Nothin’ gets me that blitzed anymore."

"That’s a you problem then. Personally, I could take one wrong hit and be knocked out for the rest of the night. Depends on the day, really."

These kinds of meaningless conversations were, sometimes, the best part of your day. With yours and Ashton’s lives being so seperate, despite living under the same roof, it was nice to have someone to talk about nothing with.

He was like a palette cleanse. The calm amidst the chaos.

Although, to describe Ashton Irwin as calm was quite a generous compliment.

"How ya' feeling right now? Since it depends on the day, according to you."

Taking his question with careful consideration, you stretch out your legs and arms, before rising to your feet. A blissful sigh falls past your lips while your limbs fall limp, the joint still dangling between your fingertips.

You glance over at him to catch his attention, but he had already been watching.

"I feel fucking fantastic."

"Good to hear," Ashton agrees, "Me too."

"Oh yeah?" you challenge, walking over to the balcony and leaning your elbows onto it to look off and speak into the distant sky, "What’s got you feeling so good?"

There’s a brief silence that falls over the balcony. One that’s unbroken; eerily quiet, with nothing else but the rhythmic summer sounds of crickets and cicadas.

Your brows furrow at this deafening pause, bringing you to look over your shoulder back at him.

He was still just staring at you.

With hooded eyelids and a passive smile, Ashton’s eyes traipse down your body, a glimmer within them that made a pit form in your stomach. A glimmer that you hadn’t really noticed until right now.

Maybe it was the lighting from the patio, or the mix of moonlight and a foggy head; but he looked— different.

The way his button-down hung loosely off of his shoulders, displaying his sharp collarbones and assortment of stacked necklaces. The way his arms tensed each time he reached up to fiddle with the necklaces in question. It was all putting you into a— compromising headspace.

His posture was relaxed, yet you sensed a bit of urgency in his eyes. You weren’t quite sure where to place it.

The reaction you were having to these small details of his demeanor were making you sick to your stomach; it felt right to break the silence.

"You gonna answer my question? Or are you just gonna stare at me?"

Ashton shakes his head and reverts himself back to eye contact. He blinks a few times, rolling his lips inward as he continues to tamper with his jewelry.

"What? What did you ask me? M’sorry— Maybe I am a bit higher than I thought."

You turn around completely so that your back is pressed against the railing of the balcony, giving him your full attention. "I asked what’s got you feeling so good… Guess I just answered my own question."

"Oh," Ashton mumbles, sinking deeper into the cushion he was resting on, "Yeah."

You quietly clear your throat at the awkwardness, due to how evident and absolutely mortifying it felt. Ashton’s gaze had long left yours and was now staring out into the sky, following the stars while he drummed his fingers mindlessly against the wicker.

Something inside of you was doing summersaults and whatever it was felt oddly new. It was awfully strange how you couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away from him, not even for a second.

You didn’t even want to attempt asking yourself why suddenly, out of the blue, your roommate and closest friend of 5 years was now looking like a meal ready to be devoured.

It’d be too complicated.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

Ashton interrupts your slight mental turmoil, his voice low and authoritative.

"Uh—"

"You were looking at me. Don't do that."

"Oh, so you can look at me, but I can't look at you?"

Your brow furrows, crossing your arms over your chest as you glance down the light hitting the pendant of his necklace.

"It's impolite to stare," Ashton taunts, "And now you're looking at my boobs. How dare you."

"Shut the fuck up! I was not 'looking at your boobs.' I was looking at your fuckin' necklace. God you're such a jackass."

"I hate to break this to you, but someone who wasn't staring at my tits wouldn't get so defensive about it... I don't mind, y'know. With a rack like this, it's hard not to stare."

Ashton pokes his tongue out through his teeth, cupping his pecs with his hands as if he was trying to show off his 'boobs'. You try your hardest not to laugh, suppressing it by chewing on your bottom lip and shaking your head.

"If it makes you feel better," Ashton starts again, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees, "I stare at your ass all the time."

"You—" your breath catches in your throat, taken aback by his admission, "You what?"

"Okay, shit, don't look at me like that... Now I feel judged."

"I'm not judging you," you chuckle, "I just— didn't think my ass was worth staring at. Plus, I always thought you were more of a boobs kinda' guy."

The tension between you was heating up now, boiling and bubbling over like water on a stovetop.

"Oh, I am. Trust me. 'Stare at those too."

"Ashton!" you squeak, hiding your face in your hands as your cheeks warm pink.

"What?! We've lived together for how many years now? Can't fuckin’ blame me."

The game of ping-pong happening in your head was getting harder to ignore. It could've been the very small amount of weed you'd smoked, or the fact that you've been bored out of your mind since your plans had gotten cancelled, but Ashton was starting to look different.

Very different.

You weren't sure where to step with your next choice of words, but at this point, you really had nothing to lose.

"Is this you finally admitting that you're attracted to me?"

"Hm. Maybe," Ashton replies casually, a bit more casually than you'd anticipated.

"Maybe? Explain."

"Well, you are beautiful. I believe I've told you that before."

Your eyes widen at his compliment, feeling like you were shrinking by the second. "I thought you just said that to shut me up that one time..."

"I may have said it to shut you up but, I did mean it. I'm an honest boy... Notice how you remembered? That's gotta be good for something."

A chill runs down your spine, followed by a genuine, tried-and-true smile. You and Ashton had gone through so, so much together. Breakups, fights between friends, natural disasters; it was easy to let the little things slip past your mind.

But you'd never forget the time he called you beautiful.

"You know Ash, I've never noticed how attractive you are when you're not being a pain in my ass."

Ashton's lip twitches up into a smirk, as if his head had just travelled to where yours has been this entire time.

"I'm flattered. Being a pain in the ass is one of my major selling points."

"Consider me sold," you tease, rubbing your arm as the warm summer breeze flows through the balcony. You watch Ashton's eyes narrow, as he studies your body language with intent. There's a brief pause in time; and Ash seemingly shakes himself out of it with a puff of his chest.

"Ugh, I'm fucking bored," he grumbles, tossing himself back onto the throw pillows.

You nod in agreement, biting your tongue. The next thought to cross your mind was in territory you had vowed to never explore. But it was late, you were pining for something else to do other than stare at him while the tension only continued to grow thicker.

As you said, you had nothing left to lose.

"Me too... wanna fuck?"

Ashton's eyes widen as the world around you just— stops.

"What?"

Oh, shit.

"I— We don't... We don't have to. It— was just a suggestion."

Ashton licks his lips, his face morphing as if attempting to process the words that had just left your mouth. You could already feel the sweat rolling down your temples, beginning to regret having asked him at all.

"You’re fucking with me, aren’t you? Yeah, you’re fucking with me…"

You shake your head, having already dug yourself this deep… Why not go deeper?

"Mmmh, no. I’ve actually thought about it a few times. Honest."

"Oh my god," Ashton chuckles, momentarily ceasing your rapidly beating heart with its playful air, "you’re such a loser."

"Calling me a loser after I’d just asked if you wanted to have sex with me… Real’ charming."

Your cheeks were hot and your lip was now twitching with anticipation. In an attempt to ease your mind and regain some of your composure, you put the joint out in the ashtray.

It may or may not have also been an attempt to step closer to him.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he scrambles for recovery, “I didn’t mean it like that, I just— If you’ve thought about it before, why haven’t you said anything?"

"Oh god, can we talk about that another time? If I told you every instance in which I’d thought about having sex with you, we’d be out here all night."

You were feeling slightly more at ease now after reverting back to your playful energy, although the subject matter was still making you sweat.

Ashton’s eyes were wide and somewhat bloodshot, akin to how late it was, and now due to the information bomb that you had just dropped onto him. You felt bad for hitting him with it all at once but, if you’d kept it in any longer, you might’ve exploded.

"Would now be a good time to admit that I’ve thought about it too?"

You trill your fingers against your thigh, now with a pit in your stomach, "Yeah, probably. I guess it’s honesty hour."

"Awesome, awesome," Ashton hums, taking in a deep, shaky breath.

"…Well?" You couldn’t bear to leave the question hanging in the air for any longer.

"Well what?"

"Do you wanna fuck me or not? The offer might expire if you take any longer to answer."

In a hurry, Ashton stands up, wiping his palms on his jeans and adjusting his belt. He looks at you, frantically.

"I mean, shit— yeah… Yeah, I’m down. Fuck it. Why not?"

A small smile spreads across your cheeks as he steps closer to you, "Good, good… Now, don’t make me fuckin’ regret this.”

Without giving you any time to process what exactly had just happened, Ashton is barreling towards your legs. He wraps his biceps around your thighs before tossing you over his shoulder, leaving you to dangle with your face and arms hanging above the ground.

"Ash, what the fuck!" you squeal, whacking his back with your hands as he makes it a point to tear open the screen door and start running you through the apartment.

"You told me not to make you regret this!" he giggles, nearing towards, from what you could tell by looking at the floor, his bedroom.

"That didn’t mean to fuckin— oh whatever!" You huff, slightly out of breath, as Ashton fumbles with the doorknob. He kicks the door open, and you laugh at his eagerness.

"How’s that for a grand entrance?" says Ashton, as he lifts you again to lower you down sideways onto his bed.

"You scared the shit out of me!" you chuckle, regaining your vision as you had become somewhat dizzy.

"My bad. ‘Thought that move would boost my sex appeal."

The two of you laugh for a moment as Ashton gets situated on his bed. He sits with his back nestled against the headboard and you watch sitting at the foot of it, unsure of where to go next.

Once he’s all settled into place, he looks at you with a warm smile before patting the top of his thigh. "Have a seat."

"Don’t mind if I do."

With that same smile still plastered onto your face, you crawl over, and straddle yourself onto his lap. His hands remain stagnant at his sides, as do yours. There was an odd feeling swirling in your chest that came along with the closeness, but you couldn’t describe it.

"This is weird. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to your face before," Ashton comments, his eyes wavering as they scan the features of your face.

"Yeah… To think that we’ve been roommates for 5 years and haven’t even kissed. Our self control is truly remarkable."

"Well, if it’s still honesty hour, I’d like to add that I’ve thought about that too."

Ashton swallows. You could feel his hand jittering around down by your calves as he moves the other up to cup your waist.

"Thought about what? Kissing me?"

"Mhm… It was that Fourth of July party with Luke and them down at the beach— a few years ago. I was drunk out of my fuckin’ mind… May or may not have rambled to Luke and Cal about how badly I wanted to kiss you on the pier."

"Drunk words are sober thoughts," you grin, feeling more comfortable with his weathered palms grazing your skin. "But that’s kinda’ sweet. I didn’t think you had it in you to be that sweet."

"I feel like if I did it with no buildup it would’ve been awkward as shit. But, I appreciate the compliment."

You scoff, finally feeling enough confidence built up within you to rest your hand on his neck. "Ash, after all the shit we’ve been through, I don’t think anything can be awkward between us."

"Well, I guess this can be added to the list of ‘shit we’ve been through’, yeah?"

The frantic, nervous energy around you had begun to settle, pooling onto Ashton’s plus grey comforter. You gaze around the room, taking in all of the details you would’ve never noticed if it weren’t for a moment like this.

"Nice place you’ve got here," you comment, your eyes darting around at the various band posters and random findings scattered around Ashton’s off white walls. Stolen street signs, pushpins serving as necklace holders, birthday cards from yourself and whoever else celebrates with him. It was all so unapologetically him, and it was making you feel a bit sick.

Ashton chuckles at your apprehension, beginning a slow rhythm of drumming his fingers against your hip. "Why’re you acting like you’ve never been in here before? Is someone nervous?"

"Nervous? Me? No, never. I’m as cool as a cucumber," your lip twitches, your hand traveling from his neck down to rest onto his bare chest. "Although I must say, your chest is fucking hairy."

"You sure you’re not nervous?"

"What makes you think I’m nervous?" You cannot seem to pull your eyes away from the necklace pendant sitting between his pecs.

"You like to say random shit when you’re nervous. I know you a lot better than you think, bubs."

You freeze at the nickname, the one Ashton had lovingly coined you with a few years back; it seemed different coming out of his mouth now, speaking on the fact that you were inches away from his face and straddling his lap.

A lot of things felt different now.

"You’re right, shit. I’m sorry… I swear I’m not usually like this I— I’m normally a lot sexier—"

"Is it different ‘cause it’s with me? Because we don’t have to do this if—"

"No—" you cut him off abruptly, shaking your head with a reassuring smile, "I want to. I wanna’ do this. With you. It— it was my idea after all. No backing out now."

The rhythmic tapping of his fingers on your hipbone had turned into a gentle, soothing rub. It was oddly relaxing, the way his fingertips felt brushing against you.

It had even distracted you enough not to notice how his resting hand had traveled up to your waist to match the other.

"So… do we just— go for it?" Your voice comes out a bit shakier than you’d planned.

Ashton’s lips weave into a straight line, a sardonic look in his eye, masked with obvious amusement. It was clear he was entranced by your awkward charm.

"I dunno’. I didn’t really think this far ahead."

That comment earns a smile out of you, you whack his chest gently which is proceeded by a soft ‘oww’ from Ashton.

"We should stop talking. Maybe that’ll help," you suggest.

Ashton nods, his eyes fixed on your lips as he pulls his own to the side, "I like that idea… Any idea to get you to stop talking is a great idea to me."

"Fuckin’ dick," you tut, watching that smile of his turn into something a bit more wicked, "Maybe if you stopped being an asshole, I would’ve kissed you by now."

"What’s with all the ‘maybe’s? Maybe this, maybe that… You’re all bark and no bite. That’s what it sounds like."

"Or…" You trail a seductive finger down to the first fastened button of his shirt, "…Maybe you’re nervous too, and you’re stalling."

Ashton shifts beneath you, adjusting his hips to meet yours and suddenly the feeling of his body is threatening to pull a soft whimper from your throat. He notices the subtle notch in your brow, and the way his touch affects you.

Oh, who are you kidding. Nothing about you goes unnoticed around him.

"Not stalling, no. Just wanna make sure your head doesn’t pop off your shoulders from how fuckin’ nervous you are."

You don’t respond to his comment. Instead, you just fiddle with his shirt collar, your mind already racing at the thought of the events threatening to unfold. Despite your timid manner, Ashton speaks again.

"Bubs, if you wanted me to take the lead, you should’ve just said so."

There was something swirling in the pit of your stomach now, that tension from before reclaiming its rightful place above your heads. You tilt your head to the side and admire his plump, rosy lips; the shades of fern and honey spilling into his irises and making them shimmer.

This newfound infatuation was becoming an issue.

Without another word, and no sense of anything else to do, you lean in slowly. You could feel as Ashton holds his breath the moment you start to tilt your head forward. But rather than closing the space between your lips and his, you place a quick kiss on his cheek.

You pull away. Ashton chuckles.

"That was cute."

"Shut up," you mutter, heat instantly rushing to the apples of your cheeks.

Ashton then leans in as well, that same, agonizingly slow speed in which you did, and pushes a gentle kiss onto your cheek.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"How would this be making fun of you? I’m just reciprocating what you’re comfortable with."

At this point you can’t seem to control the way your words are just falling from your mouth, "Well, I know I’ve kissed your cheek before, I think— it was probably a really long time ago. I thought it would be easier than to just go for it all at once. Because then if I did, I’d—"

Just as you’re rambling on and on about everything and nothing at the same time, Ashton places his index finger onto your lips, smushing them together and instantly shutting you up.

"Y/N. Please. Stop talking."

You pout, feeling him switch that index finger to a thumb, and use the rest to cup your chin. He drags that same thumb down your bottom lip, slightly parting your mouth and drawing a very, very quiet whimper out of you.

"Let me take the lead, alright? You trust me?" he asks, eyes earnest and longing.

"Mhm," you reply, melting like ice cream on a hot summer day.

"Good," he hums, satisfied, still holding your chin loosely, "Now c’mere."

It felt as though there was an entire galaxy of stars and planets behind your eyes and you pinch them shut, leaning in to finally bridge the gap between your lips and his. The first touch felt like a flame igniting in your chest— the taste of him a lot sweeter than you’d imagined.

And you’d imagined this a lot more than you’d ever admit.

He hums into you, that hand once stagnant on your hips now wandering up and down your sides. The kiss itself was slow, yet the fervor behind your wordless exchange was picking up pace. And fast.

You couldn’t even process how quickly the kiss began to deepen, his tongue now exploring and tangling with yours.

There was something deeply satisfying about kissing Ashton; like an itch you were just dying to scratch. You felt so comfortable in this satisfaction, enough to lace your hands around his neck and up into his cleanly cut curls.

Your hips were working on their own time, subtly grinding down into his crotch and creating friction that just felt like heaven. It was an indescribable feeling.

Ashton pulls away suddenly, leaving you to stammer slightly and a small sigh to slip past your throat.

"I’ve gotta get this off of you," he comments, tugging at the hem of your tee.

"Ditto," you smile, wordlessly beginning to undo each button of his shirt, as far as you could reach.

It was now a frenzy of undressing one another; soft giggles and glimmering smiles with each article of clothing removed until it was down to his boxers and the underwear you had blindly picked out of your drawer this morning. But despite the unfortunate pair of briefs, Ashton’s fond gaze remained.

"If I knew this was happening, I would’ve put more effort into picking out my shit this morning," you say, reclaiming your place on his lap.

"It doesn’t matter to me, bubs," he quips, taking his broad palms and cupping your ass above your underwear, "They won’t be on for much longer."

"You’ve got quite the mouth on you Fletch," you giggle, taking in how obscenely he was biting down on his bottom lip, "Might have to put it to good use tonight."

Before you could blink or even think of another word to say, Ashton is cracking down his palm onto your asscheek, echoing a loud, playful smack.

"Way ahead of you, smartass."

The kiss from before picks back up in a frenzy, like it was some competition of who could bite the shit out of each other’s lip faster. You loved the energy that he was exuding; his demeanor and playfulness still remaining the same while driving you absolutely up the walls in arousal all at once.

"My God, you kiss like an angel—"

The words tumble past Ashton’s lips and knock into yours, the compliment instantly reddening your cheeks.

"You’re just saying stuff. Stop being stupid," you whine, feeling your decorum slipping through your fingertips as they traced circles up and down his jaw.

"I’m not saying this all to humor you, you know. As I’ve said a million times, I’m an honest man."

"You’re really beating the shit out of that dead horse, Ash. How many times in a night are you gonna call yourself honest?" You can’t help but giggle, overwhelmed by the feeling of his skin.

"If you’re gonna call my bluff, then I’m gonna’ keep reinstating the fact that I’m honest. Humble brag."

You puff your lips, swatting him on the chest and letting his silver chain catch onto your finger, "Whatever."

Ashton pauses all movements for a moment, examining your face. You could see his pupils and how they doubled in size the moment they reached your collarbone.

"Wanna start pickin’ up the pace here. I’m getting quite frustrated."

"Sexually? Or are you frustrated with the fact that your roommate is super fucking hot?"

He scrunches his nose, a dimple poking out at the bridge of it, "You say I’ve got a mouth on me but— it seems like you learned from the best.

"The walls in this apartment are pretty thin," you admit sheepishly, half embarrassed, half aroused, "I hear everything."

"Is that right?" he quizzes, his hands slowly traveling down your waist to the tops of your thighs.

"Yup. I hear it all."

Although you had never pictured yourself and Ashton to be presented with a situation similar to the one you were in now, a flutter taps through your chest as you recall the many nights you’d spend with your head buried in your pillows. Attempting, and failing, to drown out the sounds of Ashton’s late-night callers.

"And how does that make you feel? Does it— bother you?"

As his question trails off, you feel his hands creeping closer to the inside of your thigh. The sensitive skin that hadn’t been paid any attention since the last time you’d landed yourself a hook-up, a few months ago.

"N-no. Doesn’t bother me. Not that much, at least."

"Well if the sound of my headboard smacking against the wall doesn’t bother you, it’s gotta make you feel something, no?"

You didn’t want to lay out all of your cards, or give him the opportunity to use this shared experience against you in a moment of weakness. If you were more honest with both Ashton and yourself, you’d tell him that the feeling you get when you hear those animalistic noises could only be described as curiosity. Fascination.

And a dash of jealousy.

"I’m indifferent," you shrug, ignoring that wandering hand of his, "I turn my music up louder when I know you have someone over."

"Ah, but you see. That’s not what I hear. You’re as quiet as a mouse when I’ve got company around. Seems to me like maybe you’re interested in what you’re hearing. Or maybe— you’re listening."

Your jaw falls agape at his brusqueness, "Am not! I would never that’s— that’s fucking weird!"

He seemed to be growing fond of how uncomfortable he was making you, but that feeling faded away when his face melted into a smile.

"I’m just messing with you. I couldn’t give a shit if you were listening. Although, the thought of it is creating commotion in my lower half— the more I think about it."

"You’re such a loser," you chuckle, "Put that lip you’re giving me to good use and just kiss me instead."

With no complaints or comebacks, Ashton obliged. You hated how redundant it felt to keep leaning back in for that same kiss over and over— but a part of you couldn’t help it. After thinking about what it would be like to kiss your best friend, and now getting to actually experience it:

You’ll never look back again.

In a daze, you dismantle Ashton’s lap. You aren’t sure what brings you to do this but it’s explained by how quickly he was able to aid you in slipping out of your underwear. The two of you giggle, you smile into the kiss, all of the endearing little things that made kissing him so worth it. You even managed to fully switch places without letting your lips disconnect.

Not even for a second.

"I really like kissing you." Ashton reads your thoughts, as he does quite frequently.

"Me too," you breathe, staring into those glittery sage eyes as they bore into you from above.

“We should just kiss for forever, maybe.”

“Oh my God,” a giggle slips past your lips, “I’ve bewitched you.”

The warmth of Ashton’s body on top of yours was compensating for all of the corny, seemingly lovesick nonsense the two of you were spewing. His laughter alone made tiny little goosebumps surface across your arms as you hooked them around his neck and let your fingers get lost in his curls.

“Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered,” Ashton begins to hum a familiar tune, his voice rich like dark chocolate and flying in through one ear and right out of the other. You can’t help but laugh, overcome with emotions that you haven’t felt in quite a long time.

“You know, I always forget that you can sing.”

He ends his brief song by burying his face into the crook of your neck, starting an eager trail of open mouth kisses down to the base of your throat. His body moves sultrily in tandem with the rhythm of his kisses, his head nearing towards the valley of your breasts.

“Can I kiss you here?”

His eyes perk up to meet yours, momentarily drawing you out of blissful sighs. He uses his index finger to point at your chest, awaiting your permission.

“Mhm. You can kiss me theeere….”

He follows orders. You decide to play along.

“And you can kiss me heeeere….” You move his index finger towards the top of your left breast, pointing at your nipple.

Ashton’s gaze flickers with a pinch of excitement, lips hovering over towards where you had directed him. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his parted lips to engulf your nipple, and begins to suck on it gently.

That first wave of euphoria rips through your body as he works away at you, his tongue swirling around the bud with purpose. You knew he was a boobs guy but shit, you didn’t know the extent of it. His other hand finds the breast that he had left unattended, massaging it delicately as he teased you with his tongue.

"Jesus Christ, Ash—" your sentence is broken off by your breath getting caught in your throat as he grazes your nipple with his teeth.

A satisfied hum leaves his chest, and he briefly pulls away.

“Can I leave marks on you? Please, God that is so fuckin’ sexy.”

“Mhmm. Sure, do whatever you want, just—"

The moment your permission hits his ears, he’s biting down on the top of your breast and drawing harsh breath from your throat. Surely he’d leave a hickey or two in his trail.

Ashton continues his path of love bites, all of them turning a deep mauve the moment his lips leave the surface of your skin. You thrum in amusement, happy with the pretty douses of color and silently pleading for more of them.

“Fuck,” he mutters, taking a moment to admire his handiwork and trailing his thumb across a particular hickey left on your chest, ��I did quite a number on you, didn’t I?”

“Everyone’s gonna make fun of me, I hope you know.”

“If they have anything to say about my artwork, they can take their questions up with the artist, m’kay?”

Ashton’s body was nearing dangerously close to where you were pulsing for him the most. You toss your head back into the pillows when Ashton leaves a few more kisses beside your navel, he was moving awfully meticulously and a part of you was growing impatient.

“Ashton—” you croak out, watching his lips meander down to the top of your thigh as he slots himself between your legs.

“I know, bubs. I know. Getting a bit needy now, aren’t we?”

“Oh Christ, Ash, don’t say it like that,” you attempt to hide your flushed cheeks behind your hands, “I’m not that selfish.”

Ashton doesn’t allow your expression to be hidden, so he takes it upon himself to reach up and pry your fingers away from it.

“Mmmm, greedy. Is that a better word?”

You scoff, “God no, that’s even worse.”

“Desperate?”

“Fuck no.”

“How about you give me an, ‘Ashton, I need you’?”

He smiles the moment his hands come in contact with the soft skin of your inner thigh. Maybe he thought distracting you with jokes and mockery would help put your mind at ease.

“Your impression of me is shitty.”

“I disagree— I think it’s spot on,” he defends, settling into his stomach, “Unless, you wanna prove me wrong.”

“And how would I do that?”

“Well, you’ve gotta say it. Duh.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to grab ahold his taunting face as he hooks his arms around the backs of your thighs. He’s now face to face with your core and quite honestly, you don’t think you’d ever been this wet before. Not for anyone.

Hm.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low groan, “—Excuse me for being vulgar but fuck, you’ve got such a pretty pussy.”

His words make you bite down on your lip, and your tongue; the chokehold he had on you in this given moment was beyond doubt. You couldn’t find any semblance of a thought to give him, so you just moaned in delight.

“Can I taste you? Please? I’ll make you feel so good— God, you’re just dripping for me, aren’t you?”

“Ashton—” you warn, not entirely sure if you were warning him, or yourself.

“Are you gonna say it?”

“For fuck’s sake,” you roll your eyes, sick of the pestering and condescending questions, “say what?!”

“I’ve been between your legs for less than a minute and you’ve already forgotten what I’d asked you to say! You are unbelievable.”

You could feel the warmth of his words with each breath he took radiating onto your skin, and the thought of him refusing to just indulge you was making you want to bitch and moan.

“God you are so annoying,” you whine, “can’t you just—”

“Just what? Eat you out ‘til you’re begging me for mercy? Is that what you want?”

“I’d prefer that instead of sitting here with your head between my thighs while you argue with me, yeah! This is kind of unfair!”

Ashton tuts softly at your whining, clicking his tongue with a shake of his head. His cheeks lift into a sinister smile as he drags his fingers along the tops of your thighs.

“Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this but, life isn’t fair. Not everybody gets what they want, y’know?…”

Ashton’s new game of hard to get, easy to slap was making you seethe. You didn’t think he’d take your typical, platonic bickering into the bedroom. Especially in such a high stakes situation.

But you figured out this mental game he was pulling fairly quickly, when he gazed sharply into your eyes and muttered these words:

“…And if you want it, you’ve gotta fuckin’ beg for it.”

His eyes flickered with challenge while yours continued to flutter at him with hopelessness. Desperation, at best. You never thought you’d be begging Ashton for anything more than something as mundane as washing the dishes—

But hey, life is strange.

“Ashton, please—” his words are getting to your head the more you think about what his felt like between your thighs, “I need you.”

“Say it like you meeeeaannn iiiit.”

His mocking, singsongy tone could’ve earned him a crack to the jaw on any normal day. But now, he was slowly creeping his hands towards the most sensitive portion of your inner thigh. Enough gentle touching from him could’ve sent you into orbit right then and there.

“Ashton, I want you. I— I need you.”

He cracks another menacing smile, fingertips digging into your flesh and leaving etchings in their place. That face of his was a tell all: this was the end of the beginning.

“Atta’ fuckin’ girl.”

Immediately, Ashton’s head tips down, his tongue dragging slowly across your folds in a motion that sends electricity bolting through your veins. You pant slightly, the sounds you were sure he was listening for trapped somewhere in your larynx.

He repeats this taunting act, eyes closed in bliss. So you take it upon yourself to bury your hands into his curls and pull a moan from his chest.

His skilled tongue was unrelenting, showing absolutely no mercy as he moved it around your clit. You became more confident in the sounds you were making, letting whimpers fly past your lips as you tugged at his curls

“Mmmhhh, fuck,” you groan, hoping your words would pull some sort of reaction out of him. On cue, Ashton’s head pops up slightly, and he makes it a point to replace that nimble tongue with his fingers.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly, twirling one of those curls around your finger as his makes circles around your clit.

“Mmm, yeah you fuckin’ do… Mind if I get a little rough with you, bubs?”

You blink slowly, watching him stare you down through hooded eyes that were complimented by sun kissed cheeks and freckles. There was no way you could say no to that face, especially since he’d asked so politely.

“O—okay, yeah. That— that’s fine.”

“You sure? Don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Jus’ say the word and I’ll slow down—”

“No— God, no. Please, don’t slow down.”

The words came out of your mouth faster than you could process them, sweat instantly beading across your forehead as Ashton’s face lifted into a smile. Something sinister was behind that damned smile and always had been.

You’d just never really picked up on it ‘till now.

That smile of his faded away between your thighs and the sounds of your heartbeat were quickly drowned out by moans and cries. Ashton dove back in to indulge in you, locking his biceps around your legs and pulling you tight.

“Holy shit Ashton— You— Fuck!”

Ashton does nothing but hum in delight. If only you could see his smug expression beneath the valley of your breasts, but you were glad his mouth was occupied by something other than being a sarcastic piece of shit.

You were thoroughly enjoying how knowledgeable he was of you already; he picked up on all of your signs right away. Obviously, he knew you like the reflection in the mirror and he knew just how much you enjoyed the gentle suckling at your clit and occasional nips on the insides of your thighs.

“Ash,” you pant out, weakened by his tongue, “I’m really fuckin’ close—”

“Hm? What?”

As your stomach bubbled over and made it feel like your insides were coming to a boil, he just fucking stops.

“Why’d you stop?!” your voice was rather whiny, “What the fuck?!”

“Oh my God,” Ashton chuckles at your desperate verbiage, watching your pussy twitch inches away from his face, “You are such a brat. I stopped for like, two seconds.”

“You fucker! I was so cl—”

Before you could even finish your thought, Ashton is dipping back into you roughly. He swiftly unhooks one of his arms from your shaky thigh and slips a finger inside of you, working it in tandem with his tongue to cross you over the finish line.

You yelp, his actions catching you by surprise. As punishment for letting you think he’d edged you, you reach down and dig your nails into his shoulders. Faint red lines start to appear across his tanned skin and his body tenses up, back muscles flaring angrily.

A smile spreads across your face while your eyes roll back into your head, Ashton working circles around your clit with his tongue while fucking into you with not one, but two fingers. He was determined to make you cum, even if your sharp, baby blue nails were leaving cat scratches across his shoulder blades.

“—Ashton, fuck!”

One last shout of his name for good measure had you hurling over the edge. Right as your orgasm is in full throttle, those dreamy jade eyes pop up to meet yours. You make it a point to stare back into them, giving him a show with your pouty, swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

“Oh my god, holy shit— what the fuck,” you sigh. Both Ashton’s fingers and tongue had come to a slowdown, riding you through your high like he was on your back with a saddle. You giggle at the blissful feeling, letting it be known that you were grateful for the attention he had paid to you with a pat to his now sweaty forehead.

“Where the hell did you learn how to do all of that?”

Ashton finally lifts his head up with a smile, still gently caressing your thigh with that calloused hand of his as his face drips with your arousal.

“A magazine.”

“I think that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my fucking life.”

As shameful as it was to admit such a thing, Ashton didn’t seem to mind the compliment. You watched in real time as his cheeks turned rosy, not long before he shook his head to brush you off.

“That means whoever you’re sleeping with must really fuckin’ suck,” he comments, shrugging as if it were nothing.

“Hey,” you defend, “it’s not my fault they suck.”

Although this conversation was bringing you back down to earth in some aspects, every other piece of it felt so damn domestic. Romantic. Comfortable. You were able to run your fingers through his hair and push the rogue curls out of his eyes without fear of judgment.

“It kind of is, bubs,” Ashton was now making his way out from between your legs to join you back at the top of the mattress, “You’ve picked some real winners.”

His tone oozes sarcasm but that post-orgasm headspace made anything that left his mouth attractive to you. You giggle softly, dismissing him with your hand as you watch him get comfortable and prop his head up on his arm.

“Oh my God, remember that one guy with the fucking digeredoo? I’m sure he was just— phenomenal in bed.”

“Okay well, playing an instrument takes a lot of skill. Plus, he was hot and bought me a milkshake after the bar. How could I say no?”

You and Ashton were now side by side once again, his eyes raking across your body and sneaking glances down at your wet lips as you spoke. “If that’s all it takes to win you over, maybe instead of laying here next to you I should be out waiting in line for a milkshake.”

“Fuck a milkshake,” you scoff, turning yourself to face him and mirroring his position, “I could lay here all night.”

“Really?” Ashton’s eyes light up. You didn’t think you’d find that endearing but then again, here you are, lying next to him after he’d just whipped you through space and time.

“Yeah. I mean, what else is there to do?”

“I could think of a few things,” he trails off, glancing you up and down, “Round one barely even started. Just sayin’.”

You bite your lip while gazing at him through hooded bedroom eyes. He now seemed to be mesmerized by the small bit of mascara that had begun running down the side of your cheek, stuck on the little black streaks before he took his thumb, licked it, and tried to wipe them off.

“Ash, ew,” you pull away, “Why’d you do that?”

“Oh please grow up, my head was just between your fuckin’ legs.”

“Fair point,” you puff, face still scrunched at him before you flop onto your back with a sigh.

There’s a brief pause between the two of you as you stare up at Ashton’s ceiling fan. He stayed still by your side, taking his index finger and tracing small shapes on your shoulder.

“Damn, was it really that good? Like, ‘stare at my ceiling fan and ponder your life’ good?”

You glance over at his big, needy eyes. His face still flushed with sweat but his gaze telling you more than he ever could. “What’s wrong with pondering life? You wanna go again?” you ask, knowing the answer already.

“Well, yeah. That sure as hell beats staring at the ceiling. But only if you’re up for it. ‘Wouldn’t wanna kick you while you’re already down, y’know?”

“Why are you treating us hooking up like a sporting event?” you chuckle, capturing his hand in yours and rubbing circles across his knuckles.

“It kind of is one except we’re like— playing on the same team… and we both win every game.”

He glances down at your hand with a smile and all you could do was laugh at him through your nose, “You’re fucking stupid.”

“Mmmm, I know.”

In no time, your lips are back on his and he’s pulling you into his chest. The cool metal of his necklace pendant brushes between your breasts and reminds you of what started this whole endeavor. His hands roam your body, every single dip and curve until the only thing he could reach for was something he was already familiar with. You smiled into his mouth, simply because you could.

“Your lips are like sugar,” Ashton grumbles, his words knocking into your teeth as he brushes a lock of your hair out of your face.

“Thanks. Cherry chapstick.”

Ashton’s lips are eager, the kiss is red hot; you’re so ready to experience him fully and that excitement is proven by the quickness of you knocking him onto his back and sliding over to mount his lap.

“I think I like you better from this angle,” Ashton coos, running his hands down the tops of your thighs while you’re straddling his hips.

“What, like I don’t look good from every angle?” you tease back, feeling more confident in your prowess and sexual nature.

“Something about you on top of me— holy shit. If I could take a picture of you right now all fucked out n’ messy…. I’d get it framed and hang it right above the fuckin’ mantle.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, Fletch,” you run your finger down his chest and make the conscious effort to grind your hips down into his groin, “Sex looks amazing on you.”

“You’re such a little minx,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes, “it’s almost painful to look at you right now.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

You couldn’t pull your eyes away from Ashton’s plump lips. God they were just so— inviting. If it were socially acceptable to skip the whole sex part and stare at him all night until the sun came up, you absolutely would.

Not that there were any methods to Ashton’s madness, but after hearing him speak so highly about how he performs in bed, you kind of wanted to find out more for yourself.

“Sure, why not. Y/N, you make my dick hurt. Take that how you will.”

“I’m honored, actually. Thank you Ashton.”

Your voice is sultry, pulling your words like soft taffy and making sure they sounded just as sweet. You wanted him to get a taste of this more demure side of you, and also make sure that he never forgets it.

Not many more words are exchanged before you’re dipping down to kiss the center of his chest. Right next to the necklaces that had you tongue tied out on the balcony. He groaned at the action, hands traversing up your thighs and towards your ass to give it a tight, reassuring squeeze.

A few more kisses down the line lead you to the top of his naval. You planted another feathery kiss right above it, for good luck, and shivered as his hands moved with you down his body.

“Oh, I know exactly where you’re headed, bubs. You think you’re slick,” Ashton tries to hide the pillowy shades of pink that fell against his cheeks when your teeth grazed the band of his boxers. But all you could do at that moment was smile.

“M’ not doing anything wrong, am I?” you ask, eyes wide and doe-like as you slip a finger beneath the fabric to tease at his happy trail.

“No no, nothing wrong…” His words trail off, getting lost somewhere in the room. He tosses his head back and you watch those caramel curls just flop against the pillow.

Truth be told, you were intimidated by Ashton. But only in the moment where he’d taken off his jeans and was left in his underwear. You stared down at the sizable bulge, eyes still wide, wondering what was hidden beneath that red and black checked plaid.

You take a moment to let him adjust to your new position, and run a gentle hand across where the fabric hilled. He was hard, really fucking hard. Almost twitching out of the slit in his boxers.

“Ahh, shit—” Ashton hisses at the contact.

“Sensitive?”

“You could say that, yeah.”

When you take his length out fully, you stare at it for a moment. Gazing down at its size and realizing now that all the sounds you’ve heard through the drywall of your neighboring rooms may not have been an exaggeration.

“Holy shit—” you catch your tongue, biting back a smile as you take him in a fistful.

“What?”

“You’re really fucking big.”

The corners of Ashton’s mouth tug up into a catty smile, his tongue jutting out to wet his bottom lip before letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Say that again for me, please—?”

“Don’t test your luck, Fletch.”

After taking a moment to find your confidence back, you slowly ease his leaky tip into your mouth. Ashton hums on contact, body tensing and muscles contorting beneath you as you start a slow rhythm of bobbing your head up and down.

“Fuck,” he whines, brushing the hair that had fallen rogue out of your face, “Look at me. Please— fuckin’ look at me.”

Your attention snaps to his desperate plea and you find his face through your messy hair. His lips were parted, forming a perfect, angelic expression that looked like he was floating on a cloud. When the eye contact meets, those O shaped lips melt into a smile.

“Yeah, just like that,” he praises, watching you take his cock fully down your throat and bat your eyelashes as if it were no big deal, “Keep goin’, keep goin’— God you are just perfect, aren’t you?”

Something about Ashton’s merciful compliments made your core throb even more so than when his head was nestled between your thighs. You loved the way those pretty praises sounded rolling off his tongue, and were now just as eager to hear what else he wanted to say.

“Can y’ take it all?” He asks, knowing damn well you were too occupied to reply.

The only sound you could muster was a weak ‘mmmhf’, before you’re ducking your head down completely to the point where the tip of his cock was knocking into the back of your throat. He moans, you moan; it’s a cadence of obscenities. “Oh my God, Y/N. Hooooly shit—”

You keep your head down for as long as you could take it, swirling your tongue around his length and drawing yourself back up to his tip.

“Ahhh, shit— I can’t— No. Come up here. Come up here right fuckin’ now.”

Ashton grabs your head, gently yet effectively pulling your mouth off of his cock. A trail of saliva follows your lips, your face now burning up as you wince at the lack of him filling your throat.

“I need to fuck you,” Ashton continues, his mind working faster than his body at pulling you up to be level with his face again and getting you straddled onto his waist.

“God, please do— I don’t think I could’ve waited much longer.” You admit, with not a single lick of shame, knocking your sweaty foreheads together as he blindly reaches over at his side into his nightstand.

“You like that, huh? You like it fast n’ rough? I knew it, I knew you did—”

“We’re a lot more alike than you think, Ash,” you breathe out, interrupting your own thought to press a rushed kiss onto his cheek, “You just gotta start paying more attention.”

Eventually, Ashton finds a condom in his drawer and slams it shut with his elbow. He holds the packet between your hurried faces, taking the corner of it to his teeth and ripping it open in one motion.

“I didn’t even have to ask,” you bellow, giggling softly as he hands the condom to you to do the honors, “What a gentleman.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes and watches you move down to place the condom where it needed to be, “I’m a gentleman regardless of circumstance.”

After successfully getting the condom onto him, Ashton was back on cloud nine. His face came to a pinch when you lent him a few warm up strokes and shifted back to line him up with your entrance.

“You are so goddamn sexy, Y/N,” he mumbles, gazing at you with hungry eyes.

“Really? Tell me again.”

As he opens his mouth to follow your instruction, you sink down onto his cock without warning. A gasp chokes at your larynx as the feeling of him filling you up fogs your senses.

“Ohhh, oh my—”

You’re grasping at straws to say something, slowly swiveling your hips and feeling his length twitch inside of you like the missing piece of a puzzle. Ashton’s hands fly to your hips and stay there, squeezing you tightly enough to leave bruises in the place of his fingertips.

Your motions start off slow, the two of you in momentary shock at the overwhelming sensation; but Ashton doesn’t stay still for very long. He wants to know what you look like when you ride him, how those tits he’s always catching himself staring at bounce as you sway to the rhythm that he claims.

He snaps his hips up into you for the first time, which makes you cry out, a bit louder than anticipated. On instinct, you cover your mouth with your hand to muffle the noise. But Ashton wasn’t having that either.

“Scream for me, baby. I know you want to,” he muses, through bated breaths as his snapping hips become relentless, “Scream my fucking name.”

Although Ashton referring to you as ‘baby’ caught you a little off guard, you could do nothing else but oblige to his request. You whine, you grunt, you moan, calling out and watching it echo and bounce across Ashton’s off white walls until the only sound left in the room was his name.

“Atta’ girl, yeah. You fuckin’ like that? Yeah you do. Look at’ ya’.”

“Ashton, oh my God. Fuck me— harder.”

Your command makes his grip on your hips tighten, “Harder?”

“For the love of God, yes. Fuck me harder!”

The sounds of slapping skin and Ashton’s shaky old headboard banging against the walls seemed to drown out any more of those obscene noises; but your senses were heightened enough to the point where you could hear them all loud and clear. You toss your head back, hair wild and unkempt as the two of you find the perfectly rough rhythm of your hips.

“Ashton, holy shit—”

“Yeah baby, yeah, that’s it— cum for me again. Fuckin’, shit—”

Ashton’s greedy hands fly right up to your chest. He takes your breasts in a handful as you ride him, allowing you to ride yourself all the way through your second and final orgasm of the evening.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips as you watch his release, in almost perfect unison with yours. His cock twitches inside of you once more and leaves you feeling sensitive, a bit worn out. But you didn’t care about the fact that you’d felt like you’d just run a marathon.

All that mattered was that you felt closer to Ashton than ever.

“Jesus Christ, Ash,” you moan out, dropping your hands to his chest as you lift yourself off of his cock.

“Mmmf—” he winces at the loss of your pussy clenched around him, his next words a bit strained, “it’s a good thing we don’t have any more roommates. You’re like a fuckin’ tornado siren.”

And there was the Ashton you knew and loved; back with a witty comment to top off the evening of multiple orgasms and your new discovery of a praise kink.

“Charming, Ash. Real’ fuckin’ charming.”

Giggles and more banter filled the space around you as Ashton offered to get you cleaned up. He ran through the apartment, naked, collecting up the necessary ingredients for the perfect aftercare session and making sure you had everything you needed to feel comfortable in the aftermath.

“Think you’ll be able to walk right tomorrow?” Ashton chuckles, his knee dipping down into the mattress as he hands you a glass of water.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“Well, to answer that question, I’ll be fine. Someone’s gotta carry you around if your legs don’t work, right?”

You laugh at him, swatting his bare shoulder and taking a sip of that ice cold water.

The rest of the hour was pure, unadulterated bliss. You hadn’t even bothered to check the clock whilst Ashton cleaned you up with a warm washcloth and basically dressed you in your sleep shirt and pajama shorts. You were just happy to know that he was willing to take care of you, whether it be as a friend, or a hookup for the night.

The two of you laid side by side in bed, talking about life, in a philosophical and stupid sense; basically anything and everything before his head plopped down onto the pillows like it were made of bricks.

“Ugh, now I’m bored,” he whines, fighting a smile as he gazes into your wide eyes. Ashton was always one for a callback, but this one seemed oddly intentional.

You look back at him with challenge, running your fingers through his loose curls and dragging your index finger across his sharp cheekbone “You know what you should do?”

“What?”

“You should go get me that milkshake.”

⊹ ₊ ⟡ ⋆

#ashton irwin #5sos fanfic #ashton 5sos #5sos #5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin smut #ashton irwin x reader #5sos smut #ashton 5 seconds of summer

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includedisco · 3 months ago

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Whether you're a slow or a (too) fast fanfiction writer...

Going forward, let go of the ill feelings you have about the pace at which you write. Remember that your beautiful works are a product of your pace.

As fanfic writers, we're too hard on ourselves. If you really think about it, we're our own biggest critics. No one is really complaining about your pace but yourself. I understand the excitement to share a work right away and not being able to write it fast enough; or writing too fast and regretting not having taken more time to flesh the story out.

Truth is you can't change your writing process. You'll feel better when you accept it and just do your best. Beating yourself about it only makes the pain worse.

Note for slow writers: If you have readers complaining about your pace, they're not real fans of your work. Just as fans wait patiently for years for their beloved music artist to release an album, your fans can wait for your updates.

Note for (too) fast writers: It's YOUR story, so you can go back and make adjustments even if it's already posted. Alternatively you can rewrite a longer, more detailed version of the exact same story. I have done that. It's not shameful or weird. I even explained to my readers that a different version was available for them to go read. Both versions got love.

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enthusiasticharry · 1 month ago

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𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 10k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I'm so sorry!! I know it's been forever since i've posted and i truly did start writing this to have it out in august but then life got a head of me! I had to move, start a new job it's all be crazy. Now, I can officially say that I'll try and post more regularly (but i can't guarantee anything!) thank you for all the support over the last two and a bit years on this fic, i couldn't ever leave it unfinished for you guys!! enjoy the last chapter of regret me and if you need me, i'll be sobbing in a corner somewhere!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, talks of drug/ alcohol use, mentions of addiction recovery, angst (i'm sorry), and a stupid little boy who finally realises how amazing he has it.

𝐩𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓 here

Los Angeles, Spring 1985

The Rise and Fall (and Rise Again) of a Rock n’ Roll Star by Christopher Thomas

Standing in front of YN YLN’s home, I was nervous. The house itself wasn’t exactly what one may expect of one of the biggest stars to come out of the 70s – it was homely, comforting and not necessarily a ‘rock star mansion’. My nerves stemmed more consequently from the woman I was meeting; one I hadn’t seen in over 10 years and hadn’t necessarily left the best impression at that time either.

However, the second I rang the bell and the door swung open – the past didn’t seem to matter. YLN was wearing a denim skirt, one that landed just above her knee and a light floral blouse with long sleeves that the singer had definitely worn before, or if not something very similar. We chuckled when I pointed out her footwear (her beloved cowboy boots) – something that wasn’t surprising to me and shouldn’t be to any of you. She invited me in and offered me a coffee – something that I was not going to say no to.

After a little small talk, asking how we’d been and so forth, it became time to get to the nitty gritty of my visit, and what everyone reading had been waiting for. After being a household name for the better part of ten years – YN YLN was finally a Grammy nominee. For someone who had been in the spotlight for so long, many may have thought that she was past her prime and that her eighth studio album wasn’t going to be anything special – and yet it was her best one.

“I think it’s raw,” YLN spoke when asked about what was different with this record from her others, “I stopped hiding. It’s the truth – I think people are appreciating the truth from me.”

There was a part of me which was scared to go forward with questioning from here, but with a quick reassurance from YN that it was okay – I continued. In the last four months since her album had been released, YN had started to open conversations about her addiction, something that I had asked her about years prior, at a time when she was in the wrath of her addiction and refused to comment. Looking back, it wasn’t my best moment as a journalist.

“I had freedom that I hadn’t even experienced before,” The air felt thicker as YLN spoke upon this subject, “I went from 0 to 100, and if it wasn’t for the people around me that loved me at that time, I wouldn’t be here today, talking to you.”

The house YLN lives in sits right on the Californian coast, a quiet and calm place away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Once we had finished our coffees, YN suggested a walk down to the beach. She explains that her best friend, Vivienne (“She’s my sister,”), lives in the next house and that she hasn’t gone a day without speaking to her since the day they met, and she wasn’t going to start now.

“Vivienne is my family. I lost interest in my actual family when I realised they didn’t love me, but Viv never made me miss them – she became everything I needed and more. She saw me as a naïve young girl on the strip without a single clue and helped me when she didn’t need to. I’ll never be able to thank her enough.”

YLN mentions her family, more so her parents Mr and Mrs YLN. Her father, a senator seemingly didn’t agree with her new lifestyle and her music even more so, and it seemed as though whatever her father said her mother agreed with. When I asked if the way they had treated her had anything to do with her addiction, and her subsequent overdose YN went silent, choosing not to comment verbally but physically shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t regret anything in my life,” YN takes out a cigarette, offering me one which I accept, “I have come to realise that everything happens for a reason, and I’ve loved and lost for a reason. It’s made me the person I am today.”

The last time I spoke with YLN, she was in a relationship with fellow Rock n’ Roll star Harry Styles, who I have also written for in the past. YLN and Styles have never publicly spoken about the reason behind their split, but rumours surfaced soon after that Styles had been the one to cheat on YLN just before her first world tour.

“I would say that for any songwriter, heartbreak can be a big influence,” YLN chuckles, shaking her head slightly, “I won’t say what happened, I think if anyone has listened to any of my records, especially my latest one – you’ll already know what happened. It was one part of my life, and I don’t hold anything that happened against anyone.”

YN asks for a break after this and asks if we can reconvene later in the day. She recommended that we meet at a café for some late lunch that is a mile or so away from her house. I thought, like probably many of you, YLN would return from the beach to her house. Instead, she made her way up the sand and towards Vivienne’s house, obviously needing some time with her best friend.

“I hope that whoever listens to the album finds something for themselves within it,” YN speaks, sipping on her Iced Tea as we sat across from each other in the café, “It’s my gift for everyone. I hope that everyone who has ever had something to say about me or my life listens to it, and it answers whatever questions they may have.”

YLN lists her relationship, her addiction and everything in between as things that people may have questions about. Since the 70s, the amount of information that the public has known about her has dwindled and she says that is for a reason.

“I had to separate my life from the life that people saw,” YLN nods, “To protect myself, I needed that. All I hope is that people weren’t too angry with me.”

Once we’ve eaten (both having burgers since YLN said that it was the best thing on the menu, and both the waitress and the owner knew her by name), we go outside to have another cigarette. We both joked that we would quit smoking one day, but today was not going to be that day.

“I’ll be there… at the awards,” YN responds when I ask her about whether or not she will be attending the Grammy’s, “I don’t necessarily care about winning – it would be lovely, of course, but it’s not going to make or break me. I’ve lasted this long without; I am damn sure I can last for a lot longer.”

As our time together drew to a close, I asked what I suppose myself and many others are wondering – does YN see an end to her career anytime in the future?

YLN chuckled at the question, “I’ll do this as long as I can if the people will have me.”

If it was up to me, I’d say that YLN will be a name that sticks around for years to come. But, I suppose that’s down to you.

“I know your cowboy boots are like you’re thing or whatever, YN, but I highly doubt that it’s the best look for the Grammys,” Vivienne speaks from where she’s laid upon the bed in YN’s hotel room.

“I don’t feel right without them, Viv, I have to wear them,” YN stresses from where she’s sat, having her makeup done.

Pamela snorts from where she’s lying next to Vivienne. Since they met, Vivienne and Pamela have been inseparable. Therefore, that means that Vivienne, Pamela, and YN have been inseparable. It was a package deal, unfortunately for Pamela, but she didn’t mind too much. The things that Pamela did mind though, however that YN not only had a key to their house but would invite herself in pretty much all of the time. It had become the case that waking up in the morning without three people in their bed instead of two was the norm. At first, Pamela would be confused and disorientated, and then she soon realised that was just what the two girls were like. Where there was one, there was the other not too far behind.

“Pam, I’m nearly done and then it’s your turn,” YN stresses, allowing her make-up artist, Claude, to finish the final touches on her makeup.

Pamela groans, dropping back on the bed and pushing herself into Vivienne’s body. The other girl groans but accepts her fate as her girlfriend’s body rests against her. It wasn’t that anyone was forcing Pamela to wear makeup – she knew it was for the best, considering they were about to be on live television, it just wasn’t something that she normally did. But, as much as this was YN’s moment and her first Grammy nomination, it was Pamela’s too – and that meant, in YN’s eyes, she deserved to be spoilt, too. Pamela hadn’t necessarily ever expected her first band to split up, but it was always a possibility. It was a huge life change, and she hadn’t a single clue of what she was going to do once it happened. Then, when YN invited her to the studio and they started to work on some songs together, they both knew that it made sense for all parties involved that Pamela join YN’s band. That has also meant that Vivienne has been the band’s photographer since that moment as well. As mentioned before, the trio are often never seen without each other.

Apart from being the band’s photographer whenever they needed, Vivienne had also opened her gallery – something that she had always wanted to do but never had the opportunity to do. Seeing her best friend and her favourite person excel in the way that she had done warmed YN in ways that she couldn’t explain.

“Do I have to?” Pamela groaned, pressing her face deeper into Vivienne’s chest.

“Yes,” YN stood up once she had finished, lifting one of the pillows that had been absentmindedly thrown to the bottom of the bed up and hitting the girl with it. It took a few attempts, but soon Pamela had pushed herself up from Vivienne and, with a sulk on her face, sat in the chair, “Thank you. I know you don’t think so, but I’m doing this with your best interest at heart.”

Pamela just groans and crosses her arms over her chest, allowing Claude to get started. Trying her best not to mess her makeup up, YN drops down on the bed next to Vivienne. YN found herself picking at the hole that sat around the wrist of the sweater she was wearing. It was an attempt at not trying to show the nerves that were wracking around her body – but it was difficult, especially when the people in the room were YN’s closest confidants and knew every little tick that the girl had.

“Look,” Vivienne reaches over and grabs YN’s hand, “If you’re nervous about the awards, it’s honestly too fucking unlikely that you won’t win.”

YN snorts, accepting Vivienne’s reassuring squeeze, “Thanks Viv, but I don’t think it’s that.”

“Ah,” The girl nods, “It’s about Harry, isn’t it?”

The announcement for who would be presenting the awards came out a few weeks ago, and whilst YN had originally not thought it was important to know who it would be – it very quickly became obvious that wasn’t the case. When the presenters had been announced, Vivienne had received word of who would be presenting Album of the Year and had immediately rushed over to YN’s house. Being a two-time winner of the award himself (once for Harry’s House, the album that she had written with him), it shouldn’t have surprised YN as much as it did that Harry would be presenting the award.

Knowing that her chances to win were so likely, YN had wondered if it was sort of a set-up. Whoever had decided to ask Harry to do so knew of their past and knew that it would make a lovely bit of new gossip. That was unfortunately where YN’s mind went, and that’s what stressed her out slightly. Especially since her album was so open about her feelings, and even more so about Harry and their relationship – this wasn’t something that she would have ever asked for.

“I’ve just spent so long… so long, Viv, trying to change the narrative of my life,” YN sighs, now starting to pick at the polish on her nails, “And him being there, after I’ve spent so long trying to reclaim my story for me, I’m just scared of how I’m going to react. I don’t want this to be the thing that spirals me right back to the person I was.”

Vivienne sighed, shaking her head, and lifting their joint hands to press a kiss to the back of YN’s hand, “YN… you are not the person you were back then. Trust me, I was right there with you. I mean… God, if that man tries to say anything to me I might lose my shit, but you won’t lose yours. You’ve grown, you’ve matured and most importantly you’ve forgiven yourself. You thought you needed him – but you didn’t.”

YN nodded her head, wanting nothing more than to accept Vivienne’s words and believe them. She hoped she would at least that her face convinced Viv that she was believing her words. The truth was when YN reflected on that time of her life (mostly when she had finished writing her newest record), there were parts of her that wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t reacted the way she had. It was mostly what would have happened to her and Harry if they had handled the situation differently. Because, to YN at that part of her life (and sometimes now) she felt as though Harry was going to be it for her. That she was his, and he was hers.

YN truly did think that she was going to spend the rest of her life with Harry. He saw her and loved her through her hardest times, and yet it was when her life was truly starting to get back on track that she lost her faith in him. It hurt her soul and truly sent her spiralling through the idea that she could only ever be loved when she was broken – and it took her a long time to realise that wasn’t the case.

“It’s just… I think..” YN shook her head, struggling to articulate the words that were swimming around in her head, “My message, especially with this album, is so much more than what we were and what happened to us… I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” It was Pamela that spoke up this time, from the makeup chair, “You are going to do what you do best, YN, you are going to dodge and dive any of the sleazy questions and hold yourself with grace and fucking win that Grammy. You can even thank him for breaking your heart because it made you stronger, and it made you the person you are today.”

YN smiles, trying her best not to tear up and ruin the makeup that Claude had worked so hard on, “You’re right… it’s my day, not his. And anyway, it’s been so long since we last spoke that I honestly doubt he’s even thought about me.”

“He has,” Vivienne nods, “I know you haven’t listened to his albums – but I have. Trust me, he has.”

“God,” YN’s eyes widen, “Don’t say that! That makes me more nervous!”

Vivienne shakes her head, “No, nope, not letting you do that. Come on, I’m going to do your hair, then you’re going to put your pretty little dress on, and we are going to go and win that award.”

YN knew that it was silly, but if she had these girls behind her – she could do anything she put her mind to.

Chicago, 1975 – 5 minutes after the concert

“YN!” YN didn’t listen to Harry’s calls of her name as she stormed off stage. She had no idea where she was going or what she was doing, but all she knew was that she had to get far away. Far away from Harry, far away from Mary and far away from everyone who would know that something was wrong, “YN! Stop walking away from me!”

“Why would I listen to anything you say anymore?” YN scoffs, wiping the tears from off her wet cheeks. She turned down a hallway and realised that it was a dead end. She stopped and sighed, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to get away from him now – and also that they would have to have this conversation where anyone could hear them.

“I need to explain, YN,” Harry sighs from behind her, but she still doesn’t turn to look at him, “Let me explain, please.”

That’s the thing when you love someone – even when they fuck up, you can’t say no to them. That was what YN was struggling with. This man had hurt her, done something inexcusable to her and yet he wanted her to listen, and she was going to do that. It was just who she was, and it’s just what love is.

YN turned to face Harry, slightly shocked at the sight of his reddened face matching hers, “Explain then. Try and explain what I saw!”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, “It wasn’t what it looked like at all – she came on to me. I would never do this to you, you know that!”

“You only pushed her off because I was there!” YN exclaimed, “To me, it looked like you would have had ample opportunity to walk away, to push her away to say fucking no, Harry, but she was still on you!”

“I tried, YN, I fucking tried,” Harry claimed, clearly becoming more exasperated by the second, “She was coked out of her fucking mind! She was high, and on an adrenaline rush and there was no stopping her without hurting her!”

“Then fucking hurt her, Harry,” YN points her finger in his direction, “You were supposed to be mine. Mine. Not hers. I fucking knew she was up to something, and I never said a word because I trusted you! I trusted you more than I trusted myself.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Harry shakes his head, “Blame this all on me. Tell me to hurt her and that she was up to something but not once in any of that did you come to me and tell me that!”

“Oh, good one,” YN chuckles, “I didn’t fucking tell you Harry because I trusted you! And I also thought you had eyes and a pretty good eye for this shit. You should’ve fired her months ago, and you know it. The drugs, the booze, the partying – it’s not who you associate with!”

“I associated with you.”

His words stop YN right in her tracks. She couldn’t believe what he was saying to her. She didn’t want to believe what he was saying to her. She had thought that he would’ve never, ever, put her past against her like that and here he was.

“You did,” YN nodded, “You helped me and loved me when I didn’t know I needed that. All I could hope is that you seeing me like that, loving me like that would make you realise that you shouldn’t be around people like that.”

“She’s a good fucking singer, YN, the crowd responds to her. You’re saying I’m just supposed to fire her because she’s an addict? – come off your fucking high horse.”

“No,” YN shakes her head, “I’m telling you that firing her would have been the right option so that she could get help. This life is not the life that addicts need, you and I both know that. You’re enabling her, allowing her delusions to run, and hurting me in the process! You let her get on top of you, let her kiss you. At no point did you think why? Why does she have the confidence to do this to taken man? It’s because she has no inhibitions, no awareness of her actions!”

“So this is all her fault, yeah? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, I’m saying it’s your fault,” YN took a step forward, pointing her finger against his chest, “You should have realised, you should have put a stop to it. But, now I’m thinking you didn’t want to. Now I’m thinking that you didn’t mind someone coming in and ruining our relationship in this way. I don’t know maybe I wasn’t giving you enough attention, maybe I was getting bigger than you could handle now I’m sober – maybe I don’t ride your dick good enough, I don’t fucking know!”

Harry goes silent, obviously stumped at the girl’s words. Unfortunately for him, that gave YN everything that she needed to know. In her head, all she could think was that he was understanding her, and he wasn’t seeing this from her perspective.

“She hasn’t come in and ruined our relationship, YN,” Harry sighs, shaking his head, “She hasn’t ruined our relationship, you’re the one doing that by not listening to me.”

YN gasps, and that’s it. She lifts her arms and pushes past Harry. He tries to reach out for her, but she pulls away from him.

“YN, you can’t walk away from this,” He calls from behind her, but YN carries on walking. She storms through the hallways, brushing past people lingering in the hallway and hoping that none of them would stop her.

Despite Harry’s calls of her name and the fact that this place is like a fucking maze YN somehow manages to find herself outside. The only problem was Harry had followed her. YN fumbles with her cigarette carton in her pocket and despite her shaking hands she manages to light one.

“Are you finally going to listen to me?” Harry asks, throwing his arms open.

“Are you finally going to listen to me?” She retorts, raising her eyebrow at him.

He shrugs, “What do you want me to say? Sorry? I’m fucking sorry YN.”

YN nods, letting the words settle for a minute. She’d seen this man sorry before, she knew what he was feeling and knew the signs of his true feelings. Whatever he was saying, and trying to express right now she knew wasn’t him. She didn’t know who he was.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” YN shakes her head, “I’m going back to the hotel, packing my shit and going home – I’ll see you in L.A.”

YN turns and walks away, ignoring Harry’s calls to her. The fact that he dared to shout that she was the one leaving this relationship and not working on it as she walked away was crazy to her, and yet here he was. She knew that being on the road changed people, but she didn’t think that it would change him this much. He was her everything, and now she didn’t even want to look him in the eye.

There was always a part of her that thought this was too good to be true, and something was going to ruin it. She would be lying if she said that she didn’t think she would be the one guilty of such, but it seems like it was him that caused this and seemingly had little to no remorse for his actions.

As much as it was going to be difficult, she couldn’t let this ruin her tour. More so, she wasn’t going to let it ruin her life. She had worked too fucking hard.

The second that their car arrives on the carpet, YN knows that everything that she was feeling and all of the memories that had been brought to the surface had to be pushed away. This was her night, one to celebrate with her band and her friends and not bring anything from the past up at all.

Out of all of the awards shows she has been to, YN pulled out all of the stops. The dress she had decided upon was a forest green, one which complimented her darkening hair. It had layers and lace, draping around her arms but allowing her figure to be shown at the same time. Vivienne had styled her hair to perfection, just as the girl always does. Even though Vivienne wasn’t a hairstylist by trade, there wasn’t a single person that YN would trust with her hair besides Vivienne. The last and final touch to her outfit was her cowboy boots and despite Vivienne’s protests when she pulled them on – they truly made her feel like herself.

YN isn’t even two metres onto the carpet before a camera is thrust in her face, a reporter standing by, ready to ask her question upon a question that YN had no control over. It was only in the latter years of her career that she found herself truly in the hands of the media. If her name was mentioned before, she wasn’t in a state of mind to know anything of it.

“YN, it’s your first Grammy Awards, how are you feeling? Nervous? Excited?” The reporter asks, thrusting a microphone into her face before she can even think properly.

“Uh,” YN hesitates for a moment before a small smile crosses her lips, “A bit of both of those, I think. It’s an honour to be invited and nominated at that, but it’s also a little nerve-wracking in the same sense. All I do know is that each person who is nominated deserves that win, and even if it isn’t me I’ll still be grateful for the invitation.”

“How do you feel about reuniting with someone from your past today? Harry Styles. I’m sure you’re aware that he’s announcing your category?”

YN’s heart starts to beat ten times quicker, her palms sweating, but she’s thanking God for all of the media training that she’d been given over the years, “I admire Harry so much as an artist, and has won the category twice before – I can’t name anyone more deserving to present the category.”

The reporter doesn’t look too impressed by her answer, but with more thanks to the reporter and a nod from Vivienne, she decides it’s probably time to move on and get inside. YN immediately links her arm with Vivienne’s and tries to calm her breathing down.

“Was that okay? I think I fully blanked for a second there,” YN mutters the second that they are out of earshot of anybody but the two of them, “I honestly think I just spewed absolute shit at them.”

“It was absolute shit,” Vivienne nodded, pushing one of YN’s curls over her shoulder, “But, as far as PR think it was probably absolutely perfect shit.”

The two girls share a giggle. Pamela joins them a few seconds later, having just come out of her interview, and feels a similar level of confusion and delusion to YN. They take some more photos just as they enter the building, and even though there are calls from left and right for photos of YN on her own – she doesn’t stray from her girls. She could’ve, and she knows that in the future, she might regret not having one fully alone on the carpet – but now, the idea of having to stand on her own without Vivienne or Pamela to hold her up was unbearable.

Once they make it inside the building, YN fully intends to beeline straight towards the drinks. She needed something to chug down to get rid of the cottonmouth she currently had. It wasn’t going to be alcohol, and she certainly knew that – but anything would have been better than the feeling that currently was in her mouth.

“Can I have a glass of water, please? Or soda? Or anything without alcohol?” The bartender looks at her confused, as though he wasn’t suspecting anybody to ask for anything non-alcoholic that evening. YN had offered the man a short but sweet smile in thanks, knowing that if she had opened her mouth she might have said something that she would later come to regret, and beelined straight for where Vivienne and Pamela were waiting for her.

“I can wholeheartedly say I have never wished to drink more than I did in that second,” YN mutters with a shake of her head as she stops in front of the two women, “And it’s not for the sake of I wanted a buzz, no it was for the fact that man had sixteen glasses of champagne ready and not a single glass of fucking water!”

“Okay,” Vivienne reached over and placed her hand on Vivienne’s free hand, as the other was currently lifting the glass of water to her lips, “I think the nerves are probably getting the better of us, and drinking is not the solution to that.”

“I’m not going to do it,” YN sighs, dropping the now empty glass back down on the bar, “Have more faith in me than that, it just crossed my mind, that’s all – for ease.”

YN doesn’t notice the partners share a look, one that they both know exactly what that means, and what they are to do. They knew wholeheartedly that this was just YN’s nerves talking, and the second that they got her distracted and sitting down it would all be okay.

“Did I tell you about the man who got in touch the other day?” Vivienne started, immediately realising that she was about to be chatting absolute shit to her friend, but it was better than to let Vivienne sit in a ball of her stress.

“No,” YN shakes her head, accepting another glass of water from the bartender, “What man?”

“Yeah… what man?” Pamela mutters, her entire face pursed with confusion. Vivienne kicks her slightly under the table, “Oh, yeah, that man! How about we walk and talk?”

Vivienne started to rattle on to her about a man who had come into her gallery and asked her question upon question without seeming to be interested in buying anything. It became obvious to YN further on in the conversation that the man wanted to ask Viv on a date, and she had to be the one to break the news that she was in a committed relationship. Even though Vivienne was rattling on, YN knew why she was doing so. It was to distract YN from the thoughts, and more so from the impending reunion that was on the horizon.

Vivienne rattled on until they got to their seats and continued even when they had sat down. It was funny to YN, that these two women would do anything for her, and she would do anything for them – and that included making a story that certainly wasn’t as interesting as they were making it seem so for YN’s sake.

YN was repeatedly kicking herself internally for the fact that every time her eyes darted around the room, there was one person that she was thinking specifically about. The thing that YN didn’t want to face was not being in control when she saw him again. She had learnt so much about how to control herself recently, and that would send her spiralling right back to a place that she didn’t want to be.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” YN spoke once there was a lilt in the conversation, “Don’t want to be needed a piss in the middle of the awards.”

“Okay,” Vivienne nodded, knowing that some time by herself might be what YN needs right now just to centre herself, “Do you need us to come with?”

“No,” YN offers her a smile, “I’ll only be a minute or two.”

When YN weaved her way through the corridors to the bathroom, it was made abundantly clear to her that her time in the bathroom would be spent sitting on a closed toilet rather than doing anything. After a few minutes, she left the cubicle to glance at herself in the mirror and make sure that her makeup and hair still looked okay.

Once she was happy with herself and felt calmer than she did it was the perfect time to make her way back to the awards and hope that it all went smoother.

Just as YN had turned out of the bathroom door, a smile on her face finally – it was made obvious straight away that it wasn’t to last long. That was because standing a few feet away from her was Harry. He was dressed to the nines in a full pinstripe suit, one hand resting in his pocket as he walked towards her.

YN froze completely, unable to move or breathe or simply function. It was a second or so later that Harry noticed her as well, and his movements came to a stop also. His face dropped, just as hers had. It was the first time in ten years that they had been face to face, the last time being the night of her final performance in L.A., when their relationship had ended completely. Even though it had been ten years, when Harry opened his mouth to speak to her, she felt as though she was right back in that moment and that all of the work she had didn’t matter anymore.

“Hi.”

L.A., 1975 – The last performance of YN’s tour

To say that YN was ready for this tour to finish was an understatement.

There was nothing she loved more than performing her songs for the people who loved them – but with everything that was going on behind the scenes, she just wanted to go home and be with Vivienne and Pamela.

Her band had been doing her fucking head in the entire time, not the girls, mainly the boys, but they were all at fault. It was her simple rules, and they seemed to just not understand the consequences of what happens when they break them. It was why for the first time in a while, YN walked into the green room with a certain skip in her step.

The band was lounged around, empty cans and packets of coke on every surface, but YN was past the point of caring. This was their last night together, and she was not embarrassed to say that she was excited to break that news to them.

“Last night,” YN sighed as she dropped down against the sofa, crossing one of her legs over the other (her cowboy boots sat comfortably on her feet), “I didn’t think we’d get here but we have.”

There was a slight chuckle in the room, and then there was a silence. It was a bittersweet moment. This tour had been one of the best and worst times of her life, and there were only so many words in the English language to explain that.

“I’m not one for many words, as you all know,” YN starts before she hears a snigger from one of the boys.

“Unless you’re fucking complaining about some shit.”

A laugh spreads through the room, and even YN is guilty of a smile spreading across her face.

“Normally complaining about you two just being fucking idiots,” She retorts with a smile, “That’s why I’m happy and relieved to say that this is our last show of this tour, and our last show together… because if I ever do this again, it isn’t going to be with any of you.”

For once, the room is silent, and YN feels a wave of accomplishment rush through her veins.

“Now, let’s go and put on the best fucking show of this tour.”

YN turned to walk out of the room, an ever-present smile still resting on her face. Despite what this show was, and what was consequently going to happen because of this – there was at least this positive for her to focus on. As YN prepared to go on stage, standing on the sidelines and hearing the screams and shouts of the people who were here to see her, she realised that nothing was going to ruin today.

“You ready, babes?” Vivienne smiles from behind her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

YN sighs but nods, “I am… is he here?”

Vivienne’s eyes never leave YN’s, but a wave of sadness washes over them, and she nods, “He’s in a green room with his band.”

YN nods. Since that night in Pittsburgh, there’s been no communication between herself, and Harry and she was glad about that. Everything had gone through management, and YN thought that was the best way to do it. It was strange to think that she would be seeing him in the flesh soon, and singing with him once again but it was probably for the best that she hadn’t thought about it at all.

“If you see him, tell him not to be shit,” YN says and Vivienne chuckles, reaching out to give YN’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t you worry,” Vivienne shakes her head, “If I see him, I’ll be saying a whole lot more to him.”

YN just rolls her eyes but is appreciative of her friend, and she knows that Vivienne knows that, too. When YN had first called Vivienne to explain what had happened, Vivienne was ready to jump on a flight and speak her mind to Harry. Once YN had gotten over her initial anger at the situation, Vivienne was there for her throughout the sadness, too. When she needed to cry, Vivienne was always there at the end of the phone to be there for her.

The two girls shared one last hug before it was time for YN to go on stage, to finish the tour that might have actually been the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she would be lying if she said that she hadn’t loved it as well.

Telling her band that she was firing them before the last show could have gone one of two ways. Fortunately for YN, it had gone a better way than many would have expected. They were good at what they did, and they all (she was including herself in this) played the best that they had the entire tour. There was an energy from the crowd that was palpable, and it seemed to be wearing off on the band as well as herself. It was a damn good show if she said so herself.

Just as she was coming to the last song on her set, she received a nod from the side of the stage saying that it was time. Time for her to welcome a guest on to stage, and to pretend in front of thousands of people that this man hadn’t just broke her heart.

Once the cheering has subsided, YN tucked her hair behind her ears and addressed the crowd, knowing it was better to do so like she was ripping a band-aid off rather than drawing it out.

“Now, it’s coming up to the point where we have to say goodnight,” YN smiles, hearing a mixture of cheers and boos from the crowd, “And before we do say goodnight, I thought… since it’s the last night of our tour, and you’ve been such an amazing crowd that I’d surprise you all… Now, this guest, he’s someone that’s very special to me. I haven’t seen him, or spoken to him in a while… but he has my heart, and he should always know that… Now, please put your hands together for Mr. Harry Styles!”

There’s a moment where YN doesn’t want to turn to look at Harry, in fact she just wants to ignore that he’s there all together – but she knows she can’t do that. Once she does turn to look at him, she’s shocked at what she sees. It still looks like him, the man that she loved with all of her heart, but he looks worn out, and tired and quite possibly heartbroken.

The band starts to play Cherry and all of a sudden she’s transported back to that night. Everything that happened, everything that he did, everything that she felt rushed back to her body, and flooded every one of her thoughts. It was difficult to keep her composure, and even more difficult not to turn and look at him, but she couldn’t. Not when she had a show to put on, and a tour to finish.

“Don’t you call him [me] baby/ We’re not talking lately.”

As the song was drawing to a close, YN realised that she had to look at Harry. Now that her initial anger and upset had passed, he needed to see how she felt. He needed to see how he had hurt her.

It wasn’t in YN’s plan to change the lyrics, but she couldn’t help herself. A song that Harry and herself had written all those years ago was now resonating in their life in a way that neither one of them could’ve expected.

“Don’t you call her what you used to call me.”

Harry stopped singing when he noticed what she had done, and even with thousands of people in the room it felt as though it was only the two of them, once more, just as it had been on that night. Instead of an anger running through her veins, YN felt sadness, a heaviness. She was grieving the man she knew and the life that she had envisioned for herself because in that moment she realised it was over… for good.

“Thank you all, you’ve been amazing!” YN snapped herself out of her trance and turned back to the crowd, “Thank you for having me, and I’m sure we’ll see you all soon!”

With once last smile and wave to the crowd, YN turned and walked off the stage, leaving her band and Harry standing there. She wasn’t necessarily proud of this action, but it was needed. It was her time to leave this tour, and these feelings in the past – and there was one more thing that she needed to do to ensure that.

“When Harry comes off, tell him to come to my dressing room,” She spoke to Jeff as she walked past him, offering him a small smile as she did.

“Of course.” He replied with a nod.

She paced in the room for a few seconds and then the door opened behind her. She turned, and he was there. It was strange, she had imagined what this conversation was going to be like so many times in her head and now that he was here, she couldn’t think of any of it. All she knew was that she needed to tell him how she felt.

“YN…”

“No,” YN shook her head, biting the side of her lip and resting her hands upon her hips, “I need you to listen to me… and I need you to listen carefully,” There was a slight pause where she had to compose herself from crying, “I love you, and I still love you and I probably always will… but, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t… you couldn’t see it from my perspective, and I don’t know if you ever will, but I know that for myself, I can’t wait and find out.”

“YN…” There were tears in his eyes.

There were now tears in hers, “I will never be able to get that image out of my head, and what you said… It hurt me. I love you and I want you to know that… but we’re over.”

A silence washes over them, as though both of them were coming to terms with what she was saying.

Harry shrugged, “I don’t know what else I can say but I love you.”

“I just saw him,” YN says the second she sits down with Pam and Viv.

Vivienne almost spits out her drink, and Pamela’s mouth drops open, “What do you mean?”

“He was there when I left the bathroom,” YN shook her head, “I just stared at him. I didn’t even say anything.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Vivienne asks and YN nods her head.

“He said ‘Hi’ and then I bolted back here,” YN places her head in the palm of her hands, “I knew that I was going to see him, but I thought it was at least going to be in this room, or when he gets on stage – not after I had a piss.”

Vivienne wraps her arm around YN, “The show’s about to start. Put it out of your mind. You’ve got a Grammy to win.”

That’s exactly what (with a little bit of inner strength) she did. The show started, and awards were given out, and the clock was ticking until it was her category. She kept herself looking cool, calm, and collected to anyone glancing at her, but inside, her heart was racing out of her chest.

“Your next babes,” Vivienne grabbed YN’s hand from the side of her, “Whatever happens, I just want to tell you that I love you and I’m so proud of you.”

YN’s eyebrows lifted, tears collecting in her waterline, “Stop it… or I’ll cry before it even starts.”

“Don’t you worry, babes…” Vivienne squeezed her hand tighter, “I’ll wipe your snot before you go on stage.”

YN rolled her eyes, and the girls shared a chuckle. It was then that the lights dimmed. A round of applause started, and the spotlight hit the stage. Harry was dressed in the same pinstripe suit as she had seen him a few hours before. He stood on the stage, his arms crossed in front of him and a smile on his lips. It wasn’t the smile that YN remembered in her dreams, the one where his dimples and his teeth lit up the world – but it was him.

“As a recipient of this award myself, I am honoured to announce this category today,” he said, cool, calm, and collected, “As much as I’m sure you would all love to hear me chat away, I think it’s probably better for everyone that we get to it. The nominees are…”

YN blanks out as the names are read, but when he speaks her name for the first time in years, she almost melts. It was strange that her body had such a visceral reaction to something that she hadn’t ever thought about before.

“And… the Grammy goes to…” Harry speaks, opening the envelope. It was then that a beaming smile crossed his face, “YN YLN!”

A gasp left her lips, a high-pitched buzz filling her ears. There was a part of her that didn’t believe it, but when she saw Vivienne’s teary-eyed face staring at her – she knew it was real. The girl, who was usually cool, calm and collected was sobbing so forcefully that YN was slightly scared for her.

“I told you, babes!” Once YN pushes herself up from her seat, Vivienne pounces on her in a hug, “I knew it was going to be you!”

“I…” YN shakes her head, her eyes brimming with tears.

“You need to go,” Vivienne places her hands on YN’s cheeks and nods, “Take Pam, and go. Get your fucking Grammy babes.”

YN nods and reaches for Pam’s hand, whose face looks the same as YN does. There was a flash of disbelief as well as pure shock on both the girl’s faces. YN squeezes Pam’s hand as tightly as she can, trying to centre herself as well as be there for the other woman as they walk towards the stage. It’s then that YN hears the clapping from the crowd, and it takes every ounce of strength she has not to burst out into tears.

Then she sees him.

He was standing at the front of the stage, the award clutched in his hand, but at that point, it was almost as though the award didn’t matter. The smile on his face was the one she saw in her dreams when she closed her eyes and thought back to that time of her life. When she doesn’t want to think of the heartbreak or the hardship, when she wants to think of the overwhelming love she felt and had in her body. That was the Harry that she saw standing there, the one who first asked her to come on stage and sing his song with him, the man who gave her everything.

If it wasn’t for Pamela pulling her up the stairs, she would’ve ceased moving altogether. Once she had come to a stop in front of him, he held the award out to her.

“Well done.”

“Thank you.”

That was all she could say before she was pushed in front of a microphone. Pamela tried to slip out of YN’s hand, but she pulled Pamela right to the side of her.

“I hadn’t expected this,” YN chuckles into the microphone, “So I’m sorry if I forget anyone or anything. I think… I want to thank my team, my band, and Pamela in particular, who stayed with me all of those nights when I couldn’t give up and had to finish even though everyone else had left… I want to thank everyone in my life who saw me at my lowest and pushed me to my best. Vivienne. I want to thank you for forever being my best friend, my sister, and my family. This is for you and for everything you’ve ever done for me… and, uh, Harry. I, uh, want to thank you for seeing something in me that night at your show and asking me on that stage… I wouldn’t be here without that. Thank you so much, I’ll keep this forever close to my heart.”

Even though he was standing right next to YN, she couldn’t look at him. When she had given her speech, some thought earlier on in the day, the thought of thanking Harry hadn’t even crossed her mind. Looking back, she assumed it was because she was too nervous to see him that thanking him in her speech hadn’t even crossed her mind. Once she had deemed that seeing him hadn’t been as bad as she expected it to be (minus the stress and also rehashing of memories that she had wanted nothing more than to forget), it was like her brain couldn’t stop the words from coming out of her mouth.

Music started playing around her, and she saw this as her cue to leave the stage. Grabbing Pamela’s hand, she pulled them off the side of the stage, where she guessed that she was going to have her photo taken.

Just as she started to make her way down the steps, she felt something tug the end of her dress, and she nearly went toppling forward down them. A hand grabbed onto her elbow, steadying her. She turned, and there he was, a concerned look on his face.

“Keep going,” He nodded, “It’s okay.”

Then she felt the skirt of her dress lift, and she didn’t have to worry anymore.

“If it was up to me, you would’ve won for your very first,” A man who YN knew as some studio executive was standing in front of her. There was a strong smell emanating from his person, and the empty glass in his hand, YN assumed it was whisky, “It’s the studio’s fault for not nominating you. I would’ve done that straight away. You would be on your fourth, even fifth nomination and win by now.”

“It wasn’t the studio’s fault,” YN offered him with a small smile, trying to be polite and not as though this was the fiftieth conversation she’d had like this since she arrived, “It was mine. I was in recovery. They couldn’t have nominated me even if they wanted to.”

“Oh,” He seemed surprised, “Anyway, if you ever do fancy a switch in studios, gimme a call.”

“I won’t,” YN offers another smile, “But thanks for the offer.”

YN turns, and spots Vivienne and Pamela coming back and drinks it hand. It happens every time they leave or every time they even turn their back on YN for a second. YN was so proud of herself for having won, but if this was what she was going to get from here on out, she was going to have to mentally prepare herself for such.

“Here is your water, winner,” Vivienne passed her the glass with a smile on her face, and YN rolled her eyes at the girl’s antics.

“Are you going to stop with that already?” YN accepted it and placed the chilled glass against her face, flushing from the heat in the room.

Vivienne shrugs, “I will… once the novelty has worn off.”

YN just rolls her eyes and shakes her head, “I’m going outside for a cigarette, it’s too hot in here.”

“Okay, winner,” YN shakes her head once more, seeing as though Pamela had decided to join in on her girlfriend’s antics as well.

“You’re a winner too, Pam, don’t forget that.”

YN placed a kiss on Pam and Viv’s cheeks before making her way towards the glass doors that opened to a balcony. They were at some fancy hotel that YN assumed she had been at before in her life but couldn’t remember either due to being high or so exhausted that she didn’t know where she was. Once she stepped outside, though, she realised that she had been here before, and it was on neither one of those occasions. It was after that tour had ended, the one where she had broken up with Harry. There had been a party to celebrate the end, and it was here. YN only remembered the view because instead of being inside celebrating, she had been out here, sitting watching the skyline pass by her.

YN pulled her cigarettes out of her bag, slipping one between her lips and lighting it. It seemed like a coincidence that she was here now after so much had changed. She stood, leant against the railing just as she had that night prior, and looked out at the skyline – this time a Grammy winner, but she would not say any less heartbroken.

“Congratulations,” YN didn’t jump at the sound of a voice behind her, but her eyes closed when she realised who it was, “I didn’t get to say that before.”

“You did,” YN mumbles, exhaling smoke as she did so, “On stage.”

He stops and leans against the railing next to her, taking his own cigarette out. She doesn’t turn to look at him but once she does she just nods her head.

“What’s your plan now? Going to write another?” He asks, turning on his side slightly so that his body is facing hers.

YN just shrugged, turning her body so that she was facing him as well, “I don’t know. What about you?”

Harry sighs, nodding his head slightly, “I’m taking a break. Going back to London, going to spend some time with my family. Gem’s getting married in the summer, and I want to be there.”

“Pass on my congratulations to her,” YN nods, “A break sounds nice. I mean, it’s been ten years for me must be twelve, thirteen for you.”

“Thirteen,” He nods, running a hand over his face, “I need to slow down, I’m not getting any younger here.”

YN exhales a laugh, “We all know that’s the truth… and in hindsight, I don’t think a break is ever on the cards for me. As long as I’m breathing, I’ll probably be making music.”

YN had said it before, and she’d say it again – as long as she was making music that people enjoyed, she’d do it for as long as they let her.

“Speaking of music…” He looks away from her for a second and back out onto the skyline, “You didn’t have to thank me in your speech… I know it probably wasn’t the easiest thing you’ve ever done.”

YN just shakes her head, turning to look at him even though he wasn’t looking at her, “It was just the truth. I truly would not be here if it wasn’t for you. Without you pulling me on that stage that night, God I dread to think what my life would look like. I’d probably be in some unhappy marriage, with a husband who I hate and kids that hate me – just like my parents.”

Harry finally turned to look at her, “It was nothing.”

YN shakes her head once more, “It wasn’t.”

Harry clears his throat, “I know… I know I’ve done this before, and I know last time it didn’t go the way that I wanted it to, okay? But YN, I swear to you… I am so sorry about everything that happened. Looking back, you were right. I was enabling her, and not only that, but I was also hurting you in the process. I can never forgive myself for that… and I’d understand if you never forgave me as well.”

YN sighs, immediately feeling tears starting to well within her eyes, “It’s okay… it’s been too long now, it’s water under the bridge.”

As YN spoke, her voice cracked. She hadn’t realised that even though her mind knew what she wanted to say, her body betrayed her. She hadn’t realised what was building within her as he spoke, even more so when she did.

When she turned to him, there were tears in his eyes just as they were in hers. Standing here, with him after all of those years – no matter how much he had hurt her, there was a part of her that still loved him. She loved him, the life he gave her, the memories they had – the way he made her feel. She tried not to go back to that chapter of her life if she could help it, to stop the pain from resurfacing, but oftentimes, it was the memories of love that she welcomed the most.

Harry dropped his cigarette down on the floor, squashing it with his heel so that it was out. YN turned to him once more, watching as a tear slipped down his face. He immediately reached up and wiped it off his cheek.

“Listen, YN, if you ever do fancy that break London’s just a plane ride away,” He turned as though he was going to walk away, but then he stopped and turned back around, “And I’m always just a phone call away.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

#rm #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #hary styles series #series

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