#and that handshake that harry didn’t take

[jezebelblues]

live on tour (interlinked) | h.s | 1

pt 1, pt 2 (complete)

summary: we don’t talk about it, it’s something we don’t do—cause once you go without it, nothing else will do.

cw: smut18+ in pt 2, weed, alcohol, angst, sort of a slowburn idk, fem!reader, hs1rry

word count: approx 21.5k gulp

| idk how to feel ab this!!! stay with me now. + tumblr forced me to put this into two parts. [wink, nudge: the lyrics always mean something] i'm posting pt 2 right after this. smut is in 2nd part if that's only ur cup of tea

masterlist

June, 2017

It was Mitch who vouched for her.

Harry had trusted him implicitly since the first meeting. His effortless cool, his way of speaking only when necessary, and the way his guitar sounded like it could split the sky—all of it made him essential to Harry’s debut. If Mitch said someone was good, Harry would believe it.

But good wasn’t the issue.

“S’not about talent,” Harry had said one night in rehearsals, after the original second guitarist dropped out. “I just need t’feel like we fit, you know?”

Mitch had nodded, taking that as permission to make the call.

Her name was YN.

He’d heard the name before. Her reputation in the industry wasn’t loud but sharp—a razor’s edge that hinted at precision and professionalism. A prodigy of sorts, she’d landed her big break with Pink Floyd’s operatic revival of The Wall, the youngest lead guitarist in the show’s history. Since then, she’d moved from project to project, touring, sitting in on sessions, lending her guitar to artists who wanted her distinct, cutting sound.

Harry had always assumed she was someone you called when you needed the best, but not someone you kept around.

He wasn’t sure why that thought stuck in his head when Mitch mentioned her name.

He fumbled with the hem of his white t-shirt and stood at the back of the dim rehearsal space, watching Mitch set up. The low hum of amps warming up filled the room. Mitch’s quiet focus steadied Harry’s nerves—until the door opened.

She walked in with her guitar strapped across her back. She wasn’t early, but she wasn’t late either. The kind of timing that said she knew she was good but wasn’t going to make a show of it.

“Hey.” Mitch greeted her with a slight nod. He’d already taken his place behind the mixing board, leaving Harry to do the introductions.

YN turned her head toward Harry. Her eyes flickered over him briefly, as if appraising him, and then landed back on Mitch. “This the audition?”

Harry frowned. “Not an audition. A rehearsal.”

She raised an eyebrow, but her expression didn’t waver. “Right. Rehearsal.”

There was no handshake, no nervousness, no wide-eyed awe that he was used to when people first met him. She treated him like someone she was there to work with, not someone she wanted to impress.

Mitch gestured to a stand near the tall brunette. “You can set up there.”

She walked past them both without another word, unzipping her guitar case and pulling out a battered Stratocaster, crème and pine green. Harry noticed her hands immediately—nimble fingers with calluses thick enough to catch the light.

“Let’s get on with it then,” she grinned, plugging in.

He leaned toward Mitch, speaking low enough that she couldn’t hear. “Bit cocky, isn’t she?”

Mitch smirked but didn’t reply.

The first run-through was solid. She played with precision, hitting every note cleanly, and her technical skills were undeniable. But something about it felt cold, distant. Harry tried to catch her eye while they were playing, but she was hyper-focused on her guitar, her face blank.

When they finished the first song, he put his hands on his hips. “Alright,” he paused, louder than necessary. “That’s…fine. Let’s take it from the top.”

YN looked at Mitch. “Fine?”

Harry cut in before he could respond. “Yeah, fine. It’s technically good, but there’s no feeling in it. This isn’t session work. We’re putting on a live show. People need t’feel something when you play.”

She stared at him for a moment, then set her guitar down on its stand. “And what exactly do you want me to feel? We’re playing your songs.”

The tension in the room spiked. Mitch glanced between the two of them, looking ready to intervene.

He crossed his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she started, brushing her hair back from her face, “that if you want something specific, maybe tell me what you’re looking for instead of just saying it’s not good enough.”

Her words hung in the air.

Mitch cleared his throat. “Why don’t we try the next track?”

She picked up her guitar without waiting for Harry’s input. Her fingers brushed the strings in a quick, angry strum as she tested the tuning. Harry stared at her, his jaw tight.

She didn’t flinch under his gaze.

It went on like that for the next hour.

Every time YN played, he found something to critique. Her tone, her phrasing, her timing—it didn’t matter that Mitch disagreed and kept insisting she was perfect for the role. Harry refused to back down, nitpicking every detail.

By the time they reached the final song, the air in the room was thick with unspoken animosity. YN played the opening riff of kiwi with more aggression than necessary, her fingers sliding over the frets like she wanted to punish the guitar.

When they finished, she shifted her weight and unplugged her amp. “Are we done?” she asked, slinging her guitar back over her shoulder.

Harry opened his mouth, ready with another critique, but Mitch cut him off. “Yeah. We’re done f'today.”

She nodded, her expression unreadable. She didn’t look at Harry again as she walked toward the door.

When it closed behind her, Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “She’s not right for this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“I’m positive,” He snapped. “She’s not a team player. She doesn’t fit.”

He leaned back against the mixing board, crossing his arms, hair falling behind his shoulders. “You ever think that maybe you’re the one who doesn’t fit?”

Harry glared at him. “What’s that supposed t’mean?”

“It means,” he said slowly, “that she’s a better guitarist than you’re giving her credit for. And maybe you don’t like her because she’s not trying to kiss your ass.”

He scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

Mitch shrugged. “If you want to replace her, go ahead. But good luck finding someone else who can keep up with me…or you.”

Outside the rehearsal space, YN stood by her car, lighting a cigarette. She didn’t smoke often, only with a drink or if she was tense. 

She exhaled a plume of smoke into the warm evening air, her jaw clenched. She wasn’t angry exactly, but there was something about Harry Styles that got under her skin.

It wasn’t his fame or his music—that was fine. She’d worked with big names before. It was the way he carried himself, like he expected the world to bend around him.

He wasn’t used to people pushing back, and YN had no intention of making it easy for him.

If he wanted her to feel something when she played, she’d give him exactly that.

Even if it meant setting the whole stage on fire.

The rehearsal space smelled faintly of stale coffee and amps that had been running too long. The walls were lined with soundproofing panels, their faded gray color doing little to brighten the room. YN arrived early this time—not out of eagerness, but because she didn’t want to give Harry anything else to criticize.

Her guitar case thumped onto the ground before she adjusted the ring on her pinky—not dainty, but not loud. Her mother’s birth flower ingrained along the gold surface, a piece of her she could carry since her death in 2014. She could hear Mitch in the back, tuning his Gibson, and the faint shuffle of Harry’s sneakers as he moved across the space, adjusting mic stands and scribbling notes.

She was effortlessly pretty, the kind of beauty that crept up on you when you weren’t paying attention. Her lips held a natural pout, and her hair framed her face in a way that looked casual but impossibly deliberate, like it had conspired with the universe to fall just right. Her outfit was understated, perfect for rehearsal—straight-leg blue denim that sat just right on her hips, an off-white baby tee with cherry bomb splashed in bold red across the center, and a pair of scuffed white club c reeboks that had seen more than their fair share of years since 2015.

Around her wrist was a faded friendship bracelet, its once-bright threads dulled by time but no less significant. Jude, her best friend since high school, had tied it there the night they graduated, their laughter mingling with the hum of summer cicadas. She’d never taken it off, not once, even as life swept them into different journeys.

When YN told Jude over vodka cranberries that she’d landed a gig playing guitar for Harry Styles—yes, that Harry Styles—Jude nearly fell off her barstool. She’d been the kind of One Direction fan who made custom shirts for concerts and cried during little things. YN still remembered the way her voice shook with disbelief as she grabbed her by the shoulders and said, “You’re telling me you’re gonna play for Harry fucking Styles?” It had taken two rounds of shots to calm her down, though her enthusiasm had lingered for weeks. It was the kind of reaction that reminded YN how surreal this opportunity really was.

She promised she’d get her a front row ticket the first night in New York. 

She took her time setting up, deliberately slow. If Harry wanted to play mind games, she could too.

“Morning,” Mitch greeted, glancing up from his guitar.

“Hey,” she replied, flashing a quick smile. Mitch was the only person in the room she felt remotely comfortable around.

Harry’s voice cut through the room, sharper than it needed to be. “You’re early today.”

YN didn’t bother looking at him. “Thought I’d save you the trouble of complaining.”

The sound of Mitch’s guitar string snapping filled the silence that followed. He muttered something under his breath and bent to grab a spare string from his bag.

He walked over, his footsteps deliberate. “It’s not complaining. It’s feedback.”

“Uh-huh,” YN’s lips twitched, focusing on adjusting her amp. She crouched to test the levels, purposely ignoring him.

Harry crouched too, just enough to catch her eye. He smelt like cedar and pine. “You have something t’say?”

Her hands paused on the dials. “Nope.”

“Good.”

She stood abruptly, the motion forcing Harry to lean back. Her expression didn’t change, but her grip on her guitar tightened.

The rehearsal started the same way the last one ended: tense.

YN matched Harry’s intensity with her playing, her fingers precise but hard, striking each note with the kind of force that could shatter glass. She didn’t look at him once, even when he stopped the song halfway through to give her another round of vague critiques.

“Can you make it less…clinical?” he asked, his hands gesturing vaguely in the air.

“Clinical?” she repeated, her voice flat.

“Yeah, like…put some soul into it. Like it means something to you.”

Her lips twitched into the faintest smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I wasn’t aware Sign of the Times was a soul song.”

She didn’t mean that, not really. It was a song of his that she enjoyed, she liked the 70’s elements he took, the way his voice sounded with the instruments in the back—but he was getting under her skin, he deserved the same.

Mitch coughed to hide his laugh.

Harry’s jaw clenched. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

The tension in the room was palpable now, a live wire crackling between them. Mitch stood off to the side, quietly restringing his guitar, pretending not to notice.

Harry took a deep breath, his tone softening. “Look, I just need it t’feel real. Like you’re part of it, not just playing over it.”

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Alright.”

She picked up her guitar again and launched into the song before anyone could say another word. This time, her playing wasn’t just technically perfect—it was angry. The notes tore through the air, raw and sharp, as if she were trying to prove a point with every riff.

He watched her, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He couldn’t deny it sounded good—better than good—but there was something about her attitude that made him want to push back harder.

By the time they reached the last song of the set, the air in the room was thick with frustration.

Mitch played the opening riff, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings, and YN followed with her part. Her playing was looser now, more natural, but the tension in her shoulders hadn’t eased.

When they finished, Harry didn’t say anything right away. He stood there, staring at her, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Well?” she asked, her voice clipped.

“S’fine,” he said, his tone careful.

“Fine?”

“You’re improving,” he clarified, though the words felt begrudging.

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Good to know I’m living up to your impossible standards.”

Harry bristled. “It’s not impossible to ask for some effort.”

“Effort?” Her voice rose slightly. “I’ve been putting in effort since I walked through that door, but all you’ve done is nitpick every single thing I do.”

“Because I know what this show needs!”

“No, you know what you need,” she shot back. “This isn’t about the music—it’s about your ego.”

The words hit like a slap. Mitch’s guitar strap slipped from his shoulder as he froze, watching the scene unfold.

Harry’s expression darkened. “If my ego were the problem, you wouldn’t be here.”

The room went silent.

YN’s gaze didn’t waver. “Right. Well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you dragged me into this.”

She slung her guitar over her shoulder and walked toward the door, her sneakers squeaking against the floor.

“Where are you going?” Harry called after her.

She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Taking a break. Unless you have a problem with that too.”

Before he could respond, the door swung shut behind her.

Mitch set his guitar down and looked at Harry, his expression unreadable. “You’re really bad at this, you know that?” he said finally.

Harry glared at him. “At what?”

“Not making her hate you.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t hate me.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow. “And the sky isn’t blue.”

He didn’t reply. He sat down on the edge of the stage, his shoulders slumping slightly. He wasn’t used to being challenged like this, and it was throwing him off balance.

Mitch leaned against the amp, watching him. “You know, you don’t have to like her. You just have to work with her.”

“I know.” 

“Then stop pushing her so hard. She’s already good enough for this tour—you’re the one who needs to let go a bit.”

He didn’t say anything, but the knot in his chest tightened. He wasn’t sure if it was frustration or something else entirely.

Outside, YN leaned against the wall, her cigarette glowing faintly in the dim light. She exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cool evening air.

She wasn’t sure what was worse—working with Harry or wanting to prove him wrong so badly it made her chest ache.

She took another drag and let the thought dissolve in the smoke.

September third

The studio was quiet now, the hum of amps and chatter of the band long gone. The others had left half an hour ago, leaving YN to pack up her gear in peace. She moved deliberately, her hands steady despite the exhaustion settling deep in her bones.

The rehearsal had been grueling. Harry had pushed harder than ever, his sharp critiques grating on her nerves until every strum of her guitar felt like a defiance. She wasn’t sure if he noticed—or cared—but by the end of the session, she’d felt like she was one wrong note away from throwing her guitar through a wall.

Now, alone with the quiet, she could finally breathe.

Until she wasn’t alone.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind her, and YN stiffened, glancing over her shoulder to see Harry stepping back into the room. He had swapped his stage shoes for sneakers, the cuffs of his trousers rolled slightly at the ankles. His sweater was slung over one shoulder, and the faint sheen of sweat on his neck suggested he hadn’t been gone long.

“Forgot m’notebook,” he said, his voice casual as his eyes scanned the room.

“Lucky me,” she muttered, turning back to her guitar.

He didn’t reply, but she could feel his presence as he crossed the space, moving toward the table where his things were scattered.

YN focused on wrapping her cable, each loop tight and precise. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, not after the day they’d had.

But Harry didn’t leave.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged, as he lingered near the table. YN’s movements slowed, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Something you need?” she asked, not bothering to mask the edge in her voice.

When he didn’t answer right away, she turned to face him, her hands still clutching the coiled cable.

Harry was watching her, his notebook forgotten on the table. His eyes were sharp, unreadable, and the weight of his gaze made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

“You were pushing today,” he said finally, his tone measured.

She blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“During rehearsal,” he clarified, crossing his arms. “You weren’t playing like y’normally do.”

“Maybe I was just tired.” She countered, though the words felt like a lie even as she said them.

“You weren’t tired,” he said softly.

Her jaw tightened. “What do you want, Harry? If you’re here to critique me again, save it. I’ve heard enough for one day.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped closer, his movements deliberate but unthreatening. “I wasn’t trying t’pick on you,” he breathed, his voice quieter now. “If that’s how it felt, I’m sorry.”

YN stared at him, her mind struggling to reconcile the words with the man who’d spent months nitpicking every note she played.

“Why do you care?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line as he looked at her. “Because I need this to work.”

His words landed heavily between them, and for a moment, the room felt too small.

“You act like it’s just me,” she said finally, her voice quieter but still tinged with frustration. “Like I’m the only thing keeping it from working.”

“I don’t think that,” he said quickly, his eyes locking onto hers. “You’re good—better than good. That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s me.”

YN froze, her breath catching at the raw honesty in his voice. She hadn’t expected that—not from him.

The silence between them grew heavier, the tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

Harry’s gaze dropped briefly, like he was searching for the right words. When he looked back up, there was something different in his expression, something softer but no less intense.

“You frustrate me,” he said finally, the words low but certain.

YN’s throat went dry. “Right back at you.”

He took another step closer, and this time, she didn’t move away. Her heart pounded as she looked up at him, her chest tightening under the weight of his stare.

Neither of them spoke, the silence crackling with unspoken words.

She didn’t know who leaned in first—maybe it was him, or maybe it was her—but suddenly the space between them was almost nonexistent. She could feel the warmth of his breath, see the faint flicker of hesitation in his eyes as he lingered just close enough to touch.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her fingers curled into the coiled cable in her hand, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Harry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

The sound of his name seemed to pull him back, his eyes searching hers for a fleeting moment before he stepped away.

“I should go.” 

He grabbed his notebook and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

YN stood there, her heart still racing, the ghost of his presence lingering in the air.

Whatever had just happened—whatever had almost happened—she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

September nineteenth

San Francisco was humming.

The Masonic sat perched atop Nob Hill like a jewel overlooking the city, its art deco façade catching the early morning light. By dawn, the line of fans already snaked around the block, blankets and camp chairs scattered across the sidewalk. A faint fog clung to the streets, giving the historic building an ethereal quality as the first rays of sunlight broke through.

It was opening night of Harry’s solo tour, and the air outside the venue was electric.

Groups of fans huddled close, wrapped in scarves and oversized sweatshirts, their conversations a steady hum of anticipation. Some clutched homemade signs or albums, while others leaned against the building, scrolling through their phones to pass the hours.

Inside the venue, it was chaos.

The crew had been there since 6 am, unloading crates of equipment, running cables like veins along the stage. Monitors were stacked, adjusted, then adjusted again. Lights were tested until they bathed the empty floor in saturated pinks and golds. A countdown clock blinked red backstage, a digital reminder that time was slipping through the cracks, too fast and too slow all at once.

By 10 am, the band was in full rehearsal mode, locked in a cycle of repetition and frustration. YN perched on a stool near the edge of the stage, her guitar resting against her thighs, the strap digging into her shoulder. Mitch was on her left, his head bent over his guitar, fingers moving like smoke over the frets. The two of them had been working together for months now, tight and efficient, a partnership forged in long hours and shared cigarettes.

Harry stood center stage, mic in hand, dressed like he hadn’t quite decided if he wanted to be a rock star or a poet today. He wore a loose black blouse unbuttoned to his sternum, tucked into tailored trousers that hung just right. His boots clacked against the floor as he paced, his movements restless, his voice sharp as glass when he spoke.

“Stop, stop,” he sighed, waving his free hand. “It’s off. That transition’s not right.”

She bit down on her tongue. It wasn’t off. She knew it wasn’t off. But Harry had a way of finding faults where there weren’t any, like he needed to pick at something just to prove he could.

Mitch glanced at her, a subtle flick of his eyes that said, Don’t.

She ignored him.

“It’s not the transition,” she jutted her chin, her voice cutting through the murmur of techs and assistants scurrying around the stage. “The timing’s fine. It’s your entrance that’s late.”

He turned to her slowly, the mic dangling from his fingers like a threat. “Oh, is it?” he asked, his tone light, almost amused, but his jaw was tight. “You sure about that?”

YN met his gaze, unflinching. “Positive.”

For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of an amp in the background. Harry didn’t say anything, just tipped his head slightly, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Then he turned back to the band. “Alright,” he paused, his voice smooth again, commanding. “Run it from the top.”

Mitch exhaled, a quiet sound that YN barely caught. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she adjusted the strap on her guitar and settled her fingers on the fretboard, ready for another round of the same song they’d played fifteen times already.

By noon, the tension was palpable.

Lunch was a quick affair, eaten standing in the dim backstage area while techs rushed past with tangled cords and boxes of equipment. She leaned against a speaker case, picking at a dry sandwich, her guitar propped up against her leg. Across the room, Harry was surrounded by his usual orbit of stylists and assistants, his laugh ringing out every now and then, low and easy. He looked completely unbothered, like he wasn’t the reason half the band was on edge.

Mitch sat down next to her, his plate balanced precariously on his knee.

“You’ve got to let it go,” he said quietly, not looking up from his food.

“Let what go?” She asked, feigning innocence.

He gave her a flat look. “You and Harry. The little pissing contest you’ve got going on.”

“There’s no contest,” she shrugged, taking a bite of her sandwich. “I already won.”

Mitch snorted, but he didn’t argue.

By 5 pm, the soundcheck was over, and the venue was nearly ready. The stage lights cast long, dramatic shadows across the room, making everything feel larger than life. Outside, the crowd had grown to hundreds, their voices rising in bursts of cheers every time someone peeked out from behind the curtains.

Backstage, the dressing rooms were a flurry of last-minute preparations. Harry was in his dressing room, a blur of motion as his stylist fussed over his outfit. A floral suit hung on a rack nearby, catching the light like a disco ball.

In her own space, YN was tightening a loose screw on her guitar, her fingers moving with practiced ease. Her nerves were starting to hum, a low undercurrent she couldn’t quite shake. This was her first tour—her first real tour in a set band, a member, belonging—and it felt like walking a tightrope with no safety net.

A knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called, not looking up.

The door creaked open, and Harry stepped inside, his presence filling the small room like a gust of wind.

YN froze for half a second before returning to her task.“What do you want?” she asked, not bothering to hide the edge in her voice.

Harry leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Just checking in,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “You ready for tonight?”

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Are you?”

His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “Always.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. Then Harry pushed off the doorframe and straightened, his eyes lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary.

“See you out there,” he mumbled, and then he was gone, leaving the room feeling smaller and heavier than before.

By eight, the doors had opened, and the crowd was pouring in, filling the venue with a rush of energy that seemed to seep into the walls. Backstage, the band was gathered in a tight circle, their instruments tuned, their game faces on.

Harry stood at the center, his suit catching the light, his presence commanding as he gave a short pep talk. YN stood slightly to the side, her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against her thigh. She barely listened to his words, too focused on the sound of the crowd beyond the curtains, their cheers swelling like a tidal wave.

When the house lights dimmed, the noise was deafening.

As the band took their places on stage, the roar of the audience hit her like a physical force. The spotlight burned bright, blinding her for a moment as she adjusted to the sheer magnitude of it all.

Harry stepped forward, his silhouette outlined in pinks and gold as he grabbed the mic stand. The crowd went feral, their screams rising to a fever pitch as he flashed that grin, the one that could disarm even the sharpest tongue.

He didn’t speak, he didn’t need to—the crowd did that for him. 

YN’s fingers hovered over the strings of her guitar, her pulse thrumming in time with the cheers.

And then the music began.

It was loud and raw and electric, the kind of sound that sank its teeth into you and didn’t let go. The stage pulsed with life, the crowd moving like a single, writhing entity, their hands reaching for something intangible.

Harry owned the stage, his presence magnetic, his voice weaving through the room like a spell. YN played like she had something to prove, her fingers dancing over the strings with precision and fire. For all their clashes, for all the sharp words and narrowed eyes, when they played together, it was seamless.

Perfect, even.

And maybe that was the problem.

The stage felt alive. No, not alive. Hungry. Like it had been waiting for this moment, this crowd, and it wouldn’t be satisfied until every single body in the Masonic was consumed by the music.

YN’s sneakers scuffed against the stage floor as she adjusted her stance, fingers flying over the strings of her guitar. The heat of the lights was a constant pressure on her skin, beads of sweat forming at her temples and sliding down the back of her neck. But she didn’t care. Not about the lights, or the heat, or the way her thighs ached from standing so long.

She was falling in love—with the music, with the electricity in the air, with the way the crowd moved like a living organism, surging and crashing like waves in sync with every beat of the drums.

The screams had been deafening from the start, a tsunami of sound that swelled every time Harry leaned into the mic, his voice wrapping around the room and pulling it taut. He worked the crowd like a master, every glance, every laugh, every sway of his hips sending the audience into hysterics.

She wasn’t immune.

She hated to admit it, but she felt it too—that gravitational pull, that magnetic charisma that seemed to pour out of him effortlessly. She caught herself watching him when she shouldn’t, her eyes flicking to the way his shoulders moved under the sharp lines of his pretty suit, the easy way he gripped the mic stand like it was an extension of his body.

And every so often, he’d glance at her.

Not a passing look. A moment.

It would last half a beat longer than it should, his eyes catching hers under the wash of the stage lights. She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her, challenging her, or something else entirely. But it was enough to make her fingers stumble once, the wrong note ringing out for a split second before she recovered.

If Harry noticed, he didn’t show it.

The setlist was relentless. The kind of music that made you feel like your heart was going to explode, like you couldn’t keep up and didn’t want to. The kind of music that made YN forget she was supposed to hate the guy running the show.

“Alright,” Harry said into the mic, his voice lower now, intimate, like he was sharing a secret with each and every person in the crowd. “I want to slow it down for a bit. Let’s make this next one special, yeah?”

The audience erupted, their cheers shaking the walls.

She let herself glance up, just once, and there he was.

Harry stood center stage, his eyes sweeping over the crowd like he could memorize every face. And then his gaze found hers. It pinned her, held her still even as her hands moved over the strings with practiced ease. He didn’t smile this time, didn’t smirk or tease. His expression was soft, unreadable, like he was trying to figure her out and didn’t quite know how.

YN looked away first, focusing on her guitar, on the warmth of the strings under her fingers. But she felt his eyes linger, even as he turned back to the crowd, his voice slipping into the melody.

The audience swayed, their voices blending with his, turning the room into one collective heartbeat. She could feel it under her skin, in her chest, this pulsing connection between the stage and the people who filled the seats. She couldn’t explain it, but it made her chest ache, a hollow kind of ache that was somehow beautiful.

She wasn’t just falling in love with the crowd—she was falling in love with the way they loved him. The way their energy fed into his, creating this endless loop of give and take. It was magnetic, intoxicating, and she hated how much she wanted to be part of it.

As the show reached its climax, the band hit the frenetic rhythm of kiwi. The crowd lost their minds, screaming and jumping in unison as the pounding bassline and frantic guitars drove the song forward like a freight train.

Harry was in his element now, prowling the stage like a lion in a cage, his energy sharp and electric. He threw himself into the song with reckless abandon, his voice raw, his body moving like it was possessed by the music.

She felt it too, her fingers sliding over the strings with an intensity she didn’t know she was capable of. She played like she wanted to leave a mark, like she wanted the crowd to feel every note down to their bones.

Harry spun toward her at one point, his eyes catching hers as he sang.

All over me it’s like I paid for it, like I paid for it—I’m gonna pay for this

The line wasn’t even hers, maybe thrown toward her, sure, but the way he locked eyes with her as he belted it made her throat tighten. There was something feral about the way he looked at her, something that sent a jolt of adrenaline straight to her chest.

She didn’t look away this time.

By the time the last note of the encore faded into the ether, the crowd was still screaming, still begging for more. Harry stood at the edge of the stage, his hands pressed together in a gesture of thanks, his smile wide and genuine.

YN hung back, her guitar still slung over her shoulder, her chest heaving from the exertion of the last few songs. She watched him bask in the adoration of the crowd, the way they screamed his name like a prayer.

And for the first time, she felt it too.

That pull. That strange, inexplicable magnetism that made it impossible to look away.

The final notes of the encore still buzzed in her ears as she followed the band offstage, the roar of the crowd trailing behind them like an echo that refused to fade. Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache—her fingers stiff from hours of playing, her calves burning from the constant movement—but the adrenaline still surged, making her feel weightless and untouchable.

She had done it. They had done it.

The opening night had gone off like a firework, every moment exploding brighter and louder than the last. From the first chord to the final bow, it had been electric. And for once, she didn’t feel like just another cog in the machine. On that stage, with the lights scorching her skin and the crowd’s energy feeding her soul, she felt like a part of something massive. Something alive.

And Harry—despite everything—had been a part of that.

They’d had moments up there, brief but undeniable, where their music seemed to sync in ways their personalities couldn’t. He’d looked at her like she was the only other person in the room, and she’d felt it, that spark. That rare kind of connection that made everything else fade into static.

She thought maybe he’d felt it too.

Backstage was a flurry of chaos, but it was the kind of chaos that came with relief. Crew members slapped high-fives, a few whooped into the cavernous space, and Mitch grinned at her as they stowed their gear.

“That was something, huh?” he said, leaning back against the wall, his guitar case resting at his feet.

“Yeah,” she said, breathless. “It really was.”

Her eyes darted toward Harry, who was standing in the middle of it all, his floral suit catching the dim light of the hallway. He was talking to a few crew members, his laugh echoing down the corridor, easy and loud.

YN lingered on the edge of the group, still cradling her guitar, waiting for him to glance her way. Say something. Anything.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he clapped Mitch on the shoulder as he passed by, murmured something low and warm to the bassist, then disappeared down the hallway, flanked by his manager and stylist.

Her stomach sank.

Seriously?

The after-party was just as loud as the show, a whirlwind of congratulatory cheers and glasses clinking in a private room at some sleek hotel downtown. The crew was there, the band, a few industry types YN didn’t recognize but figured she should. She was used to this kind of thing—small, exclusive, the kind of celebration that was more about appearances than fun—but tonight it felt different.

She stuck close to Mitch for most of it, nursing a vodka sour and letting the buzz of conversation wash over her.

“Relax,” Mitch said at one point, leaning against the bar beside her. “You look like you’re still waiting for the second set to start.”

“I’m good.” She mumbled a little too quickly.

His brow arched, but he didn’t press.

Across the room, Harry was the center of attention, as always. He moved through the crowd like he belonged there, laughing and chatting like he hadn’t just poured himself out on stage for hours. She couldn’t help but watch him, the way people gravitated toward him, how he seemed to light up every corner of the room he stepped into.

But he didn’t look at her. Not once.

She tried not to let it bother her, but it did.

After everything on stage, after every glance, every unspoken connection, it felt like he was intentionally keeping his distance. Like he’d flipped some invisible switch, cutting her off before she could even figure out what had changed.

By the time the party wound down, YN had had enough. She slipped out quietly, her guitar case slung over her shoulder, and headed for the lobby. The cool night air hit her like a slap when she stepped outside, the noise of the party muffled behind the heavy glass doors.

She stood there for a moment, letting the city’s chaos replace the strange hollowness that had settled in her chest.

She didn’t know why she’d expected something different from him. He was Harry Styles, after all—the man who could command a room with a smirk, who probably had a million other things on his mind besides her.

But still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted tonight.

Maybe it was the crowd, or the way the music had felt like it was tying them together in ways they didn’t quite understand. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at her, like she was part of it, part of him.

Or maybe she was imagining it all.

She sighed, adjusting her grip on the guitar case as she started down the empty street toward her hotel.

Behind her, the sound of the door opening and closing made her stop.

But when she turned, it wasn’t him.

It was just some random guest stepping out for a smoke, their lighter flaring briefly in the dark.

She shook her head and kept walking.

The morning after opening night started with a headache.

The alarm went off at five, its shrill tone slicing through the still-dark San Francisco hotel room. YN groaned as she rolled over and slapped it off, her limbs heavy with the weight of too little sleep and too much tension. Her body ached from the show—her fingers stiff, her shoulders sore—but the adrenaline still hadn’t completely worn off.

She dressed in silence, pulling on denim shorts and an oversized hoodie, her hair shoved under a worn baseball cap. By the time she dragged her case and bookbag downstairs, the lobby was already filled with half-awake crew members milling around with to-go coffees and luggage carts. The band gathered near the hotel entrance, everyone moving slow, bleary-eyed.

Everyone but Harry.

He stood near the glass doors, sunglasses perched on his nose even though it was still too early for sunlight. His outfit—effortlessly tailored black slacks and black tee, paired with boots that clacked against the marble floor—looked like it belonged in a photoshoot, not a cramped tour bus ride down the coast. His hair was artfully disheveled, like it had been tousled by the same wind that carried his confidence.

YN hated that he didn’t look tired. He looked perfect, unbothered, untouchable.

And, true to form, he didn’t acknowledge her.

Not directly, anyway.

“Morning, Mitch,” Harry nodded, his voice smooth and low as he greeted the guitarist with a clap on the shoulder. He grinned at Sarah and made some easy joke that had her laughing quietly, her coffee held close to her chest.

She stood off to the side, shifting her weight between her feet, watching the scene unfold like an outsider looking through a frosted window.

She thought about last night. About how he’d looked at her on stage like the world had narrowed to just the two of them. About how he hadn’t spoken a single word to her after.

She didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand him.

“Let’s get moving,” their tour manager barked, clapping his hands. “Bus leaves in five.”

YN grabbed her things and followed the group outside, the cool morning air biting at her cheeks as they made their way toward the waiting bus.

The ride to Los Angeles was tense in the worst kind of way.

She had claimed a window seat near the middle of the bus, her headphones cranked up to drown out the low hum of conversation around her. She stared out at the Pacific Coast Highway, the ocean stretching endlessly to the right, the cliffs jagged and wild to the left. It should’ve been peaceful, beautiful even, but she couldn’t focus on anything but the gnawing irritation in her chest.

Harry was sitting three rows ahead, leaned back in his seat with one arm slung lazily over the headrest. He was talking to Sarah again, his voice low enough that YN couldn’t hear the words, but the sound of it still grated on her nerves.

She wasn’t sure why she cared so much. She didn’t want to care.

If he wanted to ignore her, fine. She could ignore him right back.

By the time they reached LA, the tension had evolved into a quiet kind of war.

At the Greek Theater, the crew unloaded equipment, their movements brisk and practiced as they prepared for soundcheck. The sun blazed down on the open-air amphitheater, turning the white seats into a blinding sea of light.

YN was on edge, her patience wearing thinner with every passing hour. He still hadn’t spoken to her, not even in passing. He was polite, distant, the way he’d been before opening night. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t spent the night before throwing glances her way that felt like they could peel her apart.

When he handed out notes during rehearsal, she barely looked at him, keeping her responses clipped and indifferent.

“Got it,” she muttered after one of his suggestions, her tone flat as she adjusted her guitar strap.

Harry blinked at her, his lips twitching into something that might have been surprise. “Good,” he said after a beat, turning his attention to Mitch without another word.

By the time the soundcheck wrapped, She was biting the inside of her cheek so hard it felt raw.

Later, while the rest of the band lingered backstage before the show, YN found herself leaning against the rail of the amphitheater, staring out at the empty seats. The sun had started to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in deep purples and oranges.

She didn’t hear him approach.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The voice startled her, and she turned to find Harry standing a few feet away, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers.

“Yeah.” She breathed, her voice guarded. She didn’t move closer.

He didn’t say anything else, just stood there, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The silence between them stretched, heavy and awkward.

“Something you need?” she asked finally, her tone sharper than she intended.

Harry’s head tilted slightly, his sunglasses reflecting the fading light.

“Just checking in.”

It felt like a lie.

“I’m good, Harry” She mumbled, turning back toward the stage.

He didn’t respond, and when she glanced over her shoulder a few moments later, he was already walking away.

Her fingers tightened around the rail, her chest heavy with frustration she couldn’t quite name.

She hated this.

Hated the way he could make her feel so small, so seen, then turn around and act like she didn’t exist.

It was like trying to hold onto water. The harder she gripped, the faster it slipped through her fingers.

-

Harry stood at the edge of the stage, soaking it all in. He bowed low, his sequined shirt catching the light, a grin breaking across his face. To the crowd, he was untouchable—a god in Gucci.

She followed Mitch and Sarah offstage, her steps quick and mechanical. She could feel Harry trailing behind them, his presence heavy even when she couldn’t see him.

Backstage was chaos, as it always was after a show, but it didn’t faze YN. She moved through the crowd of crew members and assistants like a ghost, ignoring the chatter, the congratulatory smiles.

Her heart was still racing, the adrenaline from the performance twisting into something darker, something restless.

“You good?”

Mitch’s voice cut through the haze. He was leaning against the wall, his guitar case already packed, his expression calm but curious.

“Yeah.” 

Lie.

Harry entered the dressing room a few minutes later, his presence shifting the energy in the space instantly.

He was laughing at something Sarah had said, his voice loud and warm, but the sound grated against YN’s nerves. She kept her back to him, pretending to be busy adjusting a loose string on her guitar.

She felt him glance her way—she could feel it—but she didn’t turn around.

Two could play this game.

And so, the bus ride back to the hotel was unbearable.

YN had claimed a seat near the back, her headphones on, her gaze fixed on the passing city lights outside the window. She could see Harry a few rows ahead, his arm draped casually over the back of his seat as he chatted with the others.

He hadn’t spoken to her all night, and now, sitting there in his own bubble of easy conversation and laughter, it was like she didn’t exist.

Her frustration simmered, bubbling just below the surface.

She replayed the show in her head, each pointed glance, each lyric he’d aimed at her like an arrow. It felt like he was trying to send a message, but she couldn’t decipher it.

Was he angry with her? Was this some kind of punishment? Or was he just playing a game she didn’t know the rules to?

She clenched her jaw and turned up the volume on her music, drowning out the sound of his voice.

By the time they reached the hotel, her nerves were shot.

She practically stormed off the bus, her guitar case banging against her thigh as she made her way to the elevators.

The band and crew trailed behind her, their voices a low hum of exhaustion and contentment. Harry was in the middle of the group, laughing softly at something Mitch had said.

YN pressed the elevator button harder than she needed to, willing it to come faster. She didn’t know if she was more angry or confused. Maybe both.

The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped inside, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes as the others piled in.

She felt him before she saw him.

Harry stepped in last, taking a spot in the corner opposite her. He didn’t look at her, didn’t say a word, but his presence filled the small space like smoke, curling around her, suffocating.

The silence stretched as the elevator ascended, the soft ding of each passing floor the only sound.

When the doors opened on her floor, YN didn’t wait for anyone to move. She pushed past them, her guitar case bumping against Harry’s shin as she stepped out.

“Careful.” He muttered under his breath, the word low but deliberate.

YN froze, her grip tightening on the case. She turned back, her jaw tight, her voice barely above a whisper “You were in the way.”

Harry’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the tension between them was almost unbearable.

But then he smiled. That infuriating, lopsided grin that always seemed to carry a thousand meanings “Goodnight, YN.” he breathed, his tone maddeningly calm.

And just like that, the elevator doors closed, taking him with it.

She stood there in the empty hallway, her chest heaving, her hands trembling against the strap of her guitar case.

She hated him.

And she hated that she didn’t.

Nashville hit like a fever dream.

The kind of heat that stuck to your skin and turned the air thick, every breath tasting like concrete and sweat. YN stepped off the plane and into the chaos of arrivals, her carry-on slung over one shoulder and her nerves buzzing like a live wire. The overhead announcements droned on, blending with the chatter of passengers and the whir of suitcase wheels.

Behind her, the band followed, each of them bleary-eyed but quiet, the exhaustion of constant travel settling into their bones. They’d left Los Angeles behind with barely enough time to breathe, and now they were here. Another city. Another show.

Harry was in the middle of it all, of course.

He strode through the airport like he owned it, dressed in a casual white t-shirt and plaid trousers, his sunglasses pushed up into his messy hair. His carry-on was slung lazily over his shoulder, the strap resting on a ringed hand, and he moved with the kind of effortless ease that YN had learned to despise.

She hated how calm he looked. How composed. Like he hadn’t spent the last two days pulling the same infuriating routine—ignoring her during rehearsals, barely acknowledging her existence outside of the necessary, and throwing her those strange, pointed glances on stage.

She adjusted the strap of her own bag and turned away from him, focusing on the bustling terminal as they followed the signs toward baggage claim.

By the time they made it outside, the air was heavy with humidity, the sun dipping low on the horizon and casting long shadows across the tarmac. Their bus waited near the curb, sleek and black, the driver already loading their checked equipment and luggage into the belly of the vehicle.

YN stepped aside to let Mitch and Sarah board first, leaning against the side of the bus and tugging her baseball cap lower over her eyes. She was tired. Bone-tired. And the thought of spending another night in close quarters with Harry’s infuriating silence made her chest feel tight.

“YN.”

His voice came from behind her, low and steady, and it made her stomach flip in a way she refused to acknowledge.

She turned to find Harry standing a few feet away, his bag slung carelessly over his shoulder. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses now, and his green eyes caught the soft light of evening, sharp and clear.

“Yeah?” she sighed, her tone flat.

Harry blinked at her, like he hadn’t expected her to answer. “I, uh…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “You left this.”

He held out a small notebook, the worn leather cover instantly recognizable. YN’s stomach twisted. She didn’t even realize she’d forgotten it.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, reaching for it. Their fingers brushed, and the contact sent a shiver down her spine. She snatched the notebook quickly, shoving it into her bag.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Harry shifted his weight, his gaze flicking past her to the bus, like he was trying to find an escape route.

“Long flight,” he said finally, the words almost awkward.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re making small talk now?”

His mouth twitched—something between a smirk and a grimace. “Just trying t’be polite.” His voice was low, almost teasing.

She didn’t know why that annoyed her so much. “Well, don’t strain yourself,” she shot back, her words sharper than she intended.

Harry’s expression shifted, the teasing edge dropping away. For a moment, he looked at her like he wanted to say something, something important, but then he just shook his head.

“Right.” he said softly. “Good t’know where we stand.”

Before she could respond, he turned and climbed onto the bus, leaving her standing there in the heavy Nashville air, her pulse thundering in her ears.

She clenched her jaw, gripping the strap of her bag so tight it hurt.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

With a frustrated sigh, she followed him onto the bus, determined to avoid him for the rest of the night.

The hotel lobby was as tired as YN felt—dimly lit, decorated in muted earth tones that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the 90s. A long line of leather couches stretched across one side, mostly empty now that the band and crew had already checked in and trudged upstairs to collapse into their rooms.

She stood at the reception desk, trying to ignore the looming presence of Harry a few feet behind her as she slid her ID across the polished counter.

She croaked out her first and last name, her voice tight with exhaustion. “Should be a reservation under that.”

The receptionist, a young woman with tired eyes and a forced smile, tapped at her keyboard. For a moment, YN let herself hope this would go smoothly.

“Ah…” the woman began, her smile faltering as she looked up at her apologetically. “It seems there’s been an error in the system.”

Her stomach sank. “What kind of error?”

“It looks like…” The receptionist squinted at her screen, then back at YN. “Your booking and Mr. Styles’ booking were combined. There’s only one room reserved for both of you.”

She blinked, certain she must have misheard. “What?”

“One room,” the woman repeated, her voice overly kind, like she was delivering bad news to a child.

A low sound from behind her drew YN’s attention, and she turned to see Harry standing there, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk.

“Of course,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

YN turned back to the receptionist, her pulse spiking with frustration. “Okay, well, can you fix it? Book me another room?”

The woman winced. “I’m so sorry, but we’re completely booked out. Between your show and a large business conference in town, there’s nothing available.”

“Nothing?”

The receptionist shook her head. “Nothing.”

YN stared at her for a long moment, hoping that if she stood there long enough, a solution would magically present itself. When it didn’t, she let out a slow breath, trying to keep her voice calm. “Okay, then I’ll sleep on the tour bus,” she said finally, her tone clipped.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” the receptionist replied, her voice filled with polite concern. “It’s not very safe overnight, and the temperatures are supposed to drop quite a bit.”

YN’s jaw clenched. She didn’t care about the temperature. She cared about not being stuck in a hotel room with Harry Styles for an entire night.

“You can take the bed,” Harry said suddenly, his voice low and casual.

She whipped around to look at him, her exhaustion briefly replaced by irritation. “Excuse me?”

“You can take the bed,” he repeated, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. He didn’t look tired like she did; if anything, he looked almost amused. “I’ll take the couch. Problem solved.”

His eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t continue the way she half-expected him to. He acknowledged her silence with a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

YN turned back to the receptionist, her last shred of hope dying as the woman gave her a small, helpless smile.

“I really am sorry,” the receptionist said.

“Yeah,” She muttered, grabbing her room key off the counter. “Me too.”

The elevator ride to their shared room was suffocating.

She stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the back wall, her eyes fixed on the digital floor numbers ticking upward. He stood on the opposite side, his hands still in his pockets, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder.

She could feel the tension between them, thick and heavy, like it had been building all day.

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, she practically bolted into the hallway, her shoes squeaking slightly against the polished floor as she found their room and slid the keycard into the lock.

The room was small but clean, decorated in the same neutral tones as the lobby. There was one queen-sized bed, a narrow couch by the window, and a small desk tucked into the corner.

YN set her bag down near the door, letting out a long breath. This was going to be a long night.

Harry stepped in behind her, the door clicking shut softly as he took in the room. “Well,” he said after a beat, his voice laced with dry humor. “Cozy.”

YN shot him a glare over her shoulder. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he replied, raising his hands in mock innocence.

She rolled her eyes, grabbing her carry-on and unzipping it with more force than necessary. She pulled out her pajamas and stalked toward the bathroom, muttering under her breath.

“You’re welcome to take the bed!” Harry called after her.

She didn’t reply, only slamming the bathroom door behind her.

Inside, she leaned against the sink, gripping the edge tightly as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess under her hat, her face flushed with irritation and exhaustion.

This was the last thing she needed.

She splashed cold water on her face, changed into her pajamas, and forced herself to take a deep breath before stepping back out into the room.

Harry was already sprawled out on the couch, his long legs dangling off one end, one arm draped lazily over his eyes. He looked too comfortable, like he wasn’t even remotely fazed by the situation.

“Goodnight, YN.” he smiled, his voice soft and teasing, muffled by his arm.

She didn’t bother replying, instead climbing into the bed and yanked the blanket up to her chin. She rolled onto her side, facing the wall, her back to him.

But even as she lay there in the dark, her body exhausted and her mind racing, she couldn’t ignore the steady sound of his breathing filling the room.

And somehow, that made sleep feel even further away.

The night dragged on like a bad song on repeat.

YN tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around her legs no matter how many times she tried to straighten them. The bed itself wasn’t the problem—it was soft enough, even if the pillows were too firm. The issue was the room. Or rather, the person in the room.

Harry’s breathing was steady and slow, almost annoyingly calm, like he had drifted off with zero trouble. The faint rustle of the blanket he’d pulled off the back of the couch only made it worse. She hated knowing he was just a few feet away, as oblivious and infuriating in sleep as he was awake.

Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel the weight of him in the room, like his presence was something tangible pressing against her skin. She could picture him sprawled out on the narrow couch, too long for it, his hair a wild mess against the pillow. He had to be uncomfortable, but of course, he made even that look effortless.

She clenched her teeth and turned over again, dragging the blanket over her head.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing she knew, pale sunlight was streaming through the thin hotel curtains, casting faint patterns on the wall. The sound of movement drew her attention, and she rolled onto her back, blinking against the light.

Harry was already up.

He stood near the desk, pulling a fresh shirt over his head, the muscles in his back shifting under smooth skin. His hair stuck up in every direction, and there was a faint red line on his cheek, probably from the couch pillow.

YN groaned softly, her voice gravelly from sleep, and sat up.

He turned at the sound, his eyes catching hers for a split second before he gave her a lopsided smile. “Morning,” he rasped, voice low and rough.

She ignored the strange flutter in her chest and instead rubbed at her face, her palms digging into her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Just past seven,” Harry replied, glancing at his watch.

“Why are you up so early?” she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.

“Couldn’t stay on that couch any longer,” he said with a shrug, running a hand through his hair. “Figured I’d let you sleep.”

She raised an eyebrow, more suspicious than grateful. “How thoughtful of you.”

Harry smirked, leaning against the desk. “I’m full of surprises.”

YN swung her legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor against her bare feet waking her up a little more. She glanced at the couch, the blanket crumpled in a heap at one end, and felt the tiniest pang of guilt. He might be irritating, but even she had to admit that couch looked like hell.

“Did you even sleep?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“Enough,” he said, brushing it off with a shrug. “You?”

She hesitated. She wanted to lie, to tell him she’d slept like a rock just to avoid giving him the satisfaction. But she was too tired to keep up the pretense. “Barely,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair.

Harry didn’t say anything, but his smirk softened into something else, something almost understanding. “We’ve got a couple hours before soundcheck,” he said after a beat, pushing off the desk. “I’ll grab coffee if y’want.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer.

“You’re being weirdly nice this morning,” she drawled, narrowing her eyes.

Harry grinned, all teeth. “Don’t get used to it.”

Before she could respond, he slipped out the door, leaving her sitting there in the quiet room, her heart beating just a little faster than it should have been.

When Harry returned twenty minutes later, carrying two steaming cups of coffee and a bag of pastries from the shop across the street, YN couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed.

But she didn’t thank him either.

She wasn’t sure why, but the tension between them felt different in the light of day. Lighter. Less suffocating. Still there, sure, but not as sharp.

She sipped her coffee in silence, watching as Harry lounged on the edge of the bed, scrolling lazily through his phone.

By ten that morning, they were at the Ryman.

The iconic auditorium was a cathedral of music, its wooden pews and high ceilings steeped in history. YN had played a lot of venues over the years, but this one felt different. Sacred, almost.

The crew was already bustling around the stage, running cables and testing equipment as the band took their places for a quick run-through. She strapped on her guitar and adjusted the amp settings, the familiarity of the process grounding her.

“Alright,” the stage manager called, his voice echoing in the empty hall. “Let’s run it from Carolina. Just a quick one, then you’re free for the day.”

Harry stepped up to the mic, giving a thumbs-up to the techs at the soundboard. His voice rang out clear and confident, slipping into the song like it was second nature.

YN played her part without thinking, her fingers moving easily over the strings. But she couldn’t help noticing the way Harry was watching her again.

It wasn’t as obvious as before—just the occasional glance, fleeting but deliberate, like he was checking her reaction to something she couldn’t quite place.

Her stomach twisted. She didn’t know if it was frustration or something else entirely.

They wrapped up soundcheck in record time, the stage manager dismissing them with a wave of his clipboard.

“Alright, folks. Enjoy your free day. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

The band dispersed quickly, everyone eager to make the most of the rare downtime. Sarah and Mitch mentioned something about finding a good barbecue spot, and within minutes, YN found herself standing outside the Ryman, squinting in the bright Tennessee sun.

She was about to head back toward the hotel when Harry’s voice stopped her.

“Hey, Hendrix.”

She turned to see him leaning against the tour bus, his sunglasses perched on his nose. She hummed in response, holding her hand above her eyes to shield the sun.

He grinned, his voice light and teasing. “You’re not gonna spend the whole day in the room, are you?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug, pushing off the bus. “Just thought you might want to come along.”

“Come along where?”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, tilting his head in that infuriatingly casual way he had. “I was thinking about exploring. But if you’d rather sulk in the hotel…”

She glared at him, her irritation mixing with reluctant curiosity. “I’m not sulking,” she muttered.

“Prove it.” His grin widened.

She sighed, weighing her options. She could spend the rest of the day alone, aimlessly wandering the city, or… she could let Harry drag her into whatever chaos he had planned.

Against her better judgment, she took a step closer.

“Fine.” she grumbled. “But if you annoy me, I’m leaving.”

Harry laughed, a warm sound that somehow made her chest feel lighter. “Deal.”

As they made their way through the streets of Nashville, YN couldn’t help but notice how easy it was to fall into step with him.

They wandered through the heart of downtown, the air thick with the sound of live music spilling out of honky-tonk bars and the faint smell of fried food. He seemed relaxed, his usual sharp edges dulled by the easy rhythm of the day.

They ducked into a record store, where Harry spent an obscene amount of time flipping through vinyls, offering commentary on the cover art of each one.

“Look at this,” he said, holding up a copy of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. He grinned at her, and for once, it felt less like a challenge and more like… something else.

YN raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the album he held up, the iconic cover staring back at her. “What about it?” she asked, folding her arms and leaning against the edge of the nearest display.

Harry’s grin shifted, softer now, almost boyish. “It’s a masterpiece. Don’t tell me you’ve never given it a proper listen.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smirk. “Of course I’ve listened to it. Who hasn’t? Don’t go acting like you’ve discovered fire.”

“Ah, but have you really listened to it?” He stepped closer, tilting his head as he studied her expression like it might hold the answer. “Like, lying on the floor, headphones on, letting it ruin your entire mood?”

“That sounds unnecessarily dramatic.”

“Dramatic? YN, this album is a rite of passage. The Chain? That bassline alone deserves its own religion.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, a quick, genuine sound that caught her off guard as much as it did him. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, shaking her head.

He looked pleased with himself, his grin stretching wider. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“Take it however you want,” she shot back, moving past him to inspect a crate of blues records. Her fingers skimmed over the edges of the albums, her pulse oddly steady in the low hum of his company.

Harry hovered near, occasionally picking up a record and commenting on it. “You’re quiet,” he noted after a few minutes, his tone lighter than she’d expected.

“Just... looking,” she replied, hoping the words sounded casual enough.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“No.” The lie came easily.

He didn’t press, and for once, she appreciated his silence. It gave her room to breathe, to figure out why the usual tension between them felt... different today. Lighter, maybe. Or maybe she was just imagining things.

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “I like this, you know.”

She glanced up, caught off guard by the uncharacteristic sincerity in his tone. “Like what?”

“This.” He gestured between them, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Hanging out. You’re tolerable when y’not glaring at me.”

She blinked, unsure whether to laugh or scowl. “That’s your idea of a compliment?”

“Take it or leave it,” he said, his smirk returning but not fully masking the warmth behind it.

She rolled her eyes again but didn’t look away, and for a brief moment, the air between them shifted. The faint tension that always seemed to linger was still there, but it wasn’t sharp or heavy. It was something else entirely.

As the afternoon wore on, the tension that had been brewing between them seemed to fade, replaced by something quieter.

They grabbed lunch at a hole-in-the-wall diner Harry insisted on, where they shared a plate of fries and argued over whether ketchup or mayo was the superior dipping sauce.

“Ketchup,” YN said, dipping another fry.

Harry shook his head, mock disappointment written all over his face. “I expected better from you.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her.

By the time they made their way back to the hotel, the sun was sinking low, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. She felt lighter, like the weight of the past few days had lifted, if only for a little while.

As they reached the elevator, Harry glanced at her, his expression softer than she’d ever seen it.

“Thanks for coming along,” his voice was quiet but sincere.

She hesitated, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his tone. “Yeah, well… it was better than sulking.”

He smiled.

The hotel room was quiet, the kind of stillness that settled into your bones and made you feel the weight of the day. After their spontaneous exploration of Nashville, she had parted ways with Harry in the hallway. He mentioned something about meeting up with Mitch, tossing her a casual, “See you later,” before disappearing down the corridor.

YN had nodded but hadn’t said much else. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or annoyed that he was leaving for the night.

After a long shower, she tugged on an oversized band tee—some faded thing she’d thrifted years ago—and a pair of soft cotton shorts. Her damp hair clung to her shoulders as she padded barefoot around the room, her phone in one hand as she scrolled through texts from her family.

Dad: Don’t forget to drink water. You sound so busy. Call us when you have time.

Younger sibling: lol saw a vid of harry styles crowd at your show. how’s that going???

She smiled faintly at the last one, shaking her head as she typed a quick response.

It wasn’t until she’d tossed her phone onto the bedside table that she remembered the little stash she’d hidden away.

She opened her suitcase, digging past neatly folded shirts and random cables until her fingers brushed against an emptied bag-balm tin, where she hid a pre-roll. She grinned to herself, pulling it out along with the battered cherry red lighter she always kept with it.

YN grabbed her guitar and wandered to the deep window sill, settling into it like a cat in the sun. She pushed the window all the way up, the night air warm against her skin as it rushed into the room. Nashville stretched out before her, the faint glow of the city lights mixing with the distant hum of passing cars.

She tucked the joint between her lips, the flame of the lighter flickering as she lit the tip. She took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl through her lungs and settle into her chest before she exhaled out into the open air.

The buzz hit quickly, a soft warmth unfurling in her limbs. She leaned back against the window frame, her guitar resting comfortably on her lap as she started to strum.

The notes came easily, her fingers gliding over the strings as she played whatever came to mind. A soft, haunting melody took shape. She kept her voice low, just above a whisper, the lyrics spilling from her lips like they were meant for the quiet night.

Spent my days with a woman unkind, smoked my stuff and drank all my wine

The joint hung from her lips as she sang, her voice airy and unpolished, but easy.

Made up my mind to make a new start, going to California with an aching in my heart 

She was so lost in the song, the feel of the strings beneath her fingers, that she didn’t hear the door open.

Harry stepped inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. He paused, his eyes catching on the scene in front of him—the open window, YN perched on the sill with her guitar, the smoke from the joint curling lazily in the dim light.

She didn’t notice him at first, too wrapped up in the song. Her voice was soft and raw, carrying just enough emotion to make the lyrics hit harder than they should have.

Seems that the wrath of the gods got a punch in the nose and it’s starting to flow—think i might be sinking.

Harry stayed where he was, leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed as he listened. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t announce himself right away. Maybe it was the way she seemed so unguarded, so lost in her own little world. It felt wrong to interrupt.

Her fingers lingered on the last note of the song, letting it fade softly into the warm night air. She leaned her head back against the window frame, the faint hum of the guitar strings still vibrating against her skin.

The room was quiet now, the only sound the distant buzz of traffic outside. She thought she was alone—until a flicker of movement caught her eye.

Her head snapped up to see Harry stepping closer, his strides slow and deliberate. He didn’t say anything, didn’t smirk or crack one of his usual jokes. He just moved, quiet and assured, until he stopped by the desk next to the window.

He sank into the chair with a soft creak, still close enough that YN could feel the heat of his presence.

Her heart stuttered, but she didn’t acknowledge him outright. Not yet.

Instead, she glanced at him briefly, her eyes meeting his for a fraction of a second before returning to the guitar in her lap. Her fingers idly plucked at the strings, pulling out a soft, wandering melody—not another song, just sound to fill the silence.

Harry stayed quiet, leaning back in the chair as his gaze followed the slow, practiced movements of her hands.

When she paused, fingers hovering over the frets, the faint smell of smoke still curling in the air, Harry’s attention shifted.

Without a word, he reached for the joint resting between her fingers near the neck of the guitar. His movements were smooth, casual, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

YN didn’t stop him, but her lips parted slightly in surprise, her pulse quickening as his hand brushed against hers.

He brought it to his lips, the faint ember at the tip flaring as he inhaled. The smoke curled lazily between them, filling the small space with a warmth that felt heavier than the fading summer air outside.

She watched him, her fingers still resting lightly on the strings, the unfinished melody hanging between them.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking back to hers as the smoke dissipated into the room. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable—it was something else. Something charged, like the tension from the last few days had found a new way to manifest itself.

YN finally broke the silence, her voice low and rough. “Didn’t realize you smoked.”

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that didn’t give anything away. “Didn’t realize you played Zeppelin.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her lips twitching as she fought the urge to smile back.

“Don’t stop playing,” he murmured, leaning back in the chair and tipping his head toward the window.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on him before she shifted the guitar back into place.

She didn’t play for him. Not really. But as the quiet notes filled the room again, she couldn’t help but notice how close he was, how the faint smell of smoke and something distinctly Harry seemed to blur the edges of everything else.

The melody was unmistakable, a classic she knew by heart. Slow, deliberate, and wordless, the tune drifted into the still night air. She tilted slightly, fingers brushing over the strings with a lightness that made it feel effortless.

Harry stayed in the chair by the desk, close enough that she could feel the weight of his presence but far enough that he seemed content to linger in the space between them.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t interrupt.

His eyes flickered between her and the view outside, where the skyline blinked faintly in the distance. He seemed lost in thought, the faint haze of smoke from the joint twisting lazily around him.

The rhythm of her playing was slow, hypnotic, like it had seeped straight from her fingertips into the quiet air. She didn’t look at him directly, but she could feel his attention, even when it wasn’t on her.

When the joint burned low between his fingers, Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he turned toward her. He lifted it to her lips, careful not to disrupt her playing, his movements casual but precise.

YN paused for just a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the gesture, but she let it happen. Her lips closed around it, inhaling deeply as her fingers continued their soft rhythm across the strings.

He stayed there for a moment, watching her before leaning back in the chair and taking the joint back between his own lips.

The smoke lingered between them, faint and warm, curling like an unspoken connection.

The song continued—soft, wistful, and unhurried. Her focus shifted to the melody, letting it guide her as Harry flicked his gaze between her hands, her face, and the view beyond the window.

Every so often, he’d lean forward again, passing the joint to her silently, his movements slow and patient. It felt strangely intimate, the quiet exchange, the way their hands brushed in the dim light.

Neither of them spoke, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, yes, but not with tension. It felt… deliberate.

When YN finally let the last note of the song fade into the air, her hands stilled on the guitar.

He didn’t say anything right away. He leaned back in the chair, the joint burning low between his fingers as his gaze lingered on her for just a moment too long.

“You should do that more often,” he said softly, his voice rough around the edges.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into the faintest smirk. “Play Floyd?”

“Play anything,” he replied, taking one last drag before stubbing the joint out on the edge of the ashtray she’d left by the window. “Or keep me guessing.”

YN shifted the guitar off her lap, leaning it gently against the window sill. She crossed her arms, the soft night air brushing against her bare legs as she glanced at Harry. “It’s my job to play for you, Harry.”

His head tipped slightly, his green eyes narrowing as he considered her. “That why y’were playing now?”

She scoffed, leaning her shoulder against the window frame. “No. But it’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To play what you want to hear. To make your shows sound good.”

Harry didn’t react immediately. He stayed leaned back in the chair, the now-extinguished joint resting in the ashtray beside him. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, almost lazy.

“You think that’s all you’re here for?”

“That’s what it feels like sometimes,” she muttered, her words laced with the kind of honesty she didn’t usually let herself share. “You’ve got everything planned, Harry. The look, the sound, the crowd. You don’t need me.”

His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “If I didn’t need you, you wouldn’t be here.”

YN frowned, tilting her head. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Like I’m just another piece of the machine?”

Harry leaned forward then, his elbows resting on his knees as he met her gaze. The air between them felt heavier now, his next words slow and pointed. “You’re not just a piece. And you know it.”

For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. She hated the way her pulse quickened under his stare, the way his voice—low and rough—seemed to wrap around her like smoke.

She turned her head slightly, looking out at the view instead of him. “You don’t act like it,” she mumbled.

He let out a low laugh, though there was no humor in it. “And how do I act, YN? Enlighten me.”

She hesitated, then turned back to face him, her arms still crossed over her chest. “You act like I’m just… there. Like you can turn me on and off when it suits you. Like I don’t matter unless I’m standing on stage next to you.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze never wavering from hers. “That’s not true.”

It was.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The silence that followed felt like it stretched forever. The only sound was the faint hum of traffic outside and the soft creak of the chair as Harry shifted his weight.

“You think I don’t notice you?” he said finally, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

She blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

Harry stood then, closing the distance between them in just a stride. He stopped just shy of the window, leaning one hand against the frame as he looked at her.

“You think I don’t notice you,” he repeated, his voice steady, almost accusing. “Every time you play, every time you step on that stage. Every time you look at me like you’re trying to figure out if I’m about to push you away again.”

YN swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “You don’t notice anything,” she said, though the words came out weaker than she intended.

His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest moment before snapping back to her eyes. “I notice everything,” he countered softly.

Her breath hitched, and she hated the way it made her feel like she was on uneven ground. “Then why do you act like this? Why do you make it so hard?”

“Because y’make it hard,” he shot back, his voice low but sharp. “You shut me out before I even get the chance to try.”

YN laughed then, a hollow, bitter sound. “You’ve never tried, Harry.”

“And you’ve never let me.” he said, the words falling between them like a challenge.

The weight of his stare was suffocating, and for a moment, YN didn’t know what to say. She could feel the tension crackling between them, thicker now, more volatile.

“Bullshit.” She turned back to the window, her voice softer when she spoke again. “This is pointless.”

Harry didn’t move, his hand still resting on the window frame as his eyes lingered on her.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

YN closed her eyes, letting his words hang in the air as the night wrapped around them. Neither of them said anything else, but the silence spoke louder than anything they could’ve said.

The morning came earlier than YN wanted it to. She’d barely slept, the weight of the night before hanging over her like a low fog.

The room was quiet when she woke, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the stillness. Harry’s side of the room was empty, the crumpled blanket on the sofa the only sign he’d stayed at all.

YN sat up slowly, rubbing the heel of her hand against her eyes as the memory of their conversation came rushing back. She didn’t know if she regretted it—what they’d said, what they hadn’t said—but she knew it had left her chest feeling heavier than it had in weeks.

She glanced at the clock. They had a longer rehearsal today, prepping for the Ryman show tomorrow. If she didn’t hurry, she’d risk being late.

With a groan, she threw off the covers and got ready, pulling on a worn pair of jeans and a t-shirt before stuffing her guitar into its case and heading out the door.

The venue was already buzzing with activity when she arrived. The crew was setting up the stage, the hum of amps and feedback filling the auditorium as the band trickled in one by one. Mitch and Sarah were already there, chatting quietly by the drum kit, while Harry stood near the mic stand, flipping through a setlist with their tour manager.

YN felt his presence before she saw him, the memory of his words from the night before still fresh in her mind.

Maybe. But it doesn’t mean it’s not real.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to push the thought aside as she made her way to her usual spot on the stage.

“Morning,” Mitch gave her a small smile.

“Morning,” she replied, setting her guitar case down and pulling out the instrument.

Harry didn’t say anything as she arrived, but she could feel his gaze flicker toward her for a brief moment before he turned his attention back to the stage manager.

Rehearsal started slow.

The band worked their way through the setlist, adjusting transitions, tightening harmonies, and fine-tuning every detail until the songs sounded like they could fill the Ryman’s historic walls without effort.

YN tried to focus, but it was harder than usual. Harry’s voice was everywhere—smooth and commanding, sharp and playful, depending on the song. His presence filled the room, making it impossible to ignore him no matter how much she tried.

But he didn’t speak to her directly. Not once.

It was infuriating, the way he could act like nothing had happened. Like they hadn’t spent the night before saying things that neither of them had the courage to finish.

The longer the rehearsal went, the more it started to gnaw at her. By the time they reached Ever Since New York, her patience was wearing thin.

“Hold on,” Harry said, waving a hand as the band finished the first chorus. He turned to Mitch. “That transition’s still too rushed. Can we stretch it out a little more?”

Mitch nodded, already adjusting his guitar.

She sighed quietly, her fingers hovering over the frets as she tried not to let her irritation show.

“Something wrong?” He asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the space like a blade.

Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing at him. “No.”

“Sure about that?” he asked, his tone light but his gaze sharp.

She stared at him for a moment, her chest tightening with frustration. “Just play the song, Harry.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Alright. Again.”

By the time rehearsal wrapped, YN was drained. Her fingers ached from hours of playing, and her chest felt heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

As the crew began packing up, she slung her guitar over her shoulder and made her way toward the back of the stage, desperate for a moment alone.

But before she could disappear, Harry’s voice stopped her.

“Hey! YN.”

Her grip on her guitar strap tightened as she turned to face him, the tension between them sharp enough to cut. He was standing near the edge of the stage, his expression carefully unreadable, though his shoulders were tense. “What?” she asked, her voice curt, already bracing herself.

He hesitated, just for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking over her like he was trying to figure out how to start. “About last night.”

Her jaw tightened. She hadn’t wanted to think about last night—how raw it had felt, how vulnerable she’d let herself be for even a second. She’d been trying to shove it to the back of her mind all day. “What about it?” she said flatly, her tone leaving no room for softness.

Harry’s lips pressed into a thin line, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, quieter, but it still held an edge. “You meant what y’said, didn’t you?”

She blinked at him, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“You think I don’t notice you,” he mumbled, his words more a statement than a question.

Her stomach churned, but she forced herself to keep her expression steady. “I don’t know why you care.”

“Because I do,” he shot back, his voice sharpening, though he still kept it low enough that no one else could hear. “And don’t act like you don’t, either.”

Her chest tightened at the accusation, but she refused to let it show. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” she said coldly, crossing her arms.

His jaw ticked, and he took a small step closer. “You think this is easy? Working with you? Being around you?”

She scoffed, the sound bitter in her throat. “Right. Because you’re so perfect to deal with, Harry.”

His eyes narrowed, the frustration clear now. “You act like I don’t care, but you’re the one who’s been pushing me out since the start.”

Her breath caught, and for a second, she wasn’t sure if it was anger or something else flaring in her chest. “Because you make it impossible,” she snapped, a whisper. “You walk around like the world revolves around you, and you expect everyone to just fall in line.”

“I don’t expect anything from you, YN,” he said, his voice sharp, almost defensive. “Except maybe to stop pretending like none of this matters t’you.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs, the words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Harry paused, his voice quieter now but no less intense, “you’ve made it pretty damn clear you’d rather be anywhere else than here—with me, with this band. So don’t act like I’m the one who doesn’t give a shit.”

YN stared at him, her chest heaving, her hands trembling at her sides. She wanted to throw something at him, wanted to shout, but the anger in her throat felt too tangled with something else—something raw and uncertain.

Before she could think of a response, Harry shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter half-smile. “Forget it,” he muttered, turning on his heel.

He stalked off the stage without looking back, his steps echoing in the empty auditorium.

YN stayed frozen where she was, her pulse pounding in her ears as his words replayed over and over again in her mind.

She hated that he was wrong.

And she hated even more that he wasn’t entirely right.

The 25th came fast, bringing with it the weight of a sold-out show at the Ryman Auditorium. YN felt it the moment she woke up—the low hum of tension in her chest, the kind that came from knowing she was about to step onto one of the most iconic stages in music history.

She moved through the day on autopilot, her interactions with the crew and band kept short and polite. She didn’t have it in her to do more, not after yesterday’s rehearsal, not after the argument with Harry that still lingered like a bruise.

By the time the sun dipped low over Nashville, casting long shadows across the city, the energy backstage was crackling with anticipation.

The band gathered in the wings as the crew finished final checks. She adjusted the strap of her guitar, her fingers tightening and loosening around the neck in a rhythm she didn’t realize she was keeping.

Harry stood a few feet away, his presence as inescapable as ever. He was wearing a dark, tailored suit with just enough sparkle to catch the light, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His hair was tousled in that perfectly imperfect way that she hated to admit suited him.

He hadn’t spoken to her since yesterday. Not directly. And she hadn’t gone out of her way to fix that.

“Alright, everyone ready?” the stage manager called, clipboard in hand.

The band nodded, one by one. Harry turned to them, his usual grin firmly in place, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes when his gaze landed on YN.

“All good?” he asked, his tone light but pointed, like he was challenging her.

She held his stare, refusing to let him see the nerves twisting in her chest. “Good.”

Harry’s smirk softened, but he didn’t push it. “Let’s do this, then,” he said, turning back toward the stage as the house lights dimmed.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, a wall of sound that hit YN square in the chest as they stepped onto the stage.

The show opened strong, the band locking into the rhythm like clockwork. The crowd was electric, their cheers and screams filling every corner of the Ryman as Harry worked the stage, his voice weaving effortlessly through the music.

She focused on her playing, her fingers moving over the strings with practiced precision. She kept her eyes on the crowd, on Mitch, on the neck of her guitar—anywhere but Harry.

But it didn’t matter. She could feel him, his presence pulling at her like a tide no matter how hard she tried to resist.

It was during Woman that the tension finally cracked.

The song had always been a crowd favorite, its sultry rhythm and teasing lyrics sending the audience into a frenzy. Tonight was no different.

Harry prowled the stage, the mic in one hand, his free hand gesturing to the crowd as they screamed the words back to him.

And then, without warning, his gaze found hers.

—I told you but I know you’d never listen.

YN’s fingers faltered for the briefest moment, the wrong note slipping out before she corrected herself.

He smirked, slow and all-knowing, because he did. He knew what he was doing.

He sang the chorus, his voice low and taunting as he turned to her fully, his body angled toward her now.

The crowd screamed, but they didn’t notice the way his eyes stayed locked on hers, sharp and unrelenting.

Her chest tightened, but she refused to look away. Instead, she matched his intensity with her playing, her fingers flying over the strings like she could drown him out with sheer force.

The song ended in a crescendo, the applause erupting like thunder. Harry grinned at the crowd, blowing kisses into the sea of adoring faces, but when he turned back to the band, his smirk softened into something more subtle.

YN ignored him, focusing instead on retuning her guitar for the next song. But her hands were trembling slightly, and she hated herself for it.

The rest of the show passed in a blur of music and adrenaline.

By the time they reached the encore, she felt both exhausted and wired, her body caught in that strange limbo that came after hours on stage.

She risked a glance at Harry, and for a moment, she thought she saw something in his expression that mirrored her own—a kind of quiet exhaustion, tinged with something unspoken.

But then he turned back to the crowd, his charm cranked up to full volume as he thanked them, his voice ringing out like a promise. “Goodnight, Nashville,” he said, his grin wide and infectious. “You’ve been incredible.”

The applause was deafening, the crowd chanting his name as the band took their final bow.

Backstage crew members moved in every direction, packing up equipment and shouting over the noise. The band had scattered, Mitch and Sarah disappearing into their dressing rooms while Harry lingered by the door, chatting with a few industry types who’d come to the show.

YN slipped past the commotion, her guitar case slung over her shoulder as she made her way to the dressing room she was sharing with Mitch.

But before she could reach the door, Harry’s voice stopped her.

She froze, her grip tightening on the strap of her guitar. She turned slowly, her expression carefully neutral.

Harry was leaning against the wall, his shirt damp with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He looked tired but satisfied, his usual post-show glow dimmed by something quieter.

“Good show tonight,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes sharper than his words.

YN raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his smirk returning. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” she said, turning back toward her dressing room. “Look in the mirror, Harry.” She didn’t wait for his response, didn’t look back as she pushed open the door and let it close behind her.

September 26th, Chicago Theatre

Chicago was cold, a brisk wind biting at the edges of everything, but the theater itself felt electric. The second show on this leg of the tour, and the crowd roared louder than even the Nashville audience had. YN had expected it—Chicago fans had a reputation—but it still sent a jolt through her chest every time the applause hit.

She’d kept her head down all day, avoiding Harry as much as possible after the tension-filled Ryman show. He hadn’t gone out of his way to talk to her either, which suited her just fine. The dynamic between them was still strained, but now it felt heavier, sharper, like a spring wound too tight.

On stage that night, they were professional, seamless even. The music flowed like second nature, and the crowd ate up every word Harry sang, every note the band played.

But Harry’s energy was different.

He stalked the stage like he had something to prove, his voice sharper, his movements purposeful. Every so often, his gaze would flicker toward her, his eyes dark under the stage lights, and her fingers would stumble, just for a second.

She hated that he could still affect her like that. Hated that her pulse quickened every time he looked at her like he was daring her to break.

When the show ended, she slipped out of the backstage chaos as quickly as she could, retreating to her dressing room before Harry could find her.

But she couldn’t escape the feeling that their fight wasn’t just simmering—it was boiling over, and it was only a matter of time before it all spilled out.

September 27th, New York City Music Hall

New York felt different, brighter somehow. The Music Hall was massive, its gold interiors glinting under the lights, the kind of place that made you feel like you were a part of something monumental just by standing inside it.

YN was buzzing, but not because of the show. Tonight, she’d finally made good on her promise to get her best friend in with VIP tickets.

Jude had shown up grinning from ear to ear, dragging along another friend, Sage, a boy she knew from a few mutual connections but hadn’t spent much time with. She didn’t mind—Sage was friendly, good-looking in that casual, effortless way, and Jude seemed thrilled to be there.

The show was flawless, a whirlwind of sound and energy that left the crowd screaming for more by the end of the encore. YN felt good, better than she had in days. Maybe it was Jude’s energy, or the thrill of being home in New York, or the fact that she’d managed to avoid Harry’s smirking glances on stage.

The energy backstage was lighter than usual, the post-show adrenaline mingling with the warmth of a half-empty box of beers someone had dragged in from a gas station. YN sat on a crate near the corner of the room, Jude and Sage perched close by, the three of them surrounded by the casual hum of conversation. Mitch was strumming idly on an unplugged guitar, Sarah was laughing with one of the techs, and the crew milled around, taking turns grabbing beers and tossing them to each other.

Harry sprawled in the cheap folding chair like it was a throne. His legs stretched out, boots crossed, beer bottle swaying loose between his fingers. He wore the smug indifference of someone who knew exactly how good he looked, from the sweat-mussed hair to the open collar of his shirt. A rock god slumming it in a room full of mortals.

Jude, of course, was eating it up, no matter how hard she tried not to. Her eyes kept drifting back, quick flickers like a moth circling a flame. YN could see the effort it took for her friend to focus on Sage, laughing a little too hard at his jokes, leaning just a bit too close. But the second Harry glanced their way, Jude’s attention snapped to him like a compass needle finding north.

“This is VIP treatment?” Sage asked, flashing one of his trademark grins. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his bottle raised like a toast.

Jude latched onto the question, grateful for the distraction. “Welcome to the glamorous life of rock and roll,” she quipped, sweeping a hand around the dingy green room. Half-eaten takeout boxes, a broken amp shoved in the corner, and a stack of mismatched chairs that looked like they’d collapse if you breathed wrong.

“I’m not complaining,” Sage said, his smile lingering, his tone dipping lower. “Not if it means I get to see you.”

The words hung in the air just a second too long.

YN felt the heat crawl up her neck before she even realized it. She took a long sip of her beer, keeping her face neutral, trying to ignore the heavy stare boring into the side of her head. She didn’t have to look to know Harry was watching. She could feel it.

“Careful,” Harry drawled, finally breaking the silence. His voice was low, lazy, but there was an edge to it. “Say something like that, and you might get her hopes up.”

Sage blinked, caught off guard, then let out a short laugh, brushing it off. “I think she can handle it.”

“Oh, sure,” Harry said, leaning back further in his chair. He swirled the beer bottle idly, staring into the amber liquid like it held secrets. “Just don’t trip over yourself trying too hard. You’d hate to embarrass yourself in front of the talent.”

Jude stiffened beside YN. Sage’s easy smile faltered, but he recovered fast, glancing at YN with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Speaking of talent, you were incredible out there,” he said, his voice softer, directed at her now. “That solo in Woman? Gave me chills.”

YN opened her mouth to respond, but Harry beat her to it.

“Yeah, chills,” he echoed, not looking up from his bottle. “Or was it the AC in the venue finally kicking in? Hard t’tell.”

Sage chuckled, but it was tight. Forced. “I meant it,” he said, still talking to YN. “You’ve got something special. You know that, right?”

Harry made a sound low in his throat, almost a laugh. Not quite. “Special,” he repeated, like he was tasting the word and finding it bitter. “Special enough t’get you a free beer and a backstage pass. Quite the honor.”

Sage turned to him now, his posture shifting, more squared. “That’s not what I meant.”

Harry’s eyes finally lifted, locking onto Sage with a lazy sort of intensity. “No?”

The word hung there, sharp and cold, daring Sage to keep going.

YN set her bottle down harder than she meant to, the dull thunk slicing through the thick air. “Harry.”

“What?” he said, the picture of innocence, except for the smirk curling at the edge of his mouth.

Her jaw tightened. “Can I talk to you outside?”

Harry raised his eyebrows, playing dumb. “Outside?”

“Mm-hm.” She hummed sharply, pushing herself to her feet. “Now.”

He took his time standing, unfolding himself from the chair with the kind of slow, deliberate movements that made every second stretch out like taffy. His boots scraped against the floor as he stood, towering over her but pretending not to notice. “You sure y’don’t want to hash this out here? We’ve got an audience and everything. Could be fun.”

“Outside,” she repeated through gritted teeth.

Harry chuckled, low and infuriating. “Alright,” he breathed, gesturing toward the door like he was humoring her. “Lead the way.”

As she brushed past him, she caught a glimpse of Jude, wide-eyed and silent, clutching her bottle like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Sage sat back, his jaw tight, his smile long gone.

Behind her, Harry followed, his footsteps slow and heavy, like he wanted her to know he wasn’t in any hurry. And as they stepped out into the cold, stale air of the hallway, she could still hear his laugh echoing softly, more to himself than anyone else.

That laugh made her want to scream.

The alley behind the Music Hall was quiet, the distant hum of city traffic echoing off the brick walls. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the stuffy warmth of the backstage room. “What the hell was that?” she asked, spinning around to face him.

He took a slow sip of his beer, his eyes steady on hers. “What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” she snapped, her arms crossing over her chest. “All the comments. The interruptions. What’s your problem?”

Harry leaned against the wall, his head tilting slightly as he studied her. “No problem,” he said lightly. “Just thought I’d keep the conversation interesting.”

“Interesting?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You were being a dick, Harry.”

His smile faded slightly, his gaze narrowing. “Maybe I don’t like watching some guy who barely knows you act like he’s been waiting his whole life to kiss your ass.”

YN blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his words. “Are you serious?”

“You heard me,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

She stared at him, her chest tightening with a mix of frustration and something she didn’t want to name. “Why do you even care?”

He pushed off the wall, stepping closer until there was barely a foot of space between them. His eyes locked on hers, unflinching. “I dunno.”

Her breath hitched, her pulse hammering against her ribs. “That’s not an answer.”

“S’the only one you’re getting.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the tension between them thick and crackling like static electricity.

She finally broke the silence, her voice quieter now but no less sharp. “You don’t get to pull this shit, Harry. Not after everything.”

He looked at her for a moment longer, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Then he took a step back, his smile returning, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Got it,” he said simply, turning toward the door.

She watched him go, her fists clenched at her sides, her heart pounding with anger—and something else she didn’t want to name.

She stayed in the alley long after Harry disappeared back inside. Her chest felt tight, her breathing uneven as she tried to process the exchange.

The words echoed in her mind, a sharp contrast to the smirk he’d worn when he walked away. She hated how he could get under her skin so easily, how his presence seemed to shift the air around her, how her anger at him never felt simple.

She leaned back against the cool brick wall, tilting her head up toward the night sky. The distant hum of traffic was a low comfort, a reminder of how big the world was outside of the theater, outside of him.

You don’t get to pull this shit, Harry.

But he had, and he would again. That much she was sure of.

Harry didn’t stay backstage for long. When he stepped back into the room, the energy was lighter without her there. Jude and Sage had moved on to laughing about something Mitch was saying, their voices rising over the clinking of bottles. Harry slipped past them with a nod, setting his empty beer bottle on the edge of a table.

“I’m heading out,” he said, his voice easy, casual, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

Mitch looked up, raising an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Harry grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Just tired. Think I’ll head back to the hotel.”

No one questioned him further. Harry had a way of ending conversations before they started, and tonight was no different.

YN finally pushed herself off the wall, shaking off the lingering tension as best she could. The night air had cooled her temper slightly, though the weight of her frustration still hung in her chest.

When she stepped back inside, the room felt just as loud as before, though the dynamic had shifted.

Jude waved her over immediately, her grin as bright as ever. “Hey! You okay?”

“Fine.”YN said, her voice clipped. She didn’t want to talk about what happened. Not now, not ever. “Where’s Harry?”

“Left a few minutes ago,” Mitch shrugged, strumming a lazy chord on the guitar he’d picked back up. “Said he was tired.”

YN’s stomach twisted, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Good,” she muttered, grabbing a fresh beer from the nearly empty box. She twisted off the cap and took a long sip, letting the bitter taste settle her nerves.

Sage caught her eye, his grin still intact. “You alright?” he asked, leaning closer.

“I’m fine,” she said sharply, the edge in her voice enough to make him hold up his hands in surrender.

Jude gave her a look—something between concern and curiosity—but didn’t press further.

She leaned against the table, tuning out the chatter as the night dragged on. But no matter how hard she tried to focus on anything else, the memory of Harry’s words—and the look in his eyes when he said them—refused to leave her alone.

The night dissolved into a blur of laughter, music, and the bitter taste of cheap beer. YN had let herself go too far, her usual restraint eroded by the buzz in her veins and the way Sage kept leaning closer, his voice soft and insistent in her ear. She didn’t even remember how the drinks had piled up so quickly, only that by the time Mitch and Sarah coaxed her into leaving, the room was spinning, and her legs felt unsteady beneath her.

Her friends had already left, a whirlwind of hugs and goodbyes as they promised to text when they made it back to campus. She barely remembered waving them off. Her focus had narrowed to just putting one foot in front of the other, the alcohol turning everything fuzzy around the edges.

Mitch had one of her arms draped over his shoulder, Sarah steadying her other side as they guided her into the hotel.

“You’ve got to start drinking water at some point,” Mitch said, his tone amused but laced with concern.

“Water’s overrated,” YN mumbled, her voice slurred but determined.

Sarah snorted. “Tell that to your liver.”

They maneuvered her into the elevator, Sarah punching the button for their floor. The quiet hum of the ride did little to settle the nausea building in YN’s stomach.

“Alright, this is us,” Mitch said when the doors opened on their floor. He adjusted his grip on her arm, but she shook her head, pulling away clumsily.

“No, no, I’ve got it,” she insisted, stumbling forward and catching herself on the elevator wall.

“You sure?”

“Totally,” YN smiled, swaying slightly as she gave them a thumbs-up.

Mitch exchanged a look with Sarah, then sighed. “Okay, but if you fall over in the hallway, we’re not coming back down.”

“Love you guys,” She gave lopsided grin, blowing a haphazard kiss in their direction.

The walk to her room felt impossibly long. Her footsteps were uneven, and she clutched the wall for balance, the plush carpet doing little to steady her spinning head.

When she finally reached her door, she fumbled with the keycard, her hands clumsy and uncooperative. After several failed attempts, she groaned, leaning her forehead against the door in frustration.

But then her gaze shifted, and she realized something.

This wasn’t her room.

The gold numbers on the door were too low—she was on the wrong floor.

Harry’s room.

Her thoughts moved sluggishly, like she was trying to wade through molasses, but one thing became clear—she didn’t want to go back and figure it out. Not tonight.

Her fist hovered over the door for a moment, hesitation flickering in the back of her mind. She could just go back to the elevator, figure out her room, and collapse in her own bed.

But the alcohol dulled her better judgment, and she knocked before she could stop herself.

The door opened after a beat, and there he was.

Harry stood in the doorway, barefoot, loose sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His hair was messy, like he’d been lying down, and his eyes flicked over her with a mix of confusion and concern.

“YN?” His voice was low and rough with sleep.

“Hi.” She smiled, the word slurred and uneven.

He glanced down the hallway, then back at her. “You’re drunk.”

She hummed, nodding her head and leaning heavily against the doorframe.

Harry’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Dunno,” she pouted, blinking up at him. “I was trying to find my room, but…” She trailed off, waving a hand vaguely.

He sighed, stepping back and holding the door open wider. “Come in before someone calls security.”

The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp near the bed. She stumbled inside, kicking off her shoes and collapsing onto the armchair by the window.

Harry shut the door, leaning against it for a moment as he watched her.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Fantastic,” she mumbled, closing her eyes as the room spun around her.

“You do this often?” he asked dryly. “Stumbling drunk into the wrong room?”

“Not wrong,” she muttered, wagging a finger at him as she half-heartedly reached for the bottle of water on the table next to her. “I knew where I was going.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure you did.”

She squinted at him, her lips twitching like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re awfully judgy for a guy wearing sweatpants with wine stains on them.”

Harry glanced down, frowning faintly at the faint red blotch near his knee. It could have been wine, those were old—not that’d he’d remember. But for arguments sake, “s’not wine.”

“Oh, I see,” She smirking as she leaned back in the chair. “Fancy rock star can’t even handle his grape juice.”

“That’s rich,” he shot back, his tone calm but pointed. “Coming from someone who can’t even find her own room.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but her expression softened into something quieter as the room fell silent. The edges of her bravado dulled under the weight of the alcohol and exhaustion, and she ran a hand through her hair as her voice dropped.

“Why were you so mean to me?”

Harry stilled, the teasing edge slipping from his face.

“When?” he asked, though his tone made it clear he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“From the start,” she frowned, her words slurred but steady enough to cut. “You act like you don’t give a shit about me one minute, and then you—” She broke off, gesturing vaguely. “And then you pull this I notice everything bullshit.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he uncrossed his arms and moved toward her slowly, his footsteps soft against the carpet.

“You should drink that,” he breathed, gesturing to the water bottle still sitting untouched on the table.

YN blinked at him, her frustration flaring again. “Don’t change the subject, Harry.”

“I’m not,” he said evenly, crouching down in front of her. His eyes met hers, steady but guarded, and he grabbed the water bottle, holding it out. “Drink.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her chest tight. “You’re annoying,” she muttered, taking the bottle from his hand.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone soft but laced with the faintest hint of amusement.

She took a few sips, grimacing as the cool liquid hit her empty stomach. Her head swam, the alcohol making her limbs heavy and uncooperative.

Harry stood, watching her carefully. “Come on.” He whispered after a moment, holding out his hand.

She frowned, looking at it suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you into bed,” he said simply, his voice calm as he wriggled his fingers.

“I’m fine here.”

“You’re not sleeping in a chair, YN.” He sighed, his tone firmer now. “Come on.”

With a groan, she let him pull her to her feet, though her legs buckled almost immediately.

He caught her around the waist, shaking his head. “I’m fine.” He mocked breathily, a faint smile tugging on his lips, but he stifled it.

He guided her to the bed, steadying her as she sat down heavily on the edge. She looked up at him, her expression softer now, the alcohol dulling the sharpness of her frustration.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Harry leaned down ever so slightly, brushing her hair behind her shoulders, thumbing away some of the mascara that smudged her cheeks. “Get some sleep, YN.”

“You’re deflecting,” she pouted, though her voice was fading, her head already sinking toward the pillow.

Harry shifted, pulling the blanket over her as she curled onto her side.

“Goodnight.” His voice was low and unreadable.

Silence.

He frowned, taking a step back. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, although he knew she didn’t hear him. 

-

The tour bus hummed steadily as it sped toward Boston, the headlights slicing through the dark. It was well past midnight, and the world outside the window was nothing but a blur of shadows and the occasional glimmer of a passing car.

Everyone else was tucked away in their bunks, lulled to sleep by the gentle sway of the bus. The only sounds were the low murmur of the engine and the soft, absentminded strumming of an acoustic guitar.

YN sat curled up in the corner by the window, Mitch’s guitar resting on her lap. Her fingers moved lightly over the strings, coaxing out a quiet, meandering tune—nothing specific, just something to keep her hands busy. She stared out at the dark highway, the faint glow of her reflection in the glass blending with the streaks of passing lights.

Across the room, Harry sat at the small table, his laptop open in front of him. His shorts were bright pink, shirt faded and worn, hair messy and falling into his eyes. His fingers tapped softly on the keys, the blue glow of the screen reflecting off his rings.

For a while, neither of them said anything. The silence wasn’t tense exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It felt like it had been stretched thin, like something fragile that might break if either of them pressed too hard.

She plucked a few more strings, then let the sound fade, her gaze flicking briefly toward Harry. “You don’t sleep, do you?” she asked, her voice soft but not without its usual bite.

He didn’t look up, his fingers still moving across the keyboard. “Not much.” he replied evenly.

“What are you even working on?” she murmured, shifting slightly in her seat to get a better view.

“Emails,” he breathed, glancing at her briefly before turning back to the screen. “Tour stuff.”

YN smiled faintly, her fingers returning to the guitar. “Rock star by day, admin assistant by night?”

Harry’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

She let out a low hum, her fingers drifting into a soft riff, the notes barely audible over the hum of the bus.

“Is that Mitch’s?” Harry asked after a moment, nodding toward the guitar.

“Yeah.” She brushed her thumb lightly over the strings. “He left it out earlier. Figured he wouldn’t mind.”

He leaned back in his chair, pushing the laptop back slightly. “He doesn’t. Just doesn’t usually let anyone play it.”

YN raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “You saying I’m special?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, finally meeting her gaze. “Hardly.”

She rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small, reluctant smile. “You’re such an ass.”

“Look in a mirror.” He smiled, echoing her words from days before, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table.

For a while, the silence returned, but it felt slightly less brittle this time. YN continued strumming, the quiet notes blending with the steady rhythm of the bus.

“You’re good.” Harry said eventually, his voice softer now. 

YN looked at him, surprised by the unexpected compliment. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

He let out a breathy laugh through his nose, leaning back again. “Just noticing, petal.”

Her chest tightened at the word, but she quickly shoved the feeling aside, focusing on the guitar.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She shrugged, her tone casual but laced with a challenge.

Harry tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “That a compliment?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. It’s big enough.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and for a brief moment, the tension between them eased.

But then her fingers stilled on the strings, her gaze drifting back to the window. The reflection of the two of them in the glass felt surreal, like something out of a dream she wasn’t sure she wanted to wake from.

“Why were you up last night?” she asked suddenly, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Harry’s smirk faded, his expression shifting into something more guarded. “Didn’t feel like sleeping,”

“That’s not what I meant,” she countered, turning to face him fully. “You didn’t have to let me in. Could’ve just shut the door and gone back to bed.”

Harry didn’t respond right away. His gaze flickered to her hands, still resting lightly on the guitar, before meeting her eyes again. “Didn’t seem like you wanted to be alone.”

YN’s throat tightened, and she looked away, her fingers brushing over the strings again. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“I know.” he said simply.

The quiet between them stretched, heavy and filled with things neither of them seemed willing to say.

YN strummed a few more notes, her movements slower now, more deliberate. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her, steady and unrelenting.

“Go to bed, Harry,” she sighed eventually, her voice soft but firm.

“Not tired, YN.” There was no edge to the words.

She sighed, leaning her head back against the window as her fingers stilled on the guitar. “You will be tomorrow.”

“Guess I’ll take my chances.”

She glanced at him, her chest tightening at the faint smile playing on his lips. She wanted to say something, wanted to break the strange tension hanging between them, but the words caught in her throat.

So she said nothing, letting the silence settle again as the bus rumbled on through the night.

September 30th, Boston

The air backstage at the Wang Theatre was thick with anticipation. YN sat in the corner of the green room, tuning her guitar for the third time in as many minutes. The hum of the crew preparing for the night buzzed through the walls, but her focus was pinned to the task in her hands. She needed something to do, anything to keep her from replaying the last few nights over and over in her head.

She tightened a string a little too hard, the sharp twang making her wince.

“You alright over there?” Mitch asked, glancing up from where he was adjusting his pedalboard.

“Fine,” she muttered, not looking up.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry glance her way, his expression unreadable. She forced herself to keep her focus on the guitar.

By the time the lights dimmed and the crowd erupted into cheers, YN was itching to get the show over with. The theatre was packed, the historic venue alive with energy, but it did nothing to ease the knot in her stomach.

The first few songs went smoothly enough, the band locking into their usual rhythm. Harry prowled the stage like he owned it—because he did—and the crowd hung on his every move.

But by the time they hit woman, things began to unravel.

It started small. A glance. A smirk.

Harry turned toward her as he sang, his voice dipping into the lyric like he was saying it directly to her.

The crowd screamed, oblivious to the sharp edge in his gaze. YN’s fingers faltered on the strings for a fraction of a second before she caught herself.

Her eyes snapped to his, narrowing, but he didn’t look away. Instead, his smirk deepened, daring her to react.

She refused to give him the satisfaction, pouring her frustration into her playing as the song built to its climax.

After the final note, the applause was deafening, the crowd on their feet as Harry grinned and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He turned to the audience, shouting his thanks into the mic, but YN didn’t hear a word.

She slipped offstage the second the lights dimmed, her guitar slung over her shoulder as she headed toward the green room. Her chest was tight, her pulse racing, and she needed a minute to cool down before she said something she’d regret.

But she didn’t get far.

“YN!”

Harry’s voice cut through the noise backstage, and she stopped dead in her tracks, her hands tightening on her guitar strap.

She turned slowly, her jaw clenched as she met his gaze.

Harry jogged the last few steps to catch up with her, his sequined jacket glittering under the faint overhead lights. “What the hell was that?”

She blinked at him, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“On stage,” he said, gesturing vaguely behind him. “You were off.”

“I wasn’t off,” she shot back, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

“You missed a note in woman,” his voice was low and firm. “I heard it.”

YN’s jaw tightened, and she took a step closer, her voice dropping to match his. “Maybe if you stopped staring me down like a lunatic during every damn song, I wouldn’t miss anything.”

Harry’s lips twitched, but there was no humor in his expression. “You think that’s why?”

“Don’t start with me, Harry,” she warned, her hands gripping the strap of her guitar so tightly her knuckles turned white.

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “You’re the one starting something, YN. You’ve been looking for a fight all night.”

“Oh, I’m looking for a fight?” she snapped, her voice rising slightly. “That’s rich coming from the guy who can’t seem to decide whether he wants to piss me off or…”

She stopped herself just in time, the words catching in her throat.

Harry tilted his head, his gaze flicking over her face as a faint smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. “Or what?”

YN glared at him, her chest heaving as she struggled to keep her composure. “Forget it.” She spat, turning on her heel and heading for the green room.

Harry didn’t follow, but she could feel his eyes on her back, heavy and unrelenting, as she disappeared down the hallway.

Back in the green room, she slumped into a chair, her guitar resting against the wall beside her. She closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath as the adrenaline from the stage finally began to fade.

She didn’t know what pissed her off more—Harry’s constant needling, or the fact that he was right.

She’d been off tonight.

But only because of him.

-

The tour bus rumbled down the highway, the lights of Boston fading far behind them as the road stretched dark and endless ahead. The show at the Wang  was barely two hours in the past, but it already felt like a weight YN couldn’t shake.

She sat in her bunk with the curtain pulled tightly shut, her knees tucked up to her chest and her notebook balanced precariously against them. Her pen hovered over the blank page, unmoving. She had opened it in an attempt to write something—anything—to push the tension out of her head, but her mind refused to cooperate.

Instead, it replayed the night in an endless loop: Harry’s sharp words backstage, the way his smirk twisted into something darker, the challenge in his eyes daring her to finish what she hadn’t meant to say.

Her chest tightened at the memory. She’d spent the rest of the night avoiding him—on stage, backstage, and now on the bus.

The thin curtain separating her from the rest of the bus didn’t do much to block out the low hum of conversation from the main area. Harry’s voice rose and fell in rhythm with Sarah’s and Mitch’s, casual and unbothered. He laughed at something Mitch said, the sound low and easy, and it made YN’s stomach twist.

How is he so unaffected?

Hours later, the bus quieted as everyone began retreating to their bunks. The lights dimmed, and the gentle sway of the vehicle as it sped down the highway turned the space into a cradle of silence.

Everyone except YN and Harry seemed to have no trouble falling asleep.

She could feel his presence even though they weren’t in the same part of the bus. He was out there, probably stretched out in one of the seats, scrolling on his phone or reading something. She hated that she knew his habits, hated that she’d memorized the way he fidgeted when he was restless, or the sound of his quiet sigh when he gave up on trying to distract himself.

She hated, most of all, that she cared.

She finally slid out of her bunk, her bare feet silent against the soft carpet as she padded toward the kitchenette. The small fridge buzzed faintly as she pulled it open, grabbing a bottle of water and leaning against the counter.

She tried to focus on the cold press of the bottle against her palm, the faint vibration of the road beneath her feet—anything but the sound of movement behind her.

Harry stepped into the kitchenette without looking at her. He opened one of the cabinets, pulling out a box of tea bags and tossing one onto the counter before reaching for the electric kettle.

YN didn’t say a word. She twisted the cap off her water and took a long sip, staring at the far wall as if it held the answer to whatever storm was brewing in her chest.

Harry didn’t seem to mind the silence. He filled the kettle, set it on the counter, and leaned back against the opposite side of the small space, his arms crossing over his chest.

The room felt smaller now, the air heavier.

YN turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

She froze, her back still to him.

“Not a bad thing,” he added casually. “Just different.”

Her grip on the water bottle tightened, her jaw clenching as she turned her head slightly. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

Harry let out a soft hum, not quite a laugh. “How long will that last?”

Her chest tightened as she walked away, slipping back into her bunk and yanking the curtain shut behind her. She sat in the dark, the sound of the kettle clicking off faint in the distance.

She hadn’t seen his face, but she knew he’d been smirking. She could feel it in the way his words lingered, curling around her thoughts like smoke.

And despite herself, she hated that it still mattered.

October 1st, Washington, D.C.

DAR Hall was completely sold out, shoulder to shoulder, elbow into ribs. 

Clips from the show in Boston, among other shows, started to surface online with whispers and reposts. It was only a matter of time, the crowd wasn’t stupid—the tension between the two was obvious, it was just a matter of deciphering if it was real or not. 

The consensus seemed to be split down the middle—they hated each other’s guts, or they were fucking behind closed doors. 

YN wasn’t sure if Harry saw it, but she sure did. Her younger brother had texted her about it first, a series of spam texts at three in the morning asking for every detail.

She left him on read. 

And now, here they stood in DC, before a sea of fans that seemed like they saw right through them, when YN herself didn’t even know what there was to see. 

Luckily, and unfortunately, there were only a few signs that seemed to be about YN and Harry, no one on stage acknowledged them. 

It was a sort of silent agreement that YN would stick to her one guitar during the entirety of the tour. But, when Mitch went to switch out for the acoustic, Harry had stopped him. 

He pulled his ear piece out slightly, whispering something to the guitarist before stalking towards YN on the wings of the stage. With the ear piece out, he could hear how insanely loud the crowd was—he couldn’t help but send shocked smiles in their direction. 

YN furrowed her eyebrows, her palm lying flat over the strings of the guitar as she pulled on her own ear piece. “What’s going on?” 

He stood near her, his breath peppermint and flat sprite. “Switch out, you’re doing track seven.”

She narrowed her eyes, leaning her head in further. 

Track seven on the setlist, meet me in the hallway. “What do you mean? You or Mitch play that.”

He smiled, bunny teeth and dimples. “Now you are.” He nodded toward her, shoving the ear piece back in and ambling back toward the mic that stood center stage. 

She wasn’t nervous, more caught off guard. She knew how to play it, it was just being asked to play it. She pulled the strap from over her shoulders, walking back toward the rest of the band and setting the instrument in its place. 

Mitch would approach with an easy smile, settling the acoustic strap over her frame while Harry continued to talk to the crowd. He adjusted it to her body, looking over the frets to make sure they were tuned for the song—they were. “You know it?” 

She rested her fingers on the neck, nodding with a distant smile. “Back of my hand.” She breathed, earning a small nod from the other guitarist. 

Her eyes squinted in the bright lights as she moved toward Harry, his smile still bright—as if nothing had been happening between them at all. He said something into the mic, his voice a buzz in the background to YN—all that made sense was the second glance he sent her, the look to start. 

The fans simmered down, but not silent. She let out a breath, eyes scanning over the crowd then back to Harry. Her pick moved over the chords seamlessly, as if she played it this way for years. 

His hands gripped the mic stand as he echoed out the first lines, his rings glinting in the golden light. His eyebrows would furrow, his lips would part—he was just music. 

He was an asshole to her, he knew it. He hated it, and she hated how he was completely under her skin, threaded into her veins. 

As they approached the chorus, they looked toward each other, a fleeting sideways glance. He nodded his head down, shifting slightly to the side to make room for her. 

His voice boomed over hers, deeper and more emotional, but they mixed in harmony. Her voice was soft underneath his, lighter, only a backing vocal for the chorus.

The crowd erupted, and some sense settled over YN’s shoulders, the lyrics eerily familiar to them, to their situation. 

Her tummy twisted, yet she played the cords harder, falling into the melody, his words, the reverberation of the crowd. 

—Cause once you go without it, nothing else will do. 

Nothing else will do.

[padfootastic]

like, i like draco and all but the way so many of his fans twist his actions to portray him sympathetically and turn harry into the villain is so weird. *especially* in postwar fics. or the AU slytherin!harry ones.

it’s probably really weird that so much draco/harry gives me the same rancid vibes as remus/sirius but alas, what to do.

[1d1195]

Green Skies, Pink Grass

~2.6k words

From me: Going with another one shot for Monday. This very much jumps into the middle of a storyline that I'll never write but just wanted to post something small in between Most updates.

Warnings: jealousy, enemies(?) to lovers

Summary: It is very obvious Harry gets enjoyment out of irritating her. But not when she can't take it anymore.

“Excuse me,” she approached like she owned the table. She slid right between Harry and the girl that was talking to him. She stood at the corner of the square table made for four. But there were only two, Harry and the girl that had every right to be sitting at one of the right angles so they could be closer together.

For nearly the entire night, she watched another girl touch Harry’s arm and flirt with her eyes as they spoke. All while he leaned close and whispered God knows what. Who knew what secrets he was telling her. The stuff that she dreamed of knowing and not just figuring out from her friends or him taunting her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Rebecca,” she stated and looked around her intruding body so she could peek at Harry. This was ridiculous. She was talking to him and there was no reason for her to have intruded like that and get in between Harry and him. Everyone knew they didn’t like each other. Of all the people that could have taken his attention from her it couldn’t have been the girl that wanted to wring his neck.

Her backside was directly in front of Harry’s vision. He paid nearly no mind to the intrusion—almost like he expected it. In fact, he took the moment to sip his drink because while he wasn’t proud of it, he was extremely grateful for the reaction it caused from her. All night he felt her stare from across the restaurant. Her gaze bored into him. It was painful how long it took to come to this in his opinion. Now he couldn’t wait to see what she was going to do next. She didn’t even flinch as she approached; her sure-footed steps had her heels clicking across the floor with a power that made Harry’s body warm over. The confidence she had was so sexy. The only thing that could have made the current interaction better than having her perfect ass right in front of his face, would have been being able to see her pretty, angry face as she glared at the girl he was chatting with. “Can I help you?” Becca asked.

Harry smirked, grateful neither one of them could see him because he was very much looking forward to this.

“Yeah, umm…” she swallowed that swagger and confidence suddenly wavering.

Harry wasn’t hers. Not by a long shot. They argued about almost everything there was to argue about. They had opposite movie tastes. He never took her suggestion for making dinner recipes better. His driving directions to get somewhere the fastest were always different than hers. She swore he would argue the sky was green if given half the chance. They weren’t that close, but Niall was her favorite coworker and quite possibly her best friend. But that meant she had to spend an infinite amount of time with his best friend, Harry.

She could have taken all his misgivings in stride, honestly. Tt wouldn’t have been that bad nor hard to have. She liked a bit of a challenge in her life. If Harry hadn’t looked down on her the first time that they met, they might not have been on this frustrating path of annoying one another.

It was no secret that Harry was one of the most gorgeous men she had ever met. His handshake was warm and firm but that was as far as his warmth went—at least when it came to her. She wasn’t oblivious to the way his voice sounded when he talked about his mum, sister, or niece. He donated to a ton of charities and was constantly helping his friends.

It was just her.

He was cold and standoffish the day they met. It hurt. Mainly because Niall told her that she would love him, and she was excited to make a new friend. How often did someone in their late twenties make new friends?

But after their introduction and awkward silences while Niall tried to get them chatting about their similarities instead of their differences, she overheard him whispering to Niall in the kitchen while they got plates and drinks for the pizza they ordered. Only catching some of the words that included dislike, irritating, and know-it-all. She prided herself on being kind, never making anyone feel inferior, but Harry made it seem like a fault and didn’t see her that way at all.

Harry wondered where she was possibly going to go with her irritation at Becca. Only moments before the evening began, she wanted to strangle him. He could see it in her eyes and knew she truly thought about wrapping her hands around his throat because he made some comment about her not getting fucked properly in front of Niall. He smiled impishly at her as the rage filled her eyes. It made her eye twitch in that cute way of hers. The way that made him want to keep pissing her off so it would continue twitching. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch just next to her eye and hope that it would make her crazier but also so he could ease that tension all the same.

But it was clear she was lost here. There was no follow through for this moment and seeing Miss Prim & Proper discombobulated was one of Harry’s favorite kinds of sights. But even still, she didn’t deserve to be this lost. It wasn’t her fault the little envious monster took hold of her without a way out of the situation.

“Hey love,” he hummed quietly, pressed a hand on her lower back. She stepped away like he shocked her—or stabbed her. Her eyes were wild as she glanced at Harry briefly. He smiled, his lips straining a little too much to keep him from smiling mischievously—just like before they entered the restaurant. That little quirk that made her eye start to twitch just the same as well.

 That stupid dimple, that knowing look. She wanted to strangle him again.

He knew what she was feeling all too well. Fortunately, it hadn’t happened tonight, but he knew the irksome feeling that heated his stomach and chest when anyone bought her a drink or complimented her smile while he was in earshot.

It was a beautiful smile, but it made him sick to hear other people say it to her and not him.

“Do you have something to say or what? I was talking to Harry.”

Perhaps the alcohol she had ingested was cause for the bravery that resulted in her walking across the restaurant and planning to tell the girl off. But what was she supposed to say? Harry wasn’t hers. There was nothing she could say that would deter Rebecca from spending time with him. Nothing to stop Harry from spending time with Rebecca.

It seemed Harry noticed she was floundering but for once he didn’t make fun of her nor antagonize her further. Instead, without warning, there was a warm hand on the small of her back. “Kitten,” he hummed. His voice was low, directly in her ear, and full of caution. “Let’s go,” he pressed his fingers into her back in effort to get her away from the table. “Sorry, Becca, I gotta go,” he grabbed his drink, tossing the remaining sip back and settling it back on the table.

She said nothing, glaring at her feet with heated cheeks. While the woman who had taken Harry’s attention but wasn’t going to keep it smiled bitterly. “You’re really going to leave? Just because she interrupted?” Harry ignored her, rolled his eyes but not even the girl he had his hands on could see it.

Harry’s lack of response made her burn with anger more and she wished she knew why she went over to interrupt them. Harry was behind her, his body so close to hers she thought a piece of paper couldn’t fit between them. “Wow can’t even fight back—”

She started to move back for Rebecca, but Harry yanked her closer to him. Not even a molecule of air could have fit between them, before she could even take a full step. His arm was wrapped around the front of her stomach, his lips went directly to her earlobe. “M’here, kitten. She’s not worth y’time,” he assured her. “Walk,” he ordered quietly. Normally, she would fight back and tell him not to order her around. But the alcohol in her system simultaneously subdued her anger toward Harry and amplified it toward everyone else. So she walked.

She could hear the way Rebecca laughed calling her pathetic loudly to anyone that walked by. Harry snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly each time he heard one of Rebecca’s taunts and the following pull of her muscles to turn around to continue her chat with her.

Once they were out of the restaurant, he continued to usher her up the road away from the offensive restaurant. There was a cool chill in the air that hadn’t been there when they entered the venue. Confident she wouldn’t make a break for it and return to give Becca a piece of her mind, Harry released her briefly.

In an instant, he pulled his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders before wrapping his arm around her waist again. He gave her a warm squeeze then walked beside her; his other hand stuffed in his pocket. They didn't speak as they walked. After a block and a half, she bit the inside of her lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Harry hadn't ever heard an apology directed at him from her mouth. "Am I dead?" He murmured.

She sighed. "I don't know what came over me," she admitted.

Harry knew. He knew because he knew exactly how she was feeling. "Yeah," he nodded.

More silence followed and they just kept walking. The shoes she was wearing weren’t really conducive to a city walk but she was willing to have a blister on each toe and her heel if it meant Harry’s warm arm and a jacket that smelled like him was going to be wrapped around her. “Did you like her?” She asked.

Harry smirked. “She was fine.”

She swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Kitten,” he chuckled. “She was fine, but I’d’ve much preferred you sitting next t’me all night.”

“But you don��t like me.”

Harry snorted. “Honestly, right now, I don’t. Think I could throw y’into traffic for such a remark. What are y’talking ‘bout, love? M’obsessed with you,” he rolled his eyes.

“Obsessed?”

“Obsessed.”

Her heart fluttered. She stopped walking. Mainly because her feet hurt, but also because she was floored that he admitted such a thing. After all the time she spent wondering why he taunted her and made her want to strangle him. Her voice shook as she asked her next question. Because it was mean spirited of him. “Is this a trick? Like that time Niall was setting me up on a date and you convinced me I got the date wrong, and I sat at the coffee shop for hours before—”

Harry chuckled at the memory. Proud of his handy work and grateful she didn’t go on a date with that prick (who was actually a really nice guy that probably deserved her more than Harry did). “No, s’not a trick.”

She was staring at him like he had ten heads and honestly there was nothing better than seeing her little eye twitch. “You like me?” She asked.

“Very much, kitten,” he nodded and stuffed both hands in his pockets while she processed this.

“Can we sit? These shoes are killing me,” she frowned. Harry followed her to the bench out in front of a closed café. He reached for her feet and unclipped the strap from one ankle then the other.

“You really like me?” She asked again while Harry untied his dress shoes. Harry had this thing about always wearing two pairs of socks. It alleviated blisters, of his own dress shoes and there had been countless times Gemma hated her own high heels after a long night at a family wedding. He slid off the top pair and put them on her feet without fanfare.

“I really like you,” he assured her.

“But you...” She frowned, her stomach aching at the kindness he was showing her. Finally. The nice thing about the cute little sock thing he was doing? She had never seen him do it for anyone else. This was a treat for her as far as she knew. He retied his shoes and settled her feet back to the sidewalk. He held her shoes beside him on the bench.

“I what?” His smile was adorable, mischievous as always, dimple appearing cutely in his left cheek, but it didn’t make her eye twitch and even though he missed it, he liked her soft expression, analyzing him more.

“You said I was a know-it-all. And... irritating.”

“You are irritating,” she glared at him so cutely, he wanted to take a picture of her and make it his phone background and print it on a poster to hang on the ceiling above his bed. “When did I call y’irritating?”

“When you met me. You said you disliked me."

He tilted his head. “Do y’mean at Niall’s?” She nodded. He was clearly processing that and tried to think back. She was finally quiet, while he thought. Didn't try to further their discussion because part of her thought she would turn it into an argument just by accident. “Is that why y’always keep me a foot away from you? Why y’never let me get a word in? Why y’argue with everything I say? Swear y’would tell me the grass is pink jus’ t’argue,” She didn’t dare dignify that with a response. Or that she felt the same way. Harry tugged her legs back up and shifted her so she draped across his lap. His arm around her back while her bum warmed his thigh. He brought his hand slowly up her leg, over the socks he had put on her that looked ridiculous with her dress. His fingers skimmed over her knee and up her thigh while his eyelids hooded his gaze as he followed the path of his hand. He tickled her skin, his fingers circling her wrist in her own lap before he brought it to his shoulder. Then he brought his fingers to her face, cupped her cheek in his palm. “I’m going t’kiss y’now,” he murmured. “Because m’not going t’explain how ridiculous y’are for thinking the first time I met you I called you irritating, or that I disliked you...or thought you were a know-it-all.”

She blushed. “Oh...” she swallowed feeling woozy Harry's face was so close to hers. He smelled so good. He looked so good.

“Don’t y’think it was much more likely I called Niall an irritating know-it-all that I would fall so hard for you and I disliked how right he was?” She remained silent, dropped her gaze again, until Harry tilted her chin up once more. “You are irritating,” he murmured his mouth a breath away from hers. He could feel the warmth of her lips pulling an invisible string to his. Like he had already touched them without touching them. “But I love when y’irritate me,” he assured her and closed that final breath between their lips.

The sky could be green. The grass could be pink. Harry was done arguing with her about it.

--

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[sushirrrry]

protective bodyguard harry blurb with smut please?

order a harry styles one-shot smut blurb; 4.5k words cw: oral sex, dom/sub, control kink, & strong language

The grasp on her arm was tight as he pulled her back away in the small room off to the side; she tried to get out of it before she huffed in his face. He let go for a moment, looking at her before the scowl on his face mirrored hers.

The room full of curtains, all the way up to the ceiling as they coated in the majestical way that the royal setting of the palace provided. The bright colors and the warmth of the light in the room seemed to be opposite to the behavior of which they stood.

As the door shut behind them; they were now alone, awaiting the orders of her officiates before the engagement that they were to be involved. Her royal highness was to be on the grounds today with her father, his royal majesty, to offer a showing of their efforts towards their charity gala that they would showcase that evening.

But her prior, childish behavior had sent her security into a tailwind of nervousness. In the nervousness, sat a deeper feeling that he couldn’t seem to overcome as he stared at the way that the black dress hugged the curves of her shape—the inline of her waist were held tightly with the expensive fabric, the sweet white ribbon held her hair back in a half-up ponytail as the rest wisped against the edges of her shoulders.

Harry couldn’t stand the way she flaunted around in such a manner; he couldn’t stand the way his hands ached to touch her, even if for a rough moment of punishment.

But maybe that was the issue.

“What was that for?” Harry snarled at her, “You think it’s funny to put yourself into those kinds of situations?”

She crossed her arms over her chest as she looked back at him with disgust.

“What do you mean? I was only offering a photo—”

“You cannot send yourself into the crowd like that, especially in the public engagements. He could have grabbed you, or worse. You know the protocol, and you know that you can’t do that. When will you learn?”

His breath was heated as he stared at her, practically backed into the corner as her sweet smiles from before now only replaced with the scathing frown.

“Nothing was going to happen to me,” She explained, “All he did was put his arm around me. It was possibly just out of habit—and you embarrassed me, pulling me away like that.”

Sure, yes, Harry knew that he may have been a bit overprotective in the sense of how he handled the situation, but he wasn’t going to let anyone touch her in a way that was past the protocoled handshake.

The way that her breath inflated had his eyes settled on her chest for a moment; his eyes lifted just slightly at the way that her stealth mirrored him. She wasn’t going to back down this time, and he could see the flames hidden in her hazel eyes.

“Your highness, I will not apologize for putting your safety at my highest concern.” He told her sternly, pushing his feet forward just a bit as he watched her take a step back. “You know that you’re not allowed to step into the crowds, nor are you allowed to insert yourself into them unprovoked, without proper authority to do so,” His hands sat in fists next to the trousers that had started to feel a tightness that he only wished would subside. “That’s an order.”

A sudden hint of a snap hit her below the stomach, like an overturned eighteen-wheeler. Her breath settled on the tip of her tongue as her eyes fluttered at the way that he spoke to her.

The way that his black trousers settled on his hips with the delicate tuck of the white button down that she had seen him wear every day, without fail. She watched the way that his lower arm flexed as his fist clenched and the rolled-up sleeves became tight.

The silence of the room didn’t deafen her, but the annihilation of the thumping of her heartrate could have, easily.

“Do you have any idea how angry it makes me when you don’t listen to me?” He further pushed, but the tone was lowered, almost like he just wanted her to understand that every part of him wanted her to listen—to succumb to the realization that there was security in knowing that she could trust him.

She settled her lips together, nodding a few beats before her chin nodded.

She did understand how angry it made him—she watched the way that his eyes sharpened whenever her hand would linger in the crowds for too long, or when someone would reach out and grab at her. With decorum, she would nicely try to retreat. She was a nice girl, after all, and she would never want to put the royal name in any distress.

But Harry watched her—felt her, knew her intentions were to have him watch her every move. It was almost impossible to ignore the way that his eyes flickered and stayed on her as he tried his best to keep her safe.

With keeping her safe meant having her all to himself. That was the only way that he knew she would be safe—if they were in a room, completely on their lonesome without another being around to possibly put a lingering hand on her.

When his being pushed her against the wall, the twenty-foot ceilings with wall-to-wall wallpaper that had been installed by her family hundreds of years prior, he felt the electricity of her

“You like playing these games because you,” His breath hitched as he watched her eyes focus on the way that his mouth moved around, playing with the words on the tip of his tongue, “You like being punished. Don’t you?”

She gasped as his hand firmly placed itself next to her ear against the wall, almost like he had demanded an answer, without giving her a moment to think. Her eyes were glazed over, as if knowing what was to come, but already knowing the feeling that his hands would have on her in a way that she craved.

She had always craved.

“Tell me.” He moved his face further into her realm, pushing her—coaxing her to do as he told. Somewhere in the line of his need for control lie her need to submit to him; it was a merriment of the two that urged his fingers to pull her to look up at him with a darkness that she ached for.

“I want you to tell me how much you need me under that tight, little dress,” His eyes referenced the dark material that hugged her in the most sensual way, but it was classic and modern and gave her the edge that the modern royals had needed, and what he had so desperately salivated over since he had been told that he was to watch over her.

Her breath came in sharp as he she tried to feel a separation from him, but couldn’t as his foot stood between her legs, his knee nudging her knees to stay apart. She tried to close her thighs but couldn’t. The smirk on his face was apparent as he knew she needed relief and wouldn’t be able to find any.

“I would never wear a dress like this,” She practically stuttered out; a pathetic line, as he knew that she was becoming putty in his hands just at the way her eyes were glass, “Unless I knew someone else would want to take it off, Mr. Styles.”

Harry’s lips parted at the words, watching as she practically fell directly into his trap—placing herself into his atmosphere as he ached for her need, her greediness to be seen.

He knew that they didn’t have much time. Someone would be looking for them, surely. But he didn’t care enough to process what would happen if they were caught in this. His attention firmly stayed on her, and he knew that if he didn’t address now, she would never listen to him again.

He couldn’t have that—he couldn’t have her disobey him. That was pure blasphemy, and he would never allow it.

“Am I to trust that you can watch the door?” The hint of a smirk the only emotion he could muster as he strained to explode in the confines of her gaze, “Can you do at least one thing correctly?”

She cocked her jaw out to the side as she raised a brow at his snarky comment.

“Am I to trust that you will actually be able to make me cum?”

Harry pushes his hips against hers, causing her brows to narrow as a slight reaction. The words that floated off her tongue were filthy, but he knew that he could clean her up in a matter of moments.

“I could make you cum just by my words, love,” His voice like venom, “Making you wait for my cock is just the punishment you need. Always getting what you want—you love playing this game because I’m making you beg for it. And I’ll play along because,” A humorless laugh leaves his lips, “Because you’re going to be a good girl for me now, aren’t you?”

“You,” She swallowed back her bite as she tried her best to study him. “Work for me.”

Harry brushed some of the hair from her face that he knew had fallen from the pretty ribbon that held her hair back in its place.

“Alright,” A broken smile placed on his face as he knew the game she was playing—a good game, at that.

“Walk away, then. Since you’re such a good little Princess, all proper and innocent,” He stared at the way that her lips part as he had moved away just a bit. “But I know that you want my tongue nestled between your thighs so bad, and you’d never give up the opportunity if it were to present itself to you. Trust me,” He said, “I will work for you.”

He watched as she thought for a moment; the tough exterior trying to remain but failing over and over again as her eyes lowered for a moment just at the thought of him moving away. She couldn’t help but think of the scorching hot heat of his tongue pressed into her, lapping up every ounce of wetness she had.

A subtle whimper left her lips as she struggled with the thought, backing against the wall enough that had his knee pressed directly into his cunt—just like he knew she wanted. The smirk that followed stated it all. She riled underneath him, pressing upwards a bit to try to get away from the feeling that elicit her, but knowing that she couldn’t fight it.

Even though she tried to push it away, she needed him in a way that felt almost animalistic. So, she surrendered to his pushback, letting her hands move up to rest on his shoulders as he felt the subtle pull towards her.

“That’s what I thought.” He said, a cocky tone milked from his throat as he won her convictions.

She tilted her head back as she could; the feeling of his hands running down the length of her body was all that she could have asked for in the moment. It was almost like heaven’s gate opened as she pulled her hips towards and into him. Harry’s eyes watched the length of her throat as she arched towards him just a bit.

His lips firmly attached to the skin, letting the softness underneath him feel scathing and almost unattainable. As he kissed down towards her collarbone, he made sure to nuzzle underneath the family heirloom pearls that rested against her skin.

Without another warning, he was on his knees before her—as if a metaphor for the way that he had been begging for this moment for the last three-hundred days that he had been notified he was to care for her; to watch her, to keep her safety as his priority.

All he had ever wanted was to be on his knees in front of her; kissing her, eating her in a way that craved every single moment that his eyes devoured her.

His fingers nudged the black fabric up her thighs, watching as it stretched over the subtly curves and dips of her hips. His knees settled on the ground as he allowed his eyes to stare up at her, watching as she arched against the wall, almost pushing her hips towards him to feel what he had been teasing.

“How long has it been?” His voice was hot on a whisper as he kissed the inside of her thigh, watching her reaction to him practically explode at the heat of his lips.

She swallowed back, “You would know,” She muttered, “You haven’t left my side in a year.”

At her words, he smirked with a knowingness; he knew that she hadn’t left his side. Their tension and weight of this had only been stewing for so long, and he was finally getting the opportunity to show her the way that he had always wanted her.

“You’re going to be fucking tight around my fingers, won’t you?” He spoke, his tongue feeling tingly as he asked the dirty words.

She bit her lip. “I don’t know what gave you the illusion that I was a prim and proper Princess,” She urged, “Surprised you never heard me moaning your name when my bedroom door was closed.”

It was his turn to whimper, just thinking of all the times he had traveled with her, knowing that she was safe behind the shut doors. He had wondered if her time alone was peaceful; knowing that no one else was around to bother her, as her public job was practically a lifestyle.

But now he knew that she thought of him as she fucked herself into oblivion on the cream, silk sheets—spread and open as if telepathically waiting for him to check on her. So fucking prim and so fucking proper.

“Got a mouth on you, hm?” He commented, a roughness to his tone as he held his hands against the skin of her thighs as his own mouth practically watered at the touch, “What would the commonwealth think of their dainty, little Princess with a mouth like that?”

“It’s a fun little act,” She huffed out, a smile on her lips as she bit on her lip at the way that the man’s eyes plead with certainty of need, “Even more fun sneaking around like this, don’t you think?”

“Hm,” Harry hummed, his eyes moving up to catch hers as he shakes his head a little bit, “’S a gift to me.”

His hands caress her thighs, moving the black dress up until he’s reached the periwinkle lace, accented with a baby pink bow right at the top. His eyes guide up to her as he feels the strong connection of their electrical magnetism forcing himself as close as he can; his lips attached to the skin right underneath the slim line where the dress is pushed up.

But, right above the pink bow.

“Even your dripping pussy has a bow for me,” His heated breath was hot on her skin as she whimpers at the feeling of his merciful pout on her delicate skin, “A gift all for me.”

She felt the way her knees wanted to bend inward at the way he made her feel; a horrific shuttering of need coursing through her, watching as his head moved its way further down, attaching itself to the outside lace. As if, to only get a small taste of her. He had been holding himself back to help control his appetite for what was underneath. A teasing approach that left her shuttering out a breath.

But he was starving for the contact in one way or another.

“Watch the fucking door,” He stated, pulling away for a minute. “Don’t you dare let us get fucking caught. You’re going to have an orgasm so fucking strong you aren’t going to know what hit you.”

“Yes—yes, sir.” She blinked a few times; hands wrapped around the longer curls that practically melted between her fingertips as he sat on his knees in front of her.

His eyes moved back up to her as he watched knees as they shook in a height of adrenaline and anticipation.

“So sweet. Such a good girl for me. Doing as I say.” He commented, one of the soft remarks he made as he kissed at her inner thigh knowing that she needed a bit of kindness to overlay with the tough punishment he was going to put her through.

His fingers interlaced with the waistband of the lace panties, the waistband on them laying around his fingertips as he pulled them down with a swoop. He couldn’t believe the way that his eyes attached to the dripping cunt that practically swelled with anticipation for him—watching her writhe as there was now no friction made his cock strain underneath the trousers.

“Touch yourself,” He whispered, “Show me where you need me.”

His head felt dizzy with the starvation of her as he watched her succumb to his order. Her fingers daintily placed along on the swollen bud of her clit, pressing softly as she moaned at the touch she craved for. His eyes dark with a blackness for what occurred in front of his eyes, knowing she rewarded him with every single move.

She wriggled underneath his stare, as he used his own to gently gather the wetness that lie between her thighs. The slickness of her desire coating his fingertips as he gathered them along the length of her swollen cunt, pressing upwards just a bit as he looked up to gauge her reaction to the feeling.

Her mouth opened slightly, a hitched gasp as she practically folded in half; her back arched enough to wanting his touch so bad she couldn’t hardly stand it any longer.

“C’mon, show me more,” He urged, tapping at her leg softly, “Here—put it up here.”

On his knees, he was situated between her legs as he helped her foot urgently rest against his shoulder. He wanted the most access; the most visual for his own selfishness, as he felt his mouth water at the way she opened for him.

“Christ,” He muttered under his breath as his fingers came back up to directly press against her clit, watching as she held onto him for balance now. The soft pump of her heel dug into his shoulder, but he knew the pain was causing the adrenaline to shoot through his body. “Gonna’ fucking devour you.”

It doesn’t take any longer for his tongue to press against the center of her; the way that she falls into his touch only makes sense. The dirty tongue that had been speaking nonsensical words of affection was now tasting her in a way that felt obliged and dutiful.

“Fuck—fuck,” She whined, pulling at the hair to practically push his tongue further into her depths as he lapped up the wetness collecting around her.

“Knew you’d taste like a fucking dream,” He pushed against her thighs to keep her spread for him, his hair falling into his face as he sucked gently on her swollen clit, which led to her shuttering in practical defeat. “Fuck, Princess.”

The small play of a nickname sent her stomach into a fit, letting her hips lead her into the grasp of his tongue as she pulled at the curls that rested in the curls of his hair. She pulled it when she felt the way that he inserts his middle finger, lapping around the entrance as he buried his nose to nudge against her clit.

The small amount of penetration leads her body to need—to swell around him, as he pulls back just a bit as if the sensitivity had gotten the best of her. His tongue lapped at her entrance, spitting directly where she needed him most—as if it wasn’t wet enough; he loved knowing that she could writhe against him and soak him like this.

“I want you to—”

Notably, the sound of heels clicking against the hardwood of the chamber floors seemed to catch their attention. It’s enough that both of their fantasies push away in a moment, almost like their bubbles had burst with knowing that being caught wasn’t an option.

Harry pulls away from her thighs as she fumbles with pulling the black dress down her thighs, down to the knees where the proper length was prior to Harry’s fingers pushing it upwards. Her eyes dash to the ground before kicking the periwinkle lace underneath the sofa that sat directly in front of her.

Harry had managed to pull himself together, throwing a hand through his hair as he used the back of his palm along his mouth, as if finishing the best meal of his life. He had thrown himself down on the sofa, adjusting his belt so that his straining erection would be hidden.

She stayed standing behind the sofa, hands on her hips as she tried to pretend as if the conversation, they were having was routine; like they had planned to be alone for the past few moments, while the door opened to reveal her mother and a few aided members of the house to push past the door then.

“It’s absolutely preposterous—” Her mother stated to the dignitaries that followed in her path, before her eyes fell to her daughter—the Princess—with almost a look of relief, “There you are.”

The Princess reacted, but Harry could see as he sat in front of her with his legs crossed and his arms covering across his chest. He looked up at the woman in the dark green floor length gown, and others who had come in her wake.

“Sorry, I just came to, uh,” She couldn’t wrap her brain around any words that made sense as the slickness between her thighs came back into his thoughts, the way her thighs moved against one another made her entirely too aware of the whiplash that just occurred.

“She was having a bit of a panic. A prick grabbed her out in the garden welcome ceremony, and wouldn’t let go, so we just came to cool off.” Harry stated, looking up at Her Majesty, who happened to be the mother of the woman he had just furiously been giving a pleasureful tongue towards.

The knowingness of it made his heartbeat race; knowing what had happened before the doors of this room should have been felt just by the energy, but the two of them were keeping their lips shut as they tried to remain orderly.

“Oh,” The older woman nodded a few times, looking between Harry and her daughter before she pursed her lips, “Very well, then. Are you feeling a bit better?” She asked.

The girl nodded, giving a tight smile before she came around the other side of the sofa—Harry looked at her now, noticing that her hands were white knuckled as she held them behind her back. He bit the inside of his cheek before rubbing his hands down the thighs of his pants, drying the sweat from his palms.

“Yes, yes, I am, thank you,” She answered, before giving a subtle nod; her eyes made their way back to Harry. Their eye contact clicked immediately before she took in a breath and cleared her throat. The girl looked back to her mother after a moment, “Let’s go back, then. I will meet you there.”

Her Majesty gave a curt nod before she turned back towards the large doors and made her way out of them, back down towards where the gala was being held.

Harry let out a breath as he shut his eyes, almost feeling the weight coming outwardly from his chest.

“That was close.” He muttered.

He stood in his place, pushing off of the sofa before the girl tightened the ribbon on the back of her hair. He noticed that she may have not been able to see it clearly, watching her move towards the large mirror that hung against the wall. Her head tilted to be able to see behind her.

Harry moved to where she stood, his hands placing themselves on top of hers as he fixed the ribbon on the top of her head to let the strands hand down along the length of her hair—the tie now tight to keep her hair in place; the girl smiled at him in the mirror before he noticed the hazel draw of her eyes, aligning with the smirk that she sports now.

A silence fell over them, but it was almost as if they had to just go back to the duties of their dignified jobs, knowing that getting caught in the act wasn’t an option they were both able to handle. Harry grabbed the jacket from the edge of the sofa; readjusting his sleeves to normal down the throw of his arm before moving to follow the girl out of the room.

Her legs move towards the door that had been opened, Harry following hot on her lead as he found the strength of his voice, muttering a few words back at her as they trudged through the palace halls; notable faces in large paintings being the only ones to hear the filth to slide off of his tongue.

“Just know that I’m not finished,” he told her roughly, as she walked in front of him; his voice gathering right behind her as they fled out of the room and towards the main gardens that would hold the charity lunch that had been ignored prior. His hand slipped along the flat of her back as he felt the urge to hold her against him; this time in a much different way, “I want to see you tonight, back in the west wing.”

She held her shoulders back; continuing to feel his lips pressed against the inner thighs that felt bare, but obscenely voracious at the same time. “Is that an order?”

His smirk pressed against his lips as he stayed behind her; knowing that her lead was made to make him feel that she was in charge again. He knew deep down that was surely not the case.

“That is an order.”

Without her smirk seen, she nodded a few times, turning her head just a bit as the smirk wiped away from her face so he didn’t get the satisfaction of knowing he caused it.

“Very well.” She agreed, nodding softly before he stopped to look at her; noticing the way that her eyes fell towards his lips. They stood in the hall for a moment, her back towards him as he stood behind her in protective line as he had been arranged to do.

And in that moment, he urged the scent of her wildflower perfume to push through his equilibrium as he breathed out a subtle word of agreement to hers: “Very well.”

The sound of her heels echoed through his mind as he thought of the next time he’d be able to have her once again. On his terms, nonetheless.

[valuunit]

after midnight

summary: some steamy sex after dancing at the club with harry in his frat era.

title because im obsessed with chapelle roan, as you should

Content: She/her pronouns. smut (mdi), alcohol consumption, hair pulling, using a tie as a way to muffle sound ;), oral (m receiver), finguer fucking, clothed sex?, oh, a photo taken during sex, this oc is really stupid and horny, don’t show you’re face in an explicit pic of yourself wit someone new. that’s it ig :)

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if there’s any mistake I'm sorry, please let me know so i can correct it :D

y/n

why did i agree to this? jesus, this is the shitiest-

“y/n, my miracle is here!” the strong mature voice of Patricia sends shivers down my spine.

“hi” i quietly say, accepting her hug.

“here, i want you to met someone.”

fuck. social interaction.

i’m so so tired for this, i just want to pet my beautiful dog and sleep cuddling with him.

“Michael! here she is, y/n, y/n that’s Michael Young, owner of the record label i told you.” she whispers the last bit. my attitude automatically changes, another rich man who wants more money.

a very well preserved old man turns around, he’s like the definition of daddy if i were attracted to him, he gives me a gentle handshake. “nice to meet you miss, i’ve heard great things about you.”

“thanks, it’s very nice to meet you too.” after that he kisses Patricia’s cheek and excuses himself, promising to get back a little later.

“well, that didn’t go as planned.”

i chuckled. “maybe in a bit will go better, he said he was coming back”

“that’s the equivalent of a guys promising you he’s calling you back after fucking.”

“oh, then forget about it, let’s drink!” i smile eyeing the open bar.

“you do you, honey, i’ll be here if you need me.”

“okay mother, thanks.” i love that woman even if she’s in my monthly payroll.

“love ya.”

i pass some people, looking for the edge of the bar, and fortunately it was empty. “hi, can i take an old fashioned, please?” the bar tender nodded. life like this is kinda good.

harry

“that girl, she’s fit.” louis said.

oh i know lou, i’ve been watching her since she stepped in the club.

“who?” niall said genuinely curious to look at a cute girl.

“there, in the leather jacket at the edge of the table.” louis kept trying to get a better look at her.

“you should go talk to her.” niall says after also looking.

“i think that harry’s job here, he’s been drooling here for her.”

“what?, no, i didn’t even saw her before you mentioned her.” you fucking liar. you even know her name and music.

“okay, then i’ll take the word from nialler here and go count that lady.” you’re a good player louis, but not the best.

he’s testing me to push myself to go there.

“no, not at all.” i simply reply.

“ehh! louis, louis, louis!” niall cheers.

and there he goes, confident steps but playing with his hands.

y/n

i feel a pair of eyes on my back, i try not to think to much about it, i’m here to enjoy myself not to pay attention for others.

“hi” a particular voice says.

i don’t reply, maybe it’s not for me, i don’t want to embarrass me.

“hey, you like it old fashioned?, you’re like a dad?” okay, maybe that is for me.

“yeah, i probably have someone pregnant rounding around the world. i’m at that stage of my life.” i simply replied.

they laughed “i might like you. i’m louis, nice to meet ya”

“hi, y/n” this is louis tomlinson, one of the most famous boys at the moment. if this was happening a couple of years ago i would probably pass out, but i’ve slowly realized that doesn’t matter you ‘status’, you should be treated as kindly and respectful as anyone.

“aren’t you going to invite me a drink?” he says offended, playin, obviously.

“yeah, because i’m the one who approached” i said smiling. “what would you like? it’s on me.”

“oh, becoming my sugar mommy, i get it. i’ll get a shot, tequila.”

“yeah, the free aspect does play a roll here.” he laughs again and looks to where he came from. “four shots of tequila please, extra lime.”

“two rounds, i for sure like you now.” he immediately takes one of the caballito, waiting for me.

“i was just hopping you’d get pleased with that and leave.” i also take one, he hums and aproches for slice of lime.

“damn, that’s tough, if you want me to leave you’re not going to achieve it giving me drinks.” he talks quickly, then proceeds to cheer and gut down the little but dangerous liquid. i follow.

“oof, party animal, aren’t ya?” a deep and also british voice comes in.

“harry!, your finally came, i thought i was gonna stay here all night mate.” he looks at me “not that i would mind”

i completely turn around to look at a curly haired guy, he’s also really handsome, and how not? he’s harry styles.

“ah, yeah, thanks man, see you?” his confused comment makes me laugh.

“yeah, whatever you say. it was really nice to meet you, y/n, hope we can finish this round one day.” he pats the back of his friend and gets out. damn, what the fuck.

“am, i’m really sorry ‘bout that, i’m harry though, you’re y/n?”

“yeah, no it’s fine, if you want you can finish the shots with me?” i say also confused, he looks so nervous and i don’t know why, i'm not that scary am i?

“sure, thanks.” and it becomes silent. well, the conversation with louis was better, that’s for sure.

we swallow the drinks and when i reach out for the fruit i find his hands in the same one i was about to grab, i quickly change my election, and he does as well, i laugh at the awkwardness. he smiles at that.

“i heard your album. it’s amazing.”

“what? you’ve heard my album.” a say fascinated while sucking the last bit of sour liquid.

“what? are you surprised i listen to good music?” he smiled and smooths his chin.

“i wouldn’t say that, i just thought it didn’t reached that many people for you to listen to it.”

“what do you mean? it’s hit after hit, it’s really popular.”

“well, i don’t often look at the logistics of it. but thanks, i wasn’t really sure about it, nor my record label i almost got dropped.”

“well, they’re losers, it’s great.” he smiles and i also do, it’s really nice to heard that from someone who doesn’t know me, it feels genuine.

“i feel like i have to return the compliment but i haven’t heard 1D in like one year, ahm, i really love c’mon c’mon.” he and i laugh.

“yeah, i don’t blame you.” he suddenly looks uncomfortable.

“i’m really sorry.” i try to read his eyes, he was looking at a light above, but now his eyes are back on mine, he doesn’t look as happy as some people seem when they talk about something the love, like music. “you’re not satisfied, are you?”

“you could say that in a lot of aspects.” he smirks.

“okay, i don’t wanna hear it.” i say laughing nervously.

“let’s not talk about this depressing stuff. wanna dance?”

“sure, i’d love to.”

he takes my hand to make sure i don’t get lost in the crowd, he pauses for a second to give louis a warning look when he makes quiet wolf whistles.

“he’s an idiot, sorry.”

“i figured, no problem.”

promiscuous is blasting across the club, this song is sexy and i’m with a sexy guy, i must be a little sexy.

i’m against his chest, the room between our bodies is none, and the space we have to dance is limited, but we can make it work.

i see him starting to sway his shoulders first, trying to get used to the beat. i put my arms on his obliques, also starting to sway my hips, looking at his chest tattoos.

his hands go under my leather jacket and stay in between my hips and my waist, following me. i hear him pant, his mouth is slightly parted and his forehead falls to mine.

“can i take this?” he grabs the tie that hangs loosely in my neck, trying to distract himself for the erection i feel near my left hip.

“sure” we separate out heads and he puts it around his neck, the red looks good on him.

harry

she’s the hottest, most gorgeous person i’ve met.

her lips are as bright as the tie i just grabbed from her beautiful neck, i really want to kiss her. but maybe she’s not into me in that way.

“fuck, how are you so hard, a minute has hardly passed” her voice is deeper than before. i feel slightly embarrassed, but also no.

“that’s the reaction my body has with you.” i say honestly. some say that fake it till you make it, and that what i’m gonna do, fake confidence, maybe it’ll let me somewhere good.

she hums and looks at me in the eyes, to the lips and back at my eyes, with a bright smile and a dark look.

she grabs the tie, pulling me to her, we’re centimeters apart. when i’m about to kiss her she speaks.

“may i kiss you?” she whispers. this might be the hottest thing she’s done so far, or maybe the tie thing it’s.

“of fucking course.”

y/n

this kiss is as alex turner would say, were teeth collide.

is desperate, full of the sexual tension we’ve managed to build, and i couldn’t want it any other way.

we dance, grind, kiss and even moan, at least me, for what seems like the entire night, but when we take our make out session to the back of the building it seems like it barely 12 in the morning.

“jesus, love, i would love to take you home.” he says between wet neck kisses, all i reply is a fervent nod.

after that i feel his warm and big hand on my cheek, making me look at him, then is when i reply with actual words. “we can go back to my place, it not far and it’s alone.” i smile.

“you sure?”

“yeah, if you want.” he smiles and pecks my lips, i don’t know why his hand here makes me wanna melt against it.

“of course, love. it’s better than a shared hotel room.”

“yeah, probably.”

we decide to walk, it’s like i said not far away. the walk was definitely less heated, but it was something.

he asked if he could borrow my purse or my jacket to hide his boner, i laughed so much at that. but the outfit ended up amazingly on him, with the red tie and the also red small bag in his hands contrasting with his all black base.

as soon as i get home blake jumps, almost to the height of my head.

“i’m sorry, honey, i had somewhere to be.”

i think this might kill the mood, maybe not.

“who is this little bud?” harry asked when blake started sniffing his legs. i hang my jacket on a chair and take my purse from harry’s hand, leaving it in the same spot.

“blake, i hope he doesn’t bother you.”

“what, how could he.” he kneeled petting his puffy black hair. “right bud?, you’re adorable” blake turned into his back, to get some love in his belly.

okay, this is really cute, i feel bad for getting wet at the sight of him like this, being sweet to my dog.

“want a drink?, water, vodka, tequila?”

“no, i’m fine. i would prefer to get back were we left it.” blake has lost his interest on him and went to his bed.

“okay, you can go to my room, i’ll be there in a minute.” he looks around the house looking for the destination, “upstairs.” he nods and heads up. “blake. i have some… stuff to do, so please don’t cockblock me, please love, you’ll get a lot of treats tomorrow.” his ears move when he hears ‘treats’.

i grab a cushion from the couch and put it at the beginning of the stairs, hoping he can’t jump over it. “love ya, i’m really sorry if you hear something!” i whisper-scream.

getting near the door i smooth my skirt out and take may hair out of my face.

when i enter harry is sitting at the edge of my bed, he’s cheeks look very red now that i see them in a different light. i smile at him and he smiles at me.

“you look great in red. in your cheeks and my tie” i whisper as i sit in his lap.

“thanks, i might borrow it for another day.”

“you’re still, you know, hard?” i say almost laughing at how cringe that sounded to me.

“you’re wet?” he says. i nod, desperate to kiss him. “perfect.”

his hands crawls up my knee, ass and thigh, reaching my underwear, which was very much soaked.

“i feel flattered, love, i haven’t touched you and look at this” he makes me stand in my knees and slides my panties down my legs, finally showing the mess i made. “we’re gonna keep the skirt if that’s fine with you” i nod and he kisses me.

as soon as the kisses starts it becomes a kiss full of passion. he undoes my white shirt and i do the same with his black shirt.

he’s now laying down, his legs hanging from the bed and im right in top of him, my core against his belt, which feels weird in a good way.

i moan when he sits down, grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling it backwards. “your really pretty when you’re all flustered.”

he slides the shirt down my shoulders and for my bralette he slides it upwards, passing through my head.

“i feel like you have an advantage here.” i look down his opened shirt and pants, hell, he even has his shoes on.

“take whatever you want.” he smiles and kisses the in middle of my breasts.

i hug his neck with both of my arms, letting him please me with his kisses and bites in my chest.

he pays equal attention to both, i think he gave the same amount of bites to each, i don’t know, i was enjoying myself to much to care.

when i fell his mouth starting to separate from me i begin to go down his body, taking the tie and the shirt off, kissing his shoulder, chest, stomach and his boner from above the denim material.

he groans desperately but doesn’t move, just seats there with his hands on each side of his body. “you’re really a tease, baby.” he whispers.

“i think it will be worth it.” i say, quickly undoing his jeans and sliding off his boxer, leaving his cock free.

i think of what to do for a second, i could do a handjob or a blowjob, i finally decide in a hybrid.

i first take his length in my right hand, slowly feeling his body react, his legs move a bit and his body leans back. i then start to move down, making my eyes align with his crotch, and with my hand still in the base i start by wrapping my mouth at the tip. his makes a beautiful sharp gasp.

“god’s fucking sake.” he decides to look down at me, looking deep into my eyes.

harry

her eyes are gonna be the death of me. she can look evil but also innocent. and that makes me want to take her right now and leave her dumb fucked.

my dick disappears in her mouth, over and over again, i don’t know how she manages to keep a consistent move in her hands and in her mouth, including her tongue and her head. the guitar must help her multitasking abilities.

“love, t-that s-sss amazing. ah, but i w-won’t last a lot longerr and i will like to do sooo… much m-more with y-ya…”

she gets my dick out of her mouth, god that’s so dirty, an i love it. but yeah, she does so, chuckling a bit with a sense of pride, some drool goes down her chin, she’s perfect.

“okay, next time i guess.” fuck yeah, hopefully.

“now it’s my turn” she come back up, sitting her naked clit into my semi, this little minx jumped into my dick, and she knows it, she smiles.

“sorry.”

“you’re not.” i smile.

“no, i’m not.” she smiles.

“but you will.” i grab her hips from under the washed denim mini skirt and switched our position, leaving her laying down on her chest and me above her, looking at the greatest fucking view; her face was looking at me over her shoulder, he naked back and her skirt rolled up, leaving nothing to the imagination, her ass was in perfect alignment with my eyes.

i decided to be a little wild and spank her, she moaned, but i quickly turned to look at her “was that okay?”

“yeah… fucking perfect.” she moaned more.

“who would’ve thought…” i say, giving her another one, this one harder, making her cheeks giggle.

i pull her skirt even further, and also pulled from her hips to make her stick her ass up, giving me better access to her clit. i begin caressing her outer lips, soft touches to get her desperate and my fingers getting lubricated.

i inserted one of them, the ring finger to be specific. she moans softly, pushing her hips back. “more…”

“patience, love, want to cherish the moment.” but i do what she says, i enter another and begin to diversify my movements. when i get to a specific and wet point i feel her body shake.

“t-t… there.” she sighs “right therrre.” she purrs.

she looks so angelic like this: baby hairs stick to her sweaty forehead, eyes closed, mouth open full or profane sounds, i also see her stimulating her breasts, just like she could read my mind.

when i put my third finger in i feel her lips stretch, so i turn my hand, she screams at my move. “shh… we don’t want to scare blake, or anyone for that matter. would hate for someone to interrupt, right?”

“mhm” she opens her eyes, they are watering now, i don’t know whether to worry or to be turned on.

“everything okay there, baby?” i ask pulling her hair to the side to look at her fully.

“gr-great!” she sights when i touch her newly founded button.

i feel some more palpitating, some more stretching and i see her jaw being clenched. she’s close.

“you’re getting there, aren’t you?”

“yess! i’m goo…” sight “gonna cum.” her hips push against my hand, i took my index finger out because it felt like i couldn’t move my hand at all.

“patience baby, let it all out” i groan at her cunt stretching around my hand.

she screams my name, might be my new favorite sound of all time. it’s a mix of a hoarse and sweet voice.

she stops moving her hips i see a bit of liquid being thrown against my still moving hand, she squirted. i try really hard not to cum also.

she pants and groans. one hand reaches to mine, telling me to stop.

“good job, love” i slowly take my hand up and taste her discard. i then lean to kiss her cheek.

“want you inside of me” she whispers against the mattress.

“of course baby, just waiting for you to catch your breath at least.” i chuckle. she pouts but stays still.

“i’m fine. i just want you to fuck me.” she looks at me undress completely. biting her lip as she check me out.

“ouch, wouldn’t thought you’ll just use me like that, love, thought this was real.” i say jokingly offended and also a bit nervous. maybe this is just a one night thing, and i wouldn’t like it to end like this.

“maybe it is, but i would really like you to fuck me good so i can consider you as a potential candidate.”

nice answer, miss y/n.

“fine, firstly, do you have any condoms?” she sakes her head no.

“i’ve got iud and clean. if you’re up and clean we can make it raw.” she says nonchalantly.

“fucking hell” i go to kiss her mouth, gripping her cheek harshly, “i’ll make you scream really loud, so i think we could put this to some more use”, i say taking the tie from the floor.

she smiles, curious. i hover over her body again, pass the tie through her head to stop at her mouth, tightening it.

“wow” she barely says.

“you can grip me at the arm of you want to stop, okay?” she nods. “show me” she takes my forearm and tightens her grip around it two times. “good girl.” i kiss her cheek again.

i look down, she still has that fucking skirt i hope every time she uses it she remembers who fucked her in that, i direct my dick into her clit. i soak my tip into her cum and wetness.

and finally i enter, our mouth open at the contact, i thrust slowly and fully, i stay there “goodness, this is g-ood.” i whisper in her ear, she moans quietly.

“look at me angel.” she deserves the nickname. i could take a picture of this obscene and artistic piece. “can i take a picture?, i promise ill protect it with my life…”

she hesitates a bit, but when she looks at me in the eyes she nods “yeah”.

i lean over to the bedside table, take my phone and quickly snap one time.

“move?” she says.

“as you wish.” i let my phone slide off my hand and focused solely on her.

i put one hand next to her face , the other went to her hip. giving me the base i need to get her good.

my hips roll against hers, looking at her face to her ass and back and forth.

i quickly gain a fast, hard and pleasing pace.

she hides her face into the pillow and grips the bedsheets tightly. her muffled moans and screams, my groans and screams and the sound of our bodies colliding is the only sound i listen to, and maybe in a 1 mile radius.

“doing good, l-love?” i ask her, my breathing is shaky, maybe not that sexy.

“mhm.” she turn her face to look at me “y-yesh…”

“look so fricking good like this…” i wished i could look at her full face.

she screams something that sounds like my name, and i know i need to she her climaxing around my dick.

“we’re g-gonna turn…” groan “you around, ‘right?”

“yeahyeahyeah” she said.

“h-hug, hug your leg darling.” i pat her left leg , she struggles a bit but makes it. with the force i have i turn her almost limb body.

she moans when her back hits the mattress and i thrust into her faster, while kissing her face, she entangles both her hands in my hair, pulling. fuck.

“hmm. c-c… cum!” she sights into my neck.

thanks love, i wouldn’t like to burst before you.

“perfect. relax, baby…” i groan, struggling to keep that fast of a pace, she’s squeezing my dick so hard and i might come way too fast.

“ha… haffy!” she screams again.

“i’m cu…ming love.”

i feel her groaning at the overstimulation, so i give a final thrust and let it all out.

y/n

i’ve been talking with harry for probably 30 minutes, after last night fucking midblowing fuck i barely was awake, but harry made me change into some pajamas and then he changed the bedsheets. it was the best aftercare ever.

“would you like to go for a coffee later in the evening?” he says looking at me with his beautiful green eyes.

“yeah, as long as blake can come.” i say jokingly.

“of course, love, little man is always welcome.”

“see? that’s what makes me want you every day and every night!” i hit his chest lightly, he chuckles. “you can’t say shit like that, i’ll get attached.”

“is that something wrong?” he smiles. “i also want you, i really like you, and it might be too soon, but i would like to get to know you and be something else.”

“i would love that too.”

[fandomnerd9602]

Jealous Student

Wanda Maximoff x Nerd!Reader (High School AU)

You’ve been dating popular girl and magic user Wanda Maximoff for close to a few months at this point.

Honestly you’ve been on cloud nine. You and Wanda knew everything about one another already thanks to your strong friendship. Everyone in Wanda’s friend circle approved of you.

It didn’t matter to Wanda that you were a nerd, you were her nerd.

Everything was going well or so you thought. It was around this time that a foreign exchange student came in. His name was Vision Jarvis, a proper British chap.

It didn’t take long, literally five minutes of walking on to campus to make a beeline for your girlfriend.

“Excuse me, miss?” The proper British accent showing, “can you tell me where I can locate Mr Fury’s class?”

“Yes that’s Y/N and mine’s class” she explains, gesturing to you.

“Perfect. I’m Vision.” He shakes her hand and kisses her knuckles.

“Wanda” she gives a smile.

“And I’m Y/N” you give him a handshake, trying not to show the jealousy brewing in your very soul.

Wanda gives your hand a gentle squeeze as the two of you guide Vision to your class.

Vision quickly starting hanging out with you and Wanda. He quickly gained the affection of all your friends.

“Watch out, Hufflepuff” Tony Stark warns you within the week.

“What?”

“Proper British dude? The accent?” He explains, “no girl can resist any accent.”

“I take it you used an accent when you asked out Pepper?”

“Didn’t fool her at all but I did make her laugh” he smirks.

Vision was seeming awful chummy with Wanda. He was a fan of Dick Van Dyke and Florence and the Machine.

Somehow you felt that you were starting to become the third wheel.

You approach Wanda during lunch, handmade lunches in tow. “Hey Wanda, I was wondering if you wanted to continue our Harry Potter marathon tonight”

“Harry Potter?” Vision chimes, “i love the Wizarding World!”

“Uhh…Vision was wondering if he could tag along.” Wanda looks at you uneasy.

“Oh” you find your voice brimming with sadness, “well…uhh…”

Vision interrupts, “Wanda I was inquiring if you and Y/N would like to join me for tea later”

“Well Vis the thing is-“ Wanda tries to say. But it was too late you walked away, a few tears making their way down your cheek.

“Detka?!” Wanda calls out to you before chasing after you.

“You seem awful chummy with him” you state, trying to keep from being heard by anyone else but her.

“Vis? Well he’s new.” Wanda tries to explain.

“It’s the accent right?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“You like him. You like Vision more than me” you finally blurt out.

“No I don’t.” Wanda looks at you so confused.

“Does he even know we’re dating? No one is ever that chummy with someone unless they’re into you”

“Y/N will you just listen?” Wanda takes your face in her hands, “Detka you’re the one I love.”

Vision walks up to you and Wanda, “I apologize for interrupting, but Vivian invited me out for coffee.”

“Vivian?” You ask.

“Yes. She is quite lovely. Thank you both so much for being my friends recently.” Vision finishes, “I hope I haven’t caused any strife. By the way you make such a lovely couple”

“T-thank you” you shake his hand as he walks over to a young girl.

Wanda looks to you, a little cocked eyebrow, “was my detka jealous?”

“Maybe.” You whisper. “It’s just that you’re so amazing and I’m so…bland”

“No you’re not.” Wanda giggles pulling you into a hug. “You are just right…for me.”

“So do you wanna have a Harry Potter marathon, my Slytherin?”

“With only you, my Hufflepuff” Wanda gives you a kiss on the nose.

You turn to go to class but Wanda stops you. She pulls you close and whispers in your ear, “I think we can afford to play hooky at least once in our lives.”

The two of you quickly run out of Avengers High. Tony simply smirks, being the only person to see the two of you leaving.

One day out on the town won’t kill your grades. But one life without Wanda would be unbearable.

Tags @natashaswife4125 @jacelion @lifespectator @aloneodi @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @iamnicodemus @russianredassassin @kathleenmikaelson @kingofthelizardpeople @supercorpdanbeau @scarletwitch-n7 @family-house-of-m

[hogwartsfirebolt]

yes, and

It was a no for so long. A rejected handshake, long years of tipping different sides of a scale. No, Harry wouldn’t talk to him. No, Harry wouldn’t look at him even though Draco sought his gaze with a mindless desperation only possible because they were so young. No, Harry wouldn’t try to save him, even though he saved everyone else. No, no, no.

Yet fate’s puppeteering hands acted in mysterious ways, beyond anything he’d ever been able to comprehend. No, he wasn’t saved, but he was … pardoned. No, he couldn’t take back everything he’d already messed up by then, but he could atone. Community service, two years of it in the kitchens of the Ministry, with the long tables and magic dictating every move, every stir of a spoon. He did his time at first grudgingly, sick on the scent of spices that clung to his apron and the way the still air would make the back of his hair stand on end, but as months passed and he became familiar with the intricate, purposeful magic he needed to master to cook, and the people working beside him, he came to love it. The twin chefs who were his bosses, Poppy and Aspen, were outrageously funny in a foul-mouthed way, and halfway through the year they were already inviting Draco and the other sous-chefs to their flats to have game nights and sparkly drinks. No, his friends from school wouldn’t even hear from him, his letters would return unopened and no, his parents weren’t home, but abroad, exiled, forbidden from making contact. No, he had no family left. But the mismatched group of five who spent their mornings charming potatoes out of their peels with him began to tug at his heart.

No, they didn’t have much in common, but they got him, he got them. This was a connection that was unblemished, for the first time in his life, untainted by his background. It was brilliant, sun-water bliss, and in it, he had the chance to nurture parts of himself he’d only peripherally known about and let them bloom. What he found was that, stripped of the need to be cleverer than everyone else, his opinion was seen as smart, valued, and taken seriously. What he found was that, stripped of ill intent, his jokes and drama were actually quite well received, with loud laughs and occasionally clutched stomachs, tear-streaked cheeks. They loved his theatrics, would go hysterical over his imitation of the stand-offish inflection of the Unspeakables when they came to get their lunch, the brutish tone of the Cursebreakers, the loud laugh of the Auror force.

And well, no, it wasn’t all sunshine and flowers; no, they didn’t entirely get him sometimes, wouldn’t understand why he didn’t want to serve the Aurors their meal, ever. They could understand that he hated serving in general, why he much preferred staying safely inside the kitchen over spooning food onto trays and handing it to Ministry employees who all looked at him like he was a joke at best, or pretended he was entirely invisible at worst; but they couldn't comprehend why he’d serve the haughty Unspeakables and daft Cursebreakers with mild irritation, but went pale when faced with the generally well-liked Aurors. No, they definitely didn’t get it, so no, he couldn’t always avoid it, had to bribe Cooper to trade his serving day for her butter-churning day, had to beg Luisa out of her dish-washing week so she’d mind the counter, had to promise Pip a bottle of wine whenever he took over his serving duties, but there were times when no, nobody wanted to trade, and no, he couldn’t do anything but suck up and do it.

One such day, queuing in between a group of arrogant Unspeakables and a pair of thick-headed Cursebreakers, came Harry Potter. No, it wasn’t the first time Draco had been forced to serve him but no, it never got any easier. Draco tended to avoid his gaze, to pretend the bowl of pasta he was holding was far more interesting than the wild man standing in front of him in blood-crimson robes for a few short minutes each day, hoping he’d just go away as swiftly as possible. But no, Harry had never let things be simple between them. Because no, Harry wasn’t like the others, but not only for the obvious reasons. Despite their — frankly titanic — history, the truth was that no, Harry didn’t look at him like he was a joke, wouldn’t pretend Draco was invisible, and honestly wouldn’t even look at him with derision anymore. He just … looked. No, he didn’t stay quiet, not content with pretending Draco didn’t exist. Instead, he asked questions. He’d say “hey, how are you doing?”, he’d say, “hey, bit cold today, right?”, he’d say, “hey, do you think we could talk, maybe?”

And no. Draco most definitely did not think they could talk. He opened his mouth to say as much, because no, what did they even have to talk to each other about? But Harry must have sensed it, because he added, “Please?” Open and earnest, one word dripping with the easy confidence he’d carried for a lifetime, the unassuming kind.

It had been a no for so long, for so many good reasons. But not all of those reasons remained true, not even most of them — they’d been swept away by the stream of time, by life allowing the pieces that had held each of them slot into their fated place, no longer on opposing sides of a scale. Draco heard the sound of his own voice say, “yes.” He said, “yes, alright.”

And suddenly, a lot of things shifted, things that had been a firm, unmovable no.

And then they were yes.

Yes, he went to get drinks with Harry and they talked. Yes, he promised he’d hear Harry out without fighting. Yes, he was sorry too. Yes, he wanted a fresh start.

Yes, he was free next week at the same time.

Then, as a knit jumper catches on a nail and unspools, a friendship with Harry was pulled out of him, accidentally, irrevocably.

Harry kept asking, and Draco kept answering, yes. Yes, Draco was free that night, yes, Draco liked Japanese food and would love to get some, yes, Draco would hear the speech Harry had written for the function and tell him very, very honestly if he thought it was shit (it wasn’t). Yes, he’d be at the function himself. Yes, fine, they could match their neckties.

Their back and forth became an exercise of yes, and. They’d always connected in a way that went beyond logic, only now that they were using it to work alongside each other instead of against each other, they were unstoppable and unbearable and so much fun that Draco’s ribs hurt from how hard he laughed most days. He’d imitate the cretin Unspeakables and Harry would say, “yes, and how about this caviar?” while poking the Ministry’s rice and beans. Then Draco would say something purposefully daft and Harry would whack him over the head and ask him if he was a pea-brained Cursebreaker.

Harry would have Draco over at his flat and show him the thread-board of his latest case and work through what he knew out loud in case Draco could spot something he hadn’t, and most of the time Draco didn’t even have to say anything, would only open his mouth to say, “Have you thought that maybe —?” And Harry would exclaim, “You’re so right, I should interrogate the reporter.” And when he solved that case with absolutely no real input from Draco whatsoever, he had him over at his flat again and clinked their wine glasses together with a huge smile and said, “Couldn’t have done this without you, really.”

Yes, Draco’s help had been non-existent, but oh yes, he adored the appreciation. And yes, those glasses of wine flowed incredibly quickly and yes, Draco had tried mezcal once and he was very open to trying it again and yes, he was one hundred percent sure he could knock back that shot quicker than Harry and yes — they were spectacularly drunk a short two hours after getting to Harry’s flat.

Yes, it was insane that this should be happening, but it … also wasn’t. They were friends. They were good friends. No, he hadn’t wanted to show the rougher sides of his personality at first, even if Harry had at one point known them better than most people. Draco was hesitant, their budding friendship felt delicate, and he knew he was a bit much, much too coarse, much too rude most times, that anyone would think so, that they’d be right if they did. But there was something in Harry that made his resolve to hide crack open like an egg and he found himself just being. It was something in the way Harry knew who he was, knew exactly why he was there, yet he seemed to want him, continuously. Want his opinion, his support, his ideas and conversation, his jokes, mean as they occasionally were.

Most of their free time was spent seeking one another or trading barbs and anecdotes through quick-floo notes. Cooper and Luisa had a field day with it, made fun of Draco relentlessly when Harry came in for lunch and they’d snatch the three seconds he spent queuing to chat, would call Harry his man, his boyfriend. Chefs Poppy and Aspen would draw chia seed hearts on Harry’s toast and wink, acted as though they were doing him a favor. And yes, Harry found it hysterical. He’d blow Draco kisses over his toast, call him sweetie pie and bonbon where the others could hear and yes, Draco pinked and raged and returned it by bringing Harry’s tray to his table the next day, where he sat with his loud Auror bunch, and saying, “For you, pumpkin.” Yes, he savored Harry’s spluttering thanks, walked back into the kitchen with a grin.

But yes, that night at Harry’s flat, when Draco settled in on the big green sofa and Harry handed him a cup of homemade sangria saying, “here, love,” it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

It was a no for so long, but Harry’s wine-stained lips grazing his felt not like a first time, but a hundredth, a thousandth, a lifetime of a connection that had shapeshifted but always existed, and probably always would. So maybe, going back around to it, giving it some thought, peeling back the layers … it had truly always been a yes, deep down. A yes, and.

Read on ao3

[winniemaywebber]

care-taking - muse a rubs muse b’s arms repeatedly to get some warm into them

or

intimacy - muse a braids/brushes/works knots out of muse b’s hair

for whichever couple sparks your imagination!

-lestweforget5

I know you said "or," but each prompt was so perfect for each couple that I couldn't decide. So, you're getting a two-fer :')

(under the cut to save space)

care-taking - muse a rubs muse b’s arms repeatedly to get some warm into them.

“Well, ladies and gentleman,” the bandleader calls out to the patrons. “It’s your last chance; time for the final dance of the evening. Thanks to you all for joining us at Minton’s.” He turns, baton raised in a paused stance to ready his band members for their final number. With a swish of the stick, the band swells into ‘Pennsylvania 65000’, the girls pulling their tired husbands to their feet for the last time that night.

Jean Crosby and Jo Rosenthal had been swapping husbands all night, depending on the tune. They had figured out long ago that Bing enjoyed slow dances with his wife, pressed up close and heads pushed together softly as they swayed. “Two left feet,” he’d always complain, apologetically looking towards Jo as he’d tentatively dance with her to the more upbeat numbers, while Jo let her borrow her Robbie every now and then to throw her around the dancefloor, her head thrown back in fits of giggles and joy as she was spun over and over. 

The girls, knowing one another well enough by this point to communicate wordlessly, had silently agreed to switch partners halfway through the number. With a sly wink, Jean sidles up to her husband and takes him by the hand. “Come on, Bing!” she slurs. “It’s all in the hips.”

“Really? Looks like it’s all in the feet to me,” he guffaws, kissing his wife on the temple as he attempts to move in beat with the music. 

As the song ends, the group begin to grab their coats and bags, quickly exiting to beat traffic. They stop at a crossroads, the Rosenthals walking the few blocks home while Jean and Harry wait for a cab to Jean’s mother’s house.

“Call you tomorrow,” Jo says, kissing her best friend on the cheek. “We need to talk about what we’re bringing to the potluck next week.” “Oh, yes!” Jean cheers. “I’m hoping that Olive brings Victoria sponge cake again.” “I’m hoping for Vika’s dabeli. Mmmm,” she moans, her eyes closed in momentary ecstasy. “Well, darn it, now I’m hungry,” she grumbles, her husband wrapping his arm around her after bidding farewell to Croz with a firm handshake and hug, promising to meet him at the Crosby residence the next week for their game of golf with the other fellas. “Bye, Jean!” “Bye, doll!”

The cold air seems to hit Jean like a freight train the second their friends depart, as if their friendship was the thing keeping her warm in the winter night. She shivers lightly in her thin evening dress, feeling goosebumps erupt all over her fair skin. 

“Say, didn’t ya bring a coat, Mrs Crosby?” Harry enquires, his brow softly furrowed in concern. 

“No,” she shivers in reply, wrapping her hands over her arms. “A coat didn’t go with this dress or my shoes, and I couldn’t seem to find my wrap. It was warm enough when we left,” she complains, her eyes closing in regret. “I was so busy getting the little guy ready for my mother that I didn’t even think–”

“Here,” Harry says, running his warm palms over his wife’s arms and shoulders, before peeling off his dinner jacket, draping it around her shoulders. She is suddenly enveloped in his warmth, the beautiful scent of her betrothed softly creeping into her nostrils and warming her instantly. Pulling her close, he rakes his fingers through her curls and kisses her on the forehead. “There, my little wife. All better now.” 

intimacy - muse a braids/brushes/works knots out of muse b’s hair.

(tw: being sick, v0miting mentioned)

Olive Douglass had awoken on Monday morning with a pit in her stomach. She had got up, made coffee for herself and her husband before packing his lunch for the day, and placed a cake in a box for the whole War Department to share. Her stomach had begun swirling as the coffee brewed, her mouth filling with saliva at the scent of it.

 “Jesus,” she’d gagged, swallowing the incoming bile down and burning her esophagus in the process. A sheen of sweat slaps at her body, the sudden temperature surge almost making her pass out.

“Good morning, beloved,” Dougie had called as he walked into the kitchen, beginning to pour coffee from the freshly brewed pot. Olive smiles weakly at her husband, hoping he doesn’t see her peaky complexion from where he’s stood. “Ollie!” he gasps, plonking the coffee cup down and rushing over to her. “Honey, you don’t look good.” “Oh, thanks,” she snorts, wiping at her brow with a tea towel. “I’m fine, truly,” she lies, the pair of them hearing her stomach suddenly churn.

“No, honey, beautiful as always but…”

She cuts him off, pushing him away and very ungracefully barfing in the sink. He’d somehow sensed it was coming, him instantly grabbing at her hair to pull it out of her face. “Oh, my poor baby,” he had soothed, rubbing her back with his fingers in slow, methodical circles. “Back to bed, Mrs Douglass.”

“Nooo,” she’d protested, head coming up from the sink. “I need to clean this and–” “I’ve got it. Let me just call work–”

“I’m fine!” his wife weeps, still protesting as her stomach turns once again, the scent of coffee disagreeing with her for the first time in her life. “No, honey.” “Yes,” he had replied forcefully, his hand on her forehead. “Bed, now.”

It was now Wednesday, and Olive had been bed bound for two whole days under her husband’s orders. After a twelve hour break from vomiting, it was back with a vengeance, Olive snapping herself bolt upright to aim into the bowl James had set by the bed. As she gags and dry heaves, the room spins and her head pounds, pulling her own hair back into a messy bun as she is too weak to call downstairs for help. Raking a hand through her hair, she encounters a giant knot where the bun has been sitting every time she’s tied it up. She grumbles and groans, intent on making it to her vanity across the bedroom, even if she has to crawl to get there.

She slumps from the bed to the floor with a clatter, Dougie hearing the sudden commotion from downstairs as he rushes to the bedroom. 

“My girl, what on Earth?”

She looks up at him from where she’s laid on the floor, taking a quick breather before resuming crawling on all fours to reach her padded chair. “I wanted to brush my hair,” she quietly squeaks, her eyes filling with tears of frustration. James reaches over to the table and grabs the hairbrush, setting it on the side table before helping Olive back into the blankets. 

“Here,” he says softly, grabbing the brush from where he set it. “Let me.” Slowly, softly and methodically, he works every knot out of his wife’s hair, careful to not hurt her. She feels herself relaxing in between his legs, her back on his chest as he combs through the last length of hair. “There, all done, beautiful.” “Hmmm,” she hums, snuggling into him. “Thank you.”

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Good Omens Chibi Headcanons (Aziraphale And Crowley) [Part 3: Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley]

👼 Original headcanons 😈

👼 Ao3 version 😈

Part 1 (original) is here.

Ao3 Part 1 is here.

Updated Tumblr part 1 is here.

Part 2 (original) is here.

Ao3 Part 2 is here.

Updated Tumblr part 2 is here.

(*Takes place during Season 1*)

• They speak mainly gibberish, but they can sometimes say and use English words! Both their gibberish and English sound very cute!

• Tiny ineffable friends / husbands!

• Is it dumb luck, yin and yang, or the Almighty simply working in mysterious ways? Whatever it was, when Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley work together, there’s nothing they can’t do! Size isn’t an issue!

• They have their own handshake! It’s really cute and it ends with them forming a heart with the other's hand.

• Chibi Aziraphale thinks that Chibi Crowley is so cool! He also finds him to be really fun! The demon has taught him so many fun and exciting human games, such as tag, hide and seek, and one game that Chibi Crowley likes to play called playing tricks on the mortals. With that game, the angel didn’t mind playing along as long as the pranks they pulled were harmless and no humans got hurt by them. (Oh, and when playing tag or hide and seek, Chibi Aziraphale has to be really careful cause sometimes Chibi Crowley gets really excited when playing and will end up using his powers, causing havoc. The demon is oblivious to the destruction.) Chibi Aziraphale also really appreciates Chibi Crowley’s kindness! Sure, the demon might try to come off as if he’s not, but Chibi Crowley was always doing nice things for his angel friend.

• Chibi Crowley really likes Chibi Aziraphale’s good natured personality since having it made it easier for the demon to tease and tempt his friend. While he enjoyed teasing and tempting the angel, the demon would never take it too far, often doing it in a playful way. Chibi Crowley is also really glad that Chibi Aziraphale has a sweet tooth because now he’s got someone to share his gummy snakes with! He knows that the angel was book smart due to him spending most of his time in the bookshop with Aziraphale, but he also knew that the celestial being was innocently unaware of certain earthly things. The demon remembers once having to explain to Chibi Aziraphale what a toaster was.

• Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley put on a reenactment play about Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s friendship across the ages! They even wear costumes of the outfits that their big counterparts wore through those centuries.

This was their first play, so they had to make it something exciting and special, something that the audience would never forget. The performance was being held in the backroom of Aziraphale’s bookshop.

A toy theatre stage was set up on the table and Aziraphale, Crowley, and Chibi Aziraphale’s Harry the Stuffed Rabbit plush were the audience. The room's lighting dims and the spotlights shine on the curtain.

The curtain is then opened and the show starts!

While saying their lines, Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley used a mix of both gibberish and English.

Aziraphale acts like a supportive parent at their child’s first ever school play in while in the audience, cheering, applauding, and shrieking in utter excitement every time his chibi says or does something in a scene.

This causes Chibi Aziraphale to smile and wave at his big friend each time on stage. “He’s so cute and talented, isn’t he?” Aziraphale would whisper to Crowley, referring to Chibi Aziraphale.

Crowley did notice little errors in the play, but couldn’t dislike it.

He still really appreciated the effort and dedication the two chibis put into it.

The performances weren’t too bad, and the two tiny entities did look like they were having alot of fun despite their very small audience.

His favorite parts had to be seeing his chibi be over the top while playing him.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the smaller demon’s exaggerated acting.

The play itself consisted of Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley making an effort to be precise, but ultimately producing their own cute and comedic version of the events.

Some might say that was impossible for a play to have only two people in it, but the chibis managed to make it work and it’s adorable.

• Imagine them doing a reenactment of the entire show.

• Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley had been to alot of fun places in London before, but their all time favorite place had to be the fun fair. (The toy shop was their second favorite place, the zoo was third, and the sweet shop was fourth.)

An overexcited Chibi Crowley appears in the bookshop one day to show Chibi Aziraphale a poster that he found that showed an advertisement for a fair in London. He suggested that the two of them go.

The demon has never been to an actual fair before, but he has seen tons of commercials for them on TV at the flat and they looked like a lot of fun.

The angel has never been to a fair before either, but the pictures on the poster did make the place seem fun.

To him, the fair looked like one big playground!

He agrees to go, and when the two arrive there, Chibi Aziraphale is immediately fascinated by everything!

Seeing that look on his friend’s face makes Chibi Crowley smile as he takes the heavenly being’s hand and leads him to the attractions.

[t1oui]

so i can’t decide between ron x viktor and ron x padma for the muggle hs au so i may just go with the tried and tested method of fixing things with polyamory but first of all here are arguments for both relationships

ron x viktor:

enemies to lovers - the weasleys are viktor’s host family (he’s an exchange student) and ron doesn’t get along with him at ALL

at the same time ron really looks up to viktor bc viktor plays hockey, which is ron’s favorite sport and the sport he wants to play

they play chess together <3 ron is president of the very unpopular chess club and viktor joins

ron is tall and muscular but viktor is even TALLER and MORE muscular and it makes ron feel safe

possible sexuality crisis for ron who’s always just thought of himself as straight (maybe he’s repressed his identity for some reason)

ron being very uncool™️ x viktor who is very popular

this also gives an easy way for ron to befriend harry and hermione in book 2 bc viktor is friends with cedric and cho (who harry and hermione end up with)

ron x padma:

best friends to lovers - they’re in chess club together and their only other friend is hannah abbott. they are super duper uncool and unpopular

padma being insecure and not thinking anybody can love her romantically x ron who treats her like a goddess (as he should)

maybe they could help get neville and hannah together (hannah is friends w padma and ron, pavarti is friends with neville)

maybe they could become friends w harry and hermione by helping them get couples together (harry and hermione just HAVE to meddle)

ron playing hockey and padma cheering him on and going crazy even though she has no idea what’s going on

playful competition w each other

AND NOW FOR WHAT THIS POST IS ABOUT…

ron x padma x viktor

the three of them having chess tournaments w each other and sometimes hannah

padma cheers ron and viktor on in hockey (she still doesn’t get what’s going on)

viktor taking turns giving ron & padma piggy-back rides at lunch

cuddling w each other 24/7

i just had a vision. all three of them are terrified on roller coasters. not one of them can keep from screaming. they hold onto each other for dear life

nose + forehead kisses for ron and padma

high fives where their fingers get a little tangled every time

they definitely push each other around in shopping carts

they go swimming together. this is very important. they get into splash fights and it’s ron & padma v viktor (padma is on ron’s shoulders)

they go on double dates with neville and hannah

they’re the only teenagers on the sledding hill when it snows. they tie all their sleds together and took out a bunch of five-year-olds once

the three of them doing contortionist moves to fit in one bed

going to pride together !!

(padma is asexual, ron is a pansexual demiboy, viktor is bi)

padma & viktor helping ron figure out their gender !! (the reason i didn’t use he/they throughout this whole post is that i just now thought of genderqueer ron lol)

padma & ron becoming friends w harry and hermione through viktor

ron and ced bond over being pan and not cis, viktor and harry bond over being bi, padma and pansy bond over being ace

they have a secret handshake

the three of them take movie night VERY SERIOUSLY. there are lots of snacks & blankets & pillows and, of course, a lot of cuddling

i have so many more ideas about these three but for now i’m leaving it there… i am almost definitely adding them into the fic tho lol i love them now. but…

[music-viber]

Percy Jackson X daughter of hades.

Summary: Having known of each other for years, going to the same camp and having some of the same friends Percy and Odessa ignore each others presence. Guess it wouldn’t work forever almost.

Warning: underage drinking and language

Part 1

“MY THROATS ON FIRE”

An older camper yells as if she didn’t just ask me to light her whisky like the Fourth of July fireworks.

“no way.” I reply as if she didn't ask me to set her drink on fire. The girl takes another shot as she merges into a group of people. My best friend, looking cheerful, approaches and drapes his arm over my shoulder.

"Hey Freddy," he greets. He's been calling me Freddy, as in Freddy Kruger, since we were kids. I glance at Luke and respond, "He luke." We stand in Comfortable silence before we begin judging our classmates. "What on earth is she wearing?" I ask. "She looks like a warning sign," I comment as the girl glances at me and scoffs. "That outfit should come with a warning," Luke adds. I can't recall what I drank or how much, but it was undoubtedly spiked.

It's no secret that I'm not the most popular person here. The girls here worship the guys like gods, leaving no space for any of us to carve out our own identities. We give them too much credit. I slur as I speak "I've made up my mind. I want to be popular," I announce. Luke nearly chokes on his drink. "You're kidding, right? Nessa, you're already popular," he says, looking confused.

I roll my eyes "If I was popular I would know by now." As I say this a group of kids walk in and greet me with a handshake or giving me a nickname.

"I bet those kids don't even know my name," I said, realizing I had bullied half of them. It was sad they even wanted to pretend they were close to me. Luke looked at me mysteriously. "Go ahead, I won't stop you," he said, laughing. "Yeah ok weirdo," I replied, walking away from Luke and towards the DJ booth.

I pushed the DJ aside, realizing I was drunk enough to broadcast my thoughts on a microphone. The DJ asked, “Hey, can you not?” I scoffed, “Can you stop spinning disks like a househusband washing dishes?” He looked as offended as if I didn't just giving him the free palm reading of a lifetime.

Taking the microphone, I addressed the crowd. The drinks were starting to hit me. I shouted, “WHO WANTS TO SEE ME LIGHT THIS PARTY UP?!” Everyone screamed “Yeah” as I began to shoot flames into a tree, the sky, and the drinks booth. Should've known alcohol was deadly Everyone ducked as the fire spread through the booth to the path. “Fuck I'm in trouble.”

Luke scooped me up and ran out of the forest with the others. As he carried me, I saw a pool of water shooting towards the flames I had created, before I passed out.

“Fuck my heads killing me.” Getting up and looking at the time 4am I sigh and get out of bed grabbing some of my clothes. I need a shower.

Taking a cold shower while hungover is the worst but it helps. After my shower I change into running clothes and put on my headphones. I think everyone should've forgeotton what happened by the time they wake up. Walking towards the forest.

I see Clarisse waking up from her window and wave. She gave me the middle finger as I entered the forest area. smells like recklessness and bad ideas, my kind of party. As I get deeper in the woods I look over the waterfall. Before jumping over it I see a boy at the bottom. “Hey I thought I was the only unique one getting up early” I whisper crossing my arms. Rolling my eyes seeing it was none other than Percy Jackson. Look I don’t have a problem with little buddy but cmon they give him so much credit for shit around here. He looked up at me after hearing a twig snap “Hm” he hums. “Hm” I hum mockingly Not wanting to waste any time around him before someone thought you guys were associated, like Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley in the first movie. I ignore him and walk away. “So annoying” I think on my way deeper into the forest burning grass with my finger tips. Finally time for fun. And I place the headphones that were once around my neck onto my ears and play a song I run around skipping and setting things on fire with my ability. This time with only little flames as memories washed back into my head from last night. After about half an hour I get bored and almost everything around me was burning. “Okay well that’s enough I say as I was about to snap my fingers and reverse the damage-

The same girl from last night, who seemed rather intoxicated, gave me an unhappy look and walked away. I decided to ignore her and continue practicing my skill, unsuccessfully. I can't help but feel that her presence in the forest has brought some bad luck. Despite my best efforts to avoid her since childhood, her presence is hard to ignore. She has a knack for causing inconvenience even if it's just once, before she leaves you alone. We've been attending the same camp since childhood, so I speak from personal experience. Once, I suggested she clean her dirty shoes during a campfire. In response, she burned mine, leaving holes in my socks. When I retaliated by drawing on her shoes, she became upset. Shes so sensitive.

Percy puts on his camp shirt as he gets out of the water and follows the path Odessa took awhile ago.

Seeing as she was lighting things on fire he panicked and moved nearby water onto her.

Percy panicked and asked, “What were you doing!?” Odessa whipped her body to the sound of his voice soaked from the pile of water dumped onto her. “What the hell?!” she screamed at him. “why would you do that.” she asked him harshly.

Percy scoffed “why did I end your little oven reunion? Because of last night princess.” I watch as she crossed her arms over her chest seeing that the water causes her shirt to be see through. “Oh… sorry you can have my shirt” I offer her as she swats me away. “Listen water boy, I can fend for myself.” she says rudely.

As she started to retreat back to camp soaked I had the balls to stand up to her today. I knew I would probley regret it somewhere along the line but It was a chance I was taking.

“𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙨𝙖𝙬 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩”

Silence… she stopped walking. Stopping dead in her tracks she turned around to face him. “What was that?” she looked like she did and don't care about what I said at the same time. So I said it again

“That's not what I saw last night.” she walked closer to me. Now I was a stiff as a pencil I couldn't move and breathing near her felt wrong. She was now looking up at me as her face was moving towards my ear. She opened her mouth to say, “Do we have a problem?”

As chills ran down my spine I plucked up enough courage. “Do we?” I ask back to her. As gets back off her tippy toes as she scoffs at me storming away.

As I looked at the time I realised I had to be back to camp soon so nobody notices I was missing. Going back and catching up to Odessa as she ignores me. Walking side by side on silence. As we get to camp a whole bunch of campers and councliers are lined up listening to the camp director.

Odessa and I freeze in our tracks and listen in. “we have been alerted that there was a party last night. We are so disappointed you kids risked your safety for drinking and party tricks…” the camp counclier says “Well who would like to come forward and tell us who did what?” most campers look around as if looking for someone. “It was Odessa and Percy!” a councilor yells. Everyone agrees with him as Odessa and Percy are shocked in place as the counselor spots them and points at them to walk over.

I walk over almost immediately to clear my name as Odessa takes her time glaring daggers at the kid who snitched on her. She looks at the camp counselor “it's not what it sounds like.” I say as my hands lie on my hips.

The counclier looks down on us as she speaks “so you two did not trash the secret party last night?”

I freeze as I look around slowly. “Yes? No? Maybe so.” Odessa face plants as she sighs loudly. The counselor looked disappointed. “Your punishment is to clean up the mess you've made tonight.”

Odessa looks at Percy unwelcomly as she storms off pushing people in her path. I state at the interaction “Yikes.” I whisper drwding having to spend the night with her.

“Should stayed quiet…” like says as he walks past patting my back.

[cinemastyles-blog]

We Should[n’t] Be Alone Together

Summary: A Wattpad request by Pretty_witchy - “Could you possibly do one where harry is the best friend of y/n boyfriend and some how they end up alone together and they hookup. Could harry be super dominant please I'd really appreciate it you are definitely my favourite oneshot writer!!”

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, mentions of alcohol, slight angst, cheating in relationship, y/n cheats with Harry, unprotected sex, oral (f), F I L T H

This is kinda long, sorry not sorry :)

Master

HARRY’S HOUSE HARRY / BRIT AWARDS HARRY

“Shit.” Harry says as he sets the phone down with a sigh.

“What, harry?” You ask looking over at him, “Everything okay?” He looks over at you and his smile grows bigger, “I’m performing at the Brit awards.”

“What?” Your eyes go big and you stand up, “Oh my god, Harry. That’s amazing!” You walk over to him and lean down to hug him.

His hand lays on your lower back and it feels like he pulls you closer. You hold onto him, not wanting to let go.

“What’s going on in here?” Your boyfriend, Luke, walks into the room.

You stand up quickly and turn towards him, “Tell him.” You snap at Harry as you stand there bouncing up and down with excitement, “Tell him! Tell him!”

Harry chuckles and shakes his head, “I’m performing at the Brit’s.”

Luke’s mouth drops, “No shit! Harry that’s great, mate.” He walks over and they do a little fist bump handshake thing, “Proud of you, man. That’s awesome.”

“So are you taking Gem like last year?” You sit back down on the couch and look at him. He nods, “Yeah, of course. I was hoping you guys could be there too.”

You nod, “um, yes. We don’t even have to think about that one.” You look over at your boyfriend, “We can go right?”

He nods, “Yeah, I don’t see why not. I’ll have to see if I can move my schedule around, I know I’m to work, but if I can’t, at least one of us should be there.”

“Great, I’ll let them know I have possibly three coming with me.” Harry taps on his phone and you stare at him, “The Brit’s.” You shake your head, “I knew you were going to make it.”

He smiles and shakes his head as he types on his phone, “you guys always believed in me.”

You smile, your eyes lingering on Harry but trying not to keep it obvious that you’re looking at him.

You’ve been feeling a weird connection to Harry lately. You definitely noticed that he’s been treating you better than Luke most days.

You know it’s bad to say, but sometimes you wish you were with Harry, rather than Harry’s best friend.

——

“Hey.” You greet Harry as he walks through the door, “About time you get here.”

He chuckles and nods, “Yeah, I know. I wanted to stop and grab this for you guys.” Harry sets a bottle of wine down on the counter, “Just a thank you for being there with me when the time comes.”

“Then we’ll save it for after.” You smile and put the bottle in the cupboard with the other bottles.

“Where’s Luke?” Harry asks as he sits down on the chair.

You swallow, “He’s um, in his office.” You look up and force a smile, “You should go bother him, he’ll be happy to see you.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, “What happened?”

You shake your head, “Nothing, nothing. Now go. Go.” You shoo him out of the kitchen to finish dinner.

You know Harry wasn’t going to give up on making sure you’re okay, but now wasn’t the time for it. A little while before Harry was set to show up, you and Luke got into an argument, a bad one.

It seems like that’s all you’ve been doing lately, but you didn’t want to ruin Harry’s congratulations dinner, so you both put a pin in it until later on.

You can’t stop thinking about Harry and what he wore tonight. His button up shirt that’s not completely buttoned. Showing off his sparrows and top of his butterfly.

You bite your lip, closing your eyes as you squeeze your thighs shut, imagining what it would be like to have sex with someone like him.

Someone who is generous and probably cares whether or not you’ve gotten off once or let alone at all.

The door opens and you jump, stirring the pot of pasta to pretend like you didn’t just space out.

“Dinner almost ready?” Luke asks as he walks out behind Harry. You nod, “Yeah, it’ll be ready soon.”

Harry’s eyes trail down your body. He obviously notices the cleavage the neck line your flowy dress allows. His eyes flicker up to yours and you look away quickly, turning off the stove.

“Come on, Styles, we can have a drink while she finishes up.” Luke grabs the bottle of liquor and two glasses before he walks out to the patio.

You let out a sigh and drain the noodles, getting ready to mix them into the sauce.

You set the table and place everything on it, calling out to them when it’s ready.

They walk in, laughing at each others jokes and you smile, “Dig it.”

Harry nods, “Thank you, y/n. You guys really didn’t have to do this.”

You sit down and look over at him, “You’ll be busy these next few days getting ready and what not. So I’m sure you’ll be tired and won’t have time to see us, so we might as well celebrate now.”

“I can’t get off work.” Luke interjects, “I tried but they said no, so.”

The way Luke says that sends anger through you. You clench your jaw and Harry looks at him, “No, man. That’s okay. I understand. Really.”

Luke nods and continues to eat. You lay your hand on Harry’s, “Gem and I will be there for sure.” You smile and he grabs your hand, squeezing it, “Thank you.”

——

“So what, we just wait here for Harry to come in?” You lean over, “This place is insane.”

Gemma nods, “Yeah, once he walks the carpet, and everything he’ll come in here.”

You nod and take a drink of your drink, “They make these strong, don’t they?” You laugh as you set your glass back down. Gemma laughs, “Oh yeah, Harry always gets way too drunk, but it’s a laugh for sure.”

You laugh and nod, “Oh yes. I agree with you on that.”

Harry walks up to the table and sits down, “Hello, hello.”

“Hey, Harry.” You smile and look at him, “You excited?” He smiles and shrugs, “Yeah, for the most part.” He leans out slightly and looks at your dress, “You look beautiful!”

“I need to thank Lambert. Without him I wouldn’t have had anything.” You laugh and look at his outfit, “I like how he dressed you.”

He smiles, “Wait until you see my stage outfit.” He winks and smirks.

You can already tell he’s had a few to loosen himself up a little bit, but you didn’t mind.

Not. One. Bit.

“Can’t wait.” You smirk and finish your drink, “When do you go on?” He looks at you, staring for a few seconds before smiling, “I go on after the first few categories.”

You nod and start drinking your other drink.

Throughout the beginning of the show, you noticed that you and Harry have gotten closer over time, but as said before, you didn’t mind.

You felt comfortable with Harry. Felt like no one was judging you. You felt safe.

“Harry Styles!”

Harry stands up and hugs Gemma before hugging you.

“Congratulations!” You tell him before you pull away. He smiles at you and goes up to collect his award and giving his speech.

You stand there, smiling at him proudly. He glances over at your table and you can tell he’s looking directly at you. He smiles and shakes his head, “And my two very dear friends who have pushes me to do my best. Thank you.”

You smile and turn away to sit down as he walks back down to the table.

He sits down and shakes his head. Gemma tells him how proud of him she is and you lay a hand on his shoulder, “So proud of you.”

He smiles and lays his hand on yours, “Thank you.” He clears his throat, “I wish Luke would of been here.” You both look at each other, knowing he said that remind yourselves that you have Luke to worry about.

You take your hand away, “Yeah, I know how you feel.”

——

“Your on after this Harry.” A guy with a headset taps his shoulder. Harry nods and stands up. He looks down at you, “Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on. I’m taking you back stage with me.” He smiles and pushes his chair in, “We’ll be back.”

Gemma nods, “Break a leg!”

He laughs and leads you back behind the stage to his dressing room. You can’t help but to look around in awe, wondering how Harry does it.

You stand there, looking around at the nicely decorated room, “These flowers are beautiful.” You walk over and gently touch the petals, “Oh they’re from the show!”

“Yeah, they’re super nice here.”

You turn around to see Harry in black pants and an open red sequin jacket and your heart falls into your stomach, “Fuck.”

The alcohol is kicking in now that you stood up, “I mean.. you look very nice.” You shake your head and sigh, “Sorry.”

You laugh slightly and he smirks, “I liked the way you said it the first time.” He winks and the door opens, “Ready?” One of the crew asks looking at him.

Harry nods, “Yeah.” He goes to walk towards the door but stops. He looks down and looks up with a sigh. He turns towards you and walks over, cupping your face as he plants his lips on yours for a few seconds before leaning back.

You open your eyes and look up at him, “wh-“

“We’ll talk about it after. I just had to do that.” He walks towards the door, “Come with me.”

You follow him and stand with him in the hall way that leads to the stage, “Harry.”

“Don’t say anything. Please.”

You smile and shake your head, “I was going to say good luck.” You lean up and peck his cheek, “I’ll meet you back here after your performance.”

He nods and watches you walk away as he gets his ear piece situated.

You walk back out to the table, “He’s so nervous, but I think I talked him down.” You lie and grab your drink, chugging it at a slow rate.

“Whoa, y/n. Did you take the nervousness from him or what?” Gemma laughs. You look at her, “I think so.” You laugh and lean back in your seat, pushing your thighs together, thinking about how the kiss Harry left on your lips right before you came out to the table made you feel.

Starved.

The lights go down, Harry and his band makes their way on stage and he stands there waiting to be announce.

“Harry Styles!”

“Come on Harry, we wanna say goodnight to you.”

The music starts playing and you stand up, clapping your hands to the beat of the song and dancing in your spot with Gemma. You smile because you can tell he’s way more comfortable on this stage than at the Grammy’s.

“He’s killing it!” You tell Gemma, and she nods, “He’s amazing.”

You watch him in awe. How the red sequin jacket sparkles and flips open every now and then, revealing his toned figure.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and your lipstick stains them. You can taste it so when Harry is done performing and thanking everything, you look over at Gemma, “I’m running to the bathroom.”

She nods and talks to the people next to her.

You quickly make your way backstage and slip into Harry’s dressing room. You stand in the mirror and use a tissue to wipe your teeth free of the dark red coloring.

The door opens and you turn around, freezing as you see Harry walk in.

You shouldn’t be alone together.

You set your clutch down and walk towards him. He closes the door and locks it, meeting you halfway and taking you into his arms. His hands cup your cheek and hold the side of you neck as your lips move together is hungered sync.

“You’re too good for him, y/n.” Harry whispers as he leans back, “Too fucking good for him.” He backs you up onto the big couch, taking off his jacket and throwing it off in the process.

“Harry.” You whisper.

“Don’t speak. Just shut up and listen to me.” His lips move back onto yours as his hands drag your gown up your legs.

You press your lips together, spreading your legs as soon as your dress is up. He stops and brushes hair from your face, “You’re so beautiful.”

He leans down to make out with you again. You wrap an arm around his neck and press your other hand against his chest.

You know you should make him stop. You know it’s wrong on so many levels.

But Harry makes you feel seen. Heard. Cared for.

You couldn’t stop even if you really, really wanted to.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks as he kisses down your neck.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Are you sure?” He leans back and looks at you. You lay a hand on his cheek, “I don’t want to stop.”

He smirks and kisses down your chest, moving down on to his knees. He goes back to kissing your thighs, “Tell me why.”

“W- what?” You look down at him.

He kisses up your thigh a few times, “Tell me why you don’t want to stop.”

He slides his hands up your legs and up under your bunched up dress, pulling down your panties, “I want to hear why.”

You swallow and lift your hips, “Because..” you pause and close your eyes, “You’re better for me.” Your voice is quiet.

“More.” Harry pushes your thighs further apart and gazes from your pussy to your face, “I know there’s more to it.”

He leans in and licks a stripe up to your clit, taking it between his lips and sucking. You gasp and jolt your hips forward, “Fuck, Harry.”

He pulls your hips towards him, pushing his face in more.

You moan out as your eyes roll back, “Fuck, you’re so good to me, H.”

He slips his tongue in you as his fingers dig into your skin. He moans against you and you lay a hand on his head, arching your back up as you feel yourself getting closer.

He leans back, taking that feeling away from you. You whimper and look down at him. He holds his hands out and you take them. He pulls your hands, indicating for you to sit up.

You heave yourself up and he guides you to straddle him. His back is against the couch and his hands hold your dress up, “Ride me.”

“Ha-“

“Don’t.” He presses his thumb to your lips as his fingers hold your jaw, “Just don’t.”

You take his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it. He gasps and his lips part as his eyes focus on yours, “Fuck, y/n.”

His voice is soft and gentle when he speaks your name, but it suddenly turns deep and hot, “Fuck, bury my cock in that pussy.”

He leans up, kissing you as he gets his pants undone. You hold his face, still kissing him as you lift your body up so he can get his pants down.

He tilts his head back, “You need someone who knows you.” He holds your hips as you sink down on his cock, “You need a cock in you that can make you cum.”

You moan and dig your nails into his bare shoulders, “H-Harry.” You whimper out, “Fuck.”

“I know you think of me.” His eyes move up to yours, “Heard you the one day. You thought you were home alone. I stopped over but I had to leave before I did something like this.”

Your eyes roll back and you bite your lip, panting as Harry just holds his cock in you.

“I should have gave you what you were begging for.” He slides a hand up your back, tangling a hand in your hair and tilting it towards him. He rests his forehead on yours, “would you have liked that?”

You try to nod, but the grip Harry has on your hair makes it hard, “Ye-yes.” You whimper out, “H-Harry. Please.. please let me move.”

“Would you have liked it if I came in and fucked you on my best friends bed?”

His words send a shiver through your body.

“Yes.” You whisper out, “Yes. I would have loved that.”

He kisses your forehead, “I can take care of you.”

You feel like crying, you feel like screaming. You are being slammed repeatedly with emotion after emotion, but nothing about this feels wrong.

“I love you.” You open your eyes and look into his, “Fuck. I fucking love you.”

Harry let’s go of your hair and pulls you close to him. You start to move your hips and you let out a loud, wall shaking moan.

Harry rests his head against your chest, moaning into it as he squeezes your hips tightly.

You grind your hips down onto his, “Fuck, Harry.”

He looks up at you and watches as you look down at him, “I know you aren’t happy.” He kisses your chest and pulls you down by the back of your neck, “So let me make you happy.”

His lips crash against yours, “I love you so much.”

And you completely melt into him.

You feel like you belong to him.

You feel like his.

You clench and unclench around him until you finally let go, moaning as you rest your head onto his, “Fuck. Fuck, fuck.”

His arms wrap tight around your waist and his hips thrust upward to keep him close, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You feel Harry’s cock twitch, and he lets out a loud moan, “Shit, shit.”

You close your eyes, feeling him let go inside of you. You’re panting as he lays his head back onto the couch and looks up at you, “You okay?”

You slowly nod, “I, um..” you sigh, “I guess I have some shit to figure out.”

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, “like what?”

“We’ll for starters, how I’m going to go about everything with Luke and moving my stuff out..“ you bite your lip and smile slowly, “But for now, what we’re going to tell Gemma.”

He smiles and shakes his head, “Well figure it all out, together.”

——

Thank you for the request, sorry it was so long, eh, not really. I hope you enjoyed it.

If you have any requests you can -> send them here

[lemoncrushh]

Too Far From Texas | Chapter Thirty-One

STORY PAGE

Word Count: 6694

Warning: If you didn't already kind of hate Stacey before this chapter, this might take you over the edge. She's kind of a bitch, at least at the beginning. Just...hang on, please :).

I stared back and forth incredulously between my so-called friend and Harry’s sister.

“Hi,” I finally said, though it came out more like a whisper.

“I’m Gemma,” she rose from her chair, offering her hand. “You must be Stacey.”

“Yes,” I nodded, accepting her handshake. Then I glared at Lorelei. “Though lately I wish I wasn’t.”

Lorelei bowed her head sheepishly as she adjusted her napkin in her lap.

“Please, join us,” gestured Gemma to the empty seat next to her. “Lorelei here has told me a lot about you.”

“I’m sure she has,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, but don’t misunderstand,” she added, leaning closer to me as I sat down. “My brother’s already told me the important details.”

I looked at her, not sure what else to say. She seemed kind and sincere, and I wasn’t about to assume the worst when I didn’t even know her. The waiter came by then and took my drink order, handing me a menu.

“We haven’t ordered food yet,” said Lorelei. “We reckoned we’d wait for you.”

“Thoughtful,” I grumbled, looking over the list.

I could feel both sets of eyes on me before Lorelei sighed, setting down her menu.

“I suppose we should get it all out in the open. First of all, you should know I didn’t contact Gemma.”

I snorted. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Stacey…”

“Or wait...let me guess…” I pointed between them. “Harry couldn’t get me to talk to him, so he called his sister and asked her to contact my sneaky, manipulative friend that he’s secretly been talking to behind my back for the last few weeks, so they can get together and gang up on me.”

“It wasn’t quite like that,” Gemma interjected.

“We’re not ganging up on you,” Lorelei argued.

I leaned my head back and blinked at the ceiling, willing my eyes to keep the tears from coming.

“Harry told me his sister was coming to New York,” I heard Lorelei explain. “I told him that would be wonderful if everything could work out between you, and he could introduce the two of you. Apparently, this afternoon, when you still wouldn’t talk to him, he had Gemma call me.”

I glared at her and rolled my eyes. “Is that not what I literally just said?”

“But you make it sound so awful and conniving. We aren’t trying to hurt you, doll. We’re just trying to help.”

“You know how you can help me, Lor? By leaving me the fuck alone!”

Lorelei looked at me with wide eyes. I turned to Gemma who had the same expression.

“I’m sorry, Gemma. I have no doubt in my mind that you’re a lovely person, and you probably have the best of intentions, for both me and your brother. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.” I scooted my chair back, prepared to rise. “But I’m so goddamn tired of everybody talking about me like I’m not here, and conspiring behind my back, thinking they know what’s best for me!”

Standing up, I threw my napkin on the table. “It’s my life, Lorelei! Butt out!”

I stormed out of the restaurant before either of them could stop me, though I was certain they weren’t going to anyway. I was the one who had made the scene. I took the elevator up to my room, falling face first onto the bed. My body shook with sobs as I silently cursed everybody, including myself.

A knock sounded on the door a little while later. I was ready to tell whomever it was to go away, but seeing as Lorelei had a key, I figured it was someone in the hotel staff. When I opened it, however, I was greeted with Gemma’s gentle face. My shoulders fell and I wiped a tear from my eye.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

I nodded hesitantly, stepping back to allow her inside. She took a look around the room as I shut the door.

“Good job, Harry,” she said aloud, then turned to me. “It’s a nice room.”

I bit my lip, giving a shrug. “I suppose you want to talk?”

“I reckon we should, don’t you?”

Nodding again, I gestured toward the sofa. I followed her as she sat down, facing me.

“Stacey, I don’t know you,” Gemma began. “I only know what my brother and my mum told me.”

“Anne told you about me?”

“Well, of course. She did spend a few days with you. She raved about you, and your book.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little. “She read my book?”

“Mhmm,” Gemma nodded. “Said you gave her a copy and she read it on the plane. She said you and your friend are brilliant writers, and then she leant it to me.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. I wasn’t there to promote my book, but I had to admit I liked the idea that she’d read it.

“I loved it as well,” she continued. “But really...that doesn’t tell me a lot about you.”

I understood, though I wasn’t sure where this was going. In some ways I felt like I was on a job interview. Then her face softened.

“Harry first told me about you months ago,” she smiled, scooting closer to me. “When his tour was announced, I noticed he’d be in New York the same time as me.”

“Yes,” I said. “He mentioned that.”

“Did he also mention that I wanted to meet you?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” she grinned. “Not because he didn’t think we should meet. I asked him if you would be coming to New York, and he said no, that you would only be going to the Houston show with your children. He added...without my asking, mind you...that he would love it if you could come to every show, but that you’d just flown home from seeing him in L.A. and that you deserved to be with your daughters who needed you most.”

“He did?” I asked, my eyes already welling up.

“Yes,” Gemma nodded. “He told me he adores them, that they’re the coolest kids he’s ever met. He’s very fond of them, Stacey, and he thinks you’re a wonderful mum.”

I wiped my eyes, knowing my freshly applied eyeliner was gone by now. Oh, Harry. What a sweet thing to say.

“Now, I’m not here to try to conspire or anything behind your back,” Gemma continued. “I’m not really even here to persuade you to do anything other than go to the concert with me.”

“What?” I looked at her with raised brows.

“Your feelings are yours alone,” she explained. “I absolutely want my brother to be happy, and I know he’s madly in love with you. But I’m not going to make you talk to him if you’re not ready. I’m just asking that you consider going to the show. You’ll be sat beside me, and we’ll drink and have fun and...that’s it.”

“Something tells me that’s not it, Gemma.”

She shrugged. “I dunno what could happen next. And it’s truly none of my business.”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“You’d only be fulfilling my request,” Gemma added.

“What’s that?”

“That I get to know you,” she beamed.

Lorelei came back to the room after Gemma and I’d had our talk. I hated to send her away, but we both agreed I needed to have a chat with my friend. I agreed to have brunch with Gemma the next day, and I told her I might let her persuade me to go to the concert. She left with a hug from me and a big smile on her face.

Lorelei and I ended up ordering room service since we hadn’t eaten dinner yet and didn’t feel like returning to the restaurant downstairs - or at least I felt too ashamed to show my face again. I apologized for walking out like I had, and told her I didn’t mean what I’d said.

“Yes you did,” Lor mumbled through a bite of potatoes. “You were angry. A lot of truth comes out when you’re angry.”

“Okay, but I didn’t mean everything. Like leaving me alone.”

Lorelei chewed the food in her mouth and swallowed.

“I did some thinking while I was downstairs. And you were right. I can see how you would think what I did was manipulative. But you have to believe me, doll, I never meant it like that. To me...manipulating is when you try to get someone to do what you want them to do. That was not my intention at all.”

“I know,” I said into my own plate. “It’s just...why did you have to talk to him behind my back? The whole time I was hurting worse than I’ve ever hurt in my life...even worse than my divorce...and I was trying my damndest to get over him...you were talking to him.”

“Because he called me! You have to believe me, Stace, when he first called I was shocked. I’d thought, I can’t do this, I have to be Stacey’s shoulder to cry on. But then he told me he had to see you, and he’d thought up a plan and wanted my help. I actually thought it was a great idea...I didn’t know it was gonna blow up like this.”

As I stared at her, the tears came and fell down my cheeks. At that point, I didn’t bother stopping them anymore. I was only surprised I had any left.

“I just wanted it to be over,” I cried. “I didn’t want to hurt anymore.”

“But why are you letting yourself hurt?” Lorelei asked. “You could be so happy!”

“Don’t you get it, Lor? I don’t know how to be happy. Every time something in my life went right, it ended badly. I can’t be in a relationship just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And eventually Harry would resent me for it. Then I’d have to tell him I told you so. I’m saving us both the time and heartache.”

“Stacey, all I want to do...as your friend...is be there for you. And for me, that includes trying to help you see what you might not see in yourself. You’re such a wonderful, amazing woman. You’re not just somebody who got lucky once and met Harry Styles. You fell in love, and he with you. You have something...I have only dreamt about. I guess...yeah, I’m a bit jealous. But I know how much you deserve this.”

I looked at her, speechless. She reached for my hand and squeezed it.

“Give him a chance, hon. Let him show you how over the moon in love with you he is. Lay back and enjoy it, free from all your insecurities and disbeliefs...in both yourself and in love. As much as I hate to admit it, true love exists. I’ve seen it...in you.”

My shoulders shaking, I sucked in my lips and buried my face in my hands.

“I love him, Lorelei. I love him so very much. I miss seeing his face and hearing his voice. I just thought…”

“I know, doll. I know exactly what you thought. But that’s a demon in your head talking. It’s not true. It’s lying to you. You have to know that.”

“No,” I shook my head.

“Stace...look at me,” Lorelei took my arms and pried my hands from my face. She was knelt before me, urging me to look her in the eye.

“Repeat after me...I deserve happiness.”

I rolled my eyes and looked away.

“Stacey. Right here. I’ll be your fucking therapist if I have to.”

I chuckled then at the absurdity.

“Say it, doll. I deserve happiness.”

Looking her in the eye, I hesitantly repeated the phrase. “I deserve happiness.”

“Again.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “I deserve happiness.”

“Again.”

“I deserve happiness.”

Dropping her hands to her lap, my best friend smiled at me.

“Yes, you do, Stacey Barnett. And he’s waiting for you.”

The bell on the door jingled when I opened it, stepping into a quaint and cozy cafe. The hostess led me to the rear of the restaurant where Gemma sat waiting for me.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said, taking a seat.

“No worries, you’re not,” she grinned. “I just arrived myself.”

I returned her smile, placing my napkin in my lap. The waiter came by and took our drink order, both Gemma and I opting for mimosas as well as coffee.

“How are you feeling?” she asked me when the waiter left.

I considered her question, thinking it was particularly kind of her to ask it. Not just “how are you?” but “how are you feeling?”. It had more sensitivity to it.

“I feel...a bit overwhelmed I guess,” I replied.

“Hmm. Understood.”

After shedding all the tears, I thought I had left the night before, Lor and I had decided to call it a day. Pushing the food cart into the hall, we got ready for bed, chatting about random things like the old friends we were. Before turning out the light, she’d insisted I go meet Gemma for brunch alone, and although I hesitated at first, I knew it was for the best.

“I had a...much needed, yet emotional talk with Lorelei last night,” I commented.

Gemma gave a smirk, reminding me for a split second of her brother. “She’s a bit of a nosey parker, that one.”

I giggled. “What does that mean?”

“Um...a meddler. A busybody.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. That’s a nice way to put it. She means well, though.”

Gemma reached out her hand. “Oh, I know she does. I like her, and I can tell she cares a lot about you. I just think...perhaps she went about this wrong.”

“Well, apparently you can thank your brother for that. She says it was all his idea.”

“I suppose so,” stated Gemma as the waiter brought our coffee carafe and poured it into our cups.

“What...that’s it?” I glared at her.

“What’s it?”

“You’re just agreeing? You’re not going to tell me what a fool I’m being for not taking his calls or replying to his texts?”

“I told you, it’s none of my business. Harry’s my brother and I love him, but I know he can also be pretty dim sometimes. I only agreed to contact Lorelei because he told me she was your friend and that you were here.”

I pursed my lips as I looked at her, wondering if there was something else she wasn’t telling me. My thoughts were interrupted, however, when the waiter returned with our mimosas and took our food order.

We had a lovely brunch together, talking a bit about my book and the one Lorelei and I were waiting to get published. Gemma showed me photos on her phone of a project she was working on, and photos that she’d taken while in town so far, as well as some in England. She asked if I’d met Jeffrey and Glenne, assuming I had, and I felt a little pang in my chest at the mention of their names.

“I miss them,” I admitted somberly.

“Well you can see them again tonight,” Gemma pointed out. “Assuming you’ve decided to come, of course.”

I took a moment to get my bearings, knowing the truth was inside me, deep down. Then after a long sigh, I gave her a nod.

“Yes.”

“I’m so glad,” she smiled. “We’ll have a lot of fun.”

I nodded again and followed her outside into the brilliant sunshine, the sky nearly cloudless.

“I just want to say something to you, Stacey,” offered Gemma, turning to me.

“What’s that?”

“One of the reasons Harry is in love with you is because you’re a strong woman. I can see that. But I also see that you have a wall up.”

I swallowed hard and averted my eyes.

“It’s thin and invisible,” she added with a gesture of her hand, “but it’s there. I suspect you have it up to protect yourself...from something bad that might never happen.”

Squinting from the sunlight, I looked at her face again, kind and wise.

“See you tonight, love,” she said with a soft grin, and I watched her walk away.

Lorelei and I spent the afternoon together. First, she took me to her old neighborhood, showing me where she used to live before moving to Houston. I unabashedly admitted that I was jealous and couldn’t understand why she’d leave New York to move to crappy Houston. She just laughed and said that if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have met me. I gave her a hug, and we walked to a diner for a late lunch.

We then took a cab to Macy’s where we tried on several outfits until we each decided on something to wear to the concert. Because I hadn’t brought my new jeans I’d worn to the Stevie show, as they reminded me of Harry, I bought a new similar pair. I then picked out a pretty green top to wear with them that Lor insisted made me look like a million bucks. I didn’t feel like spending money on a new pair of boots, so I just planned to wear my flats I’d brought with me.

While we’d been shopping, I got a text from Harry. When Lorelei was busy in the dressing room, I read it.

Gemma told me you’re coming tonight.

Yes, I am, I replied.

You don’t know how happy that makes me, Stacey. Thank you.

I wasn’t quite sure what to say after that. I didn’t feel that having a conversation through texting while I was shopping was the best thing to do right then.

You’re welcome, was all I sent.

The venue was buzzing with excitement when Lorelei and I arrived. Lines zig-zagged around the front and down the sidewalk. I felt the anxiety creep up on me until Lor poked me in the arm and gestured to a sign that read VIP TICKETS. I followed her to a much shorter line where we gave a bald man our tickets and were quickly greeted by a rush of cold air as we entered the venue.

“Look!” Lorelei exclaimed, pointing at a merchandise stand.

More lines had already formed in front of it, fans wanting to get their hands on official t-shirts, tote bags and other paraphernalia with Harry’s face or name - or both - on them. My expression softened as I looked at the lovely items for sale, pride rising in my throat.

“You want one?” I heard my friend ask in my ear.

I turned my head to look at her, then shook it.

“Okay,” she chuckled. “Do you want to find our seats or grab a drink?”

“Um...seats,” I muttered.

It wasn’t until I was following Lorelei down the steps and saw the stage in front of me, that I realized just how much of a nervous wreck I was. Lor showed our tickets to another man who stood in the aisle, and he gestured to his left. Passing him with a tight smile, I sat down in the seat next to my friend, noticing the sign in front that read RESERVED.

“Holy shit!” Lorelei exclaimed. “This is what I’m talking about!”

I looked at her as she gave an exhilarated laugh and tousled her hair.

“I feel special,” she giggled.

I couldn’t help the smile on my face at my friend’s excitement. I, however was trying my best to keep the bile down in my stomach.

“There you are,” I heard a voice sing behind me. I turned and saw Gemma walking down the steps towards me. “You made it!”

I stood and shrugged. “I’m here.”

“I‘m so glad,” she grinned before embracing me and giving me a kiss on each cheek. Then she did the same with Lorelei.

“How are you feeling?” she asked me for the second time that day.

“I’ll be honest, I think I might throw up.”

Her eyes widened, and I was a bit taken aback by her not laughing at me instead.

“Did you eat? They have food here.”

I smiled graciously. “Thanks, I’ll probably be okay. Just nerves.”

“Understandable,” she said kindly.

Something about being in Gemma’s presence calmed me. I’d noticed it at brunch, and in just two seconds since she’d arrived, she’d already made me feel a bit better.

Gemma took the aisle seat on the other side of me, gazing out at the crowd. I saw the corners of her mouth curl up slightly, and when I followed her eyes, I caught sight of a girl waving in our direction. Within seconds, she had her phone up, no doubt taking photos. Then another girl in the row behind her yelled something that, reading her lips, seemed to be “Oh my God, there’s Gemma!” The girl beside her, however, had her eyes fixed on me. I lowered my head, pretending to pick on the hem of my top when I heard Lorelei speak next to me.

“Are they taking pictures of you?”

Gemma, bless her heart, leaned forward to explain.

“So a quick heads up, alright? Harry’s fans recognize everybody to do with him. Best thing to do is give a small smile, a wave if you want to, but quickly look away and act like you’re in an important conversation or you’re headed for the loo. The acknowledgment makes them happy, but then they know their boundaries.”

“That’s brilliant, actually,” Lorelei commented.

“What if I don’t want to acknowledge them at all?” I inquired.

“That’s fine too,” said Gemma. “You don’t owe them anything. And if they see you’re busy, they might start to feel guilty for snapping photos.”

“Or think I’m a bitch,” I added with a frown.

Gemma laughed. “That happens too. Comes with the territory, I’m afraid.”

I looked down at my lap again and then up at the stage. I had a few questions I wanted to ask Gemma, but I was hesitant. Then I remembered how kind she was being to me so far, and I let one slip from my lips.

“I uh...haven’t looked online in a while. All of my social media is private. Do you...have you seen them say anything about me?”

“No,” she replied, her lips pursed. “Because I don’t look either.”

I smiled. I was about to ask another question when I saw another figure coming toward us out of the corner of my eye. When I looked up, she stopped on the stairs.

“Oh my God, you’re here!” she nearly squealed.

With a huge grin no one could have stopped, I rose from my seat to greet Glenne. She gave me a tight, warm hug as I inhaled her perfume. She smelled divine, and I wondered for a second if she’d just come from backstage.

“I’ve missed you, girl,” she murmured in my ear.

“Same here,” I sighed.

She pulled back and looked at me, and I could tell by her face that there were things she wanted to say. I smiled at her, knowing she would probably tell me later. Then I gestured to Lorelei and introduced her to Glenne. After she gave Gemma a hug, she offered us all drinks.

As I sipped on my gin and tonic, I felt it soothe my nerves just a bit. By the time the opening band took the stage, I was even feeling in a bit of a good mood. The drinks kept coming, as well as snacks, and by the time the lights came on again, I might have even had a glow about me. I’d forgotten how my adrenaline spiked at concerts. And being in the VIP section certainly added to the frenzy. I chatted casually with the other ladies as a variety of tunes played throughout the venue. When I heard the familiar intro, however, I froze in my chair.

“Oh my God,” I muttered.

“What? What is it?” asked Lorelei.

She was that kind of lady… Times were hard, woah...

I shut my eyes. “I can’t believe this.”

“What?” Glenne echoed, perplexed.

But she’ll leave you crying in the night…

“Is this Stevie?” I heard Gemma ask to my right.

I let out a slow breath. “Buckingham Nicks.”

“Ooh, that’s a rare one,” she mused.

“Stacey’s a really big Stevie Nicks fan,” Lorelei commented.

I opened my eyes then and let them pierce through hers.

“Oh!” she sounded, her mouth a perfect circle. “Oh my God, Stacey. I swear, I had nothing to do with this!”

I sucked in my lips as I could feel the emotions coming. A tiny tear leaked from my left eye, and I lifted my hand to wipe it.

“Sorry to sound indelicate,” Gemma leaned over to whisper in my ear. “But was this a special sort of song for you?”

I nodded. “Yeah. You could say that.”

She’s back in town… And she’s looking around…

“I’m so sorry, doll,” offered Lorelei.

“It’s…it’s okay,” I shook my head, wiping another tear and sniffling. Then I gave a tight smile. “I have a feeling this is going to be an emotional night.”

Each lady gave me a reassuring smile, and Glenne patted my arm and told me to let her know if I needed anything.

Before I could even fully reply, the lights went out and the entire venue erupted in screams as I rose from my seat. Lorelei grabbed my arm, and I suddenly felt like my stomach had risen to my chest and my knees went weak. The rush of adrenaline I’d experienced earlier returned, but in a different way. As the sound effects and glittering lights ended, I heard a loud drum intro and the curtain dropped. Harry’s band started playing one of his more up-tempo songs and the crowd went wild. Then he himself stepped out onto the center of the stage, his arms raised like the rock god he was. My heart thumped hard in my chest, and I squeezed Lorelei’s hand.

“Wow, doll, look at him!” she whispered in my ear.

I was looking. And he looked amazing.

He pranced across the stage like he owned it. He acknowledged his audience from all angles. And he sang his heart out. I was completely mesmerized and in awe. Watching him on James’s show or viewing live clips on my tiny computer did little to capture what he really was. There was no comparison to seeing him live. He was magnificent, and I’d never felt more proud.

After the third song, I returned to my seat, needing a breather. Harry paused his show to converse with someone in the audience, making a joke as his dimples displayed on the large screen. My stomach flipped like a nervous schoolgirl, and I was suddenly taken back in my mind to the day we’d met. His charm was undeniable, his adorable accent punctuating his quip.

Oh, Harry, I sighed to myself, my hand over my heart.

I felt a poke on my shoulder, and I looked up to see Glenne gesturing for me to follow her. Meeting her at the steps, she gave me a gentle smile.

“Let’s go to the ladies' room,” she said.

Just like at the Stevie concert, I hated to miss any part of Harry’s show. But I knew a restroom break was needed, and I needed to catch up with my friend. I followed her up the steps and around the corner to the bathroom. As soon as she knew we were alone, she took the stall next to mine.

“So tell me what’s been going on,” she said.

“Um...I’m assuming you mean with Harry and me?”

“Well, yeah. I didn’t wanna be nosy, but when he gave me your number and I texted you, I was kind of hoping you’d call me.”

“I’m sorry, Glenne,” I admitted. “I just...haven’t been ready to talk about it.”

“I understand,” she said after flushing.

I met her at the sinks. “How is he?”

She raised a brow at me in the mirror. “Truth? He’s a mess.”

I sighed. “Me too.”

I dried my hands with the air dryer and turned to her. “You know he got Lorelei to bring me here by tricking me.”

Glenne gave me a blank look. Then with a tiny smirk, she rolled her eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you really mad about that?” she tilted her head.

“Well…” I considered, “I was. I don’t like being tricked. It seemed...very juvenile.”

“Maybe,” Glenne shrugged. “But aren’t you glad you’re here now?”

I let out a breath through my nose. “Yeah.”

“Do you wanna see him?”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do.”

Glenne grinned at me, adding no more commentary. I envied her. She was really good at saying so much while saying so little.

My shoulders dropped as I let out another breath. Then with a tight jaw, I felt the emotions taking over again.

“Glenne,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I think I might’ve made a huge mistake.”

She stepped closer to me, brushing a curl from my shoulder and rubbing my back as she whispered softly.

“Maybe all is not lost.”

When Glenne and I returned to our section, I beamed with delight when I saw that Jeffrey had joined our group. He gave me a big, strong hug and told me he was very happy to see me.

“H will be too,” he added. “He’s really glad you’re here.”

Taking my seat again, I watched Harry as he revved up the crowd over and over. Feeling a little better, though my nerves were still apparent, I let the drinks keep coming, and during one of Harry’s sexier rock songs, I stood between Lorelei and Gemma as we swayed our hips and sang along.

When my favorite piano ballad started, however, I gripped the railing in front of me. I was reminded of my moment with Harry at Stevie’s concert when she sang “Landslide”, and he’d held me, allowing me to cry. I felt Lorelei’s hand on my back before I even noticed the first tear fall. While I appreciated her comfort, I knew I needed to release my emotions.

I sang the entire song with him, tears streaming down my face. The audience lifted their arms and hands, some with their phones, and swayed back and forth in tempo. When the song was over, and Harry walked from one end of the stage to the other and back, blowing kisses to the crowd, both Lor and Gemma wrapped their arms around me.

“Sorry,” I sniffled. “Told you it was gonna be emotional.”

“No worries, love,” cooed Gemma. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

I looked up at her, and though it was dark, I could sense a bit of redness in her eyes as well.

I watched the band gather together and take a bow, and as Harry sent more air kisses, I could have sworn we made eye contact. I bit my lip as I watched him leave the stage, my entire heart beating in my throat.

The next few minutes seemed to move quickly as I was figuratively (but almost literally) dragged downstairs and to the backstage area by Glenne, Lorelei and Gemma following. The hallway was bright, making me blink several times to adjust my eyes after sitting in the dark arena. I saw a handful of fans and other people, peppered throughout the hall with the same laminates as mine.

“Wait here,” said Glenne.

She only got a few steps down the hall when Jeff stopped her. I watched them talking, though I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Suddenly, Glenne turned and looked at me, and Jeffrey gestured for me to come to him. I looked between my friends, not quite understanding. When I walked up to Jeff, he gave me a gentle smile.

“He was going to come out and greet all of you,” he explained. “But he says he’d rather see you first. Alone.”

I raised my brows. “Oh.”

“Are you okay with that?” asked Jeff.

I nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

I looked back and noticed Glenne explaining the situation to the others before I followed Jeff down the hall to a closed door. Knocking on it twice, he announced himself before opening it. Then gesturing for me to enter, he patted my arm. I stepped inside cautiously, and just when I saw him, I heard the click of the door behind me.

“Stacey,” he said.

His voice was deep, the voice I loved so very much, though this time when he said my name, there was a bit of hesitation to it, almost like a question at the end.

“Hi, Harry,” I nodded, swallowing hard. “That was a wonderful performance, you’re so ama-”

In one long stride, he crossed the room to me. He pulled me into a tight embrace and I felt his breath in my hair as my cheek pressed against the side of his neck. The world seemed to freeze in that moment, and all I could hear was the sound of his heartbeat, his pulse vibrating in my ear. I then heard him sigh as his hands ran up and down my back.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

I blinked rapidly, determined to hold back any tears that might threaten to fall. Though I’d let myself be emotional during the concert, I still needed to keep my cool with him, as I was still so unsure.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

A few moments passed, his arms still enveloping me as we swayed gently. I couldn’t dare let go of him, for fear that he’d pat me on the shoulder and send me on my way like I was some old college friend.

“I still love you,” he confessed.

I could detect the break in his voice, and I lost it. The tears began to fall then, but I couldn’t bear to let him see. So I silently cried on his shoulder.

“Stacey…” he murmured, rubbing my back, one hand finding its way up to my hair.

“I love you, too,” I whispered in his ear. Then I stood up straight, releasing myself slowly from his grip as I looked up into his watery eyes. Those beautiful, green eyes that I would have easily drowned in if I’d let myself.

“I’ll probably always love you,” I added.

Just as I felt my bottom lip tremble, I shook my head and looked away.

“Baby…” I heard him say as I wiped my eyes.

“You’ve done so great, Harry,” I said, my face softening. “I’m really proud of you.”

He looked down at my hands and took them in his.

“I’m really sorry about everything,” he admitted. “It wasn’t fair to get Lorelei to lie for me just to get you here. But I really wanted to see you. And I didn’t know what else to do.”

I stared at our hands, his thumbs rubbing the backs of mine.

“Please come back to me, Stacey,” he begged. “Please tell me...it’s not over.”

Prying one of my hands from his, I lifted it to touch his cheek. His eyes closed softly as he covered my hand with his, holding it there. I saw a single tear fall from his eye and felt his jaw tighten underneath my palm.

“Please,” he croaked, his body seeming to shudder.

Though I was crying, I felt the dam break inside me. I knew that if I had taken a single step back, or to the left or right, I would have collapsed. I held onto his hand, squeezing it once before he opened his eyes.

“I think...we have a lot to talk about, Harry,” I stated.

“Yeah,” he swallowed. “Yes, of course. I um...I have all day free tomorrow. We can meet somewhere...and talk. Please.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

Harry’s chest seemed to deflate then, a loud breath escaping from his lips. With a gentle nod, he turned his head toward my hand that rested against his cheek and kissed it. His breath blew across my palm, and I felt a sudden warmth all over.

“Okay,” he echoed, pressing our joined hands against his chest. “God, I’ve missed you.”

He leaned his forehead against mine then, and for a second I thought he might kiss me.

“Baby…”

“I...Harry, I...we should probably...” I pointed towards the door.

“Oh...yeah.”

“I mean, your sister’s out there, and I’m sure Lorelei wants to say hi. Plus, I think I saw some fans.” I smiled at him. “You shouldn’t keep them waiting because of me.”

Harry let out a deep breath and took me in his arms again. “Oh, Stacey…”

If it were up to me, I could have stayed like that the rest of the night. Instead, I brushed his curls from his face and kissed his cheek.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I promised.

Blinking slowly, he stood up straight and nodded. “‘kay.”

I opened the door for him, allowing him to step out into the hallway first. I watched him saunter down the hall to where Gemma and Lorelei stood, giving them both his dazzling smile and a warm hug. I stood back for a moment, wondering what would happen next - tomorrow, the day after that, and after that. I sighed, shoved my hands in my pockets and walked slowly down the hall to join them.

“Everything okay?” asked Glenne who caught up to me.

I gave her a tight smile and nod. “We’ll see.”

“You know, he made Jeffrey completely clear his schedule the next couple days. I assume that has something to do with you?”

I bit my lip. “I never stopped loving him, Glenne. I just want…”

“I know,” she nodded. “But he wants you.”

I continued watching Harry as he moved on to a cluster of fans, taking photos with them and making them happy. He was really good at that, making people happy. Even me.

I was wide awake. It was nearly three in the morning; Lorelei and I had gone to bed hours ago. But I couldn’t sleep. I got up to pee and get a drink of water, and when I returned, I saw my phone light up on the nightstand.

Are you awake?

Yes

Were you really awake, or did I just wake you?

I stifled a giggle. I was awake. Can’t sleep.

Me neither. I need to see you.

Now?

Please. Can you come to my hotel?

When I didn’t reply right away, I saw the three dots come up again.

I can’t wait until tomorrow. Please?

Okay.

After getting his hotel information, I told him I’d be there soon. I put the same jeans and green top back on that I wore to the concert since they were on top of my suitcase. Then I brushed my teeth again and applied some light makeup and touched up my hair. As I was slipping into my shoes, I saw a shadow move across the room, and Lorelei sat up on her elbow.

“You’re going to him?” she asked.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Lor, I was gonna leave you a note.”

“No need. Just call or text if something goes wrong. But I know it won’t.”

I grinned, pushing my hair behind my ear. “Thanks, Lor.”

“Love you, doll.”

Closing the door gently behind me, I made my way to the elevator. When I turned the corner into the lobby, a man at the front desk waved at me.

“Ms. Barnett?” he asked.

“Yes?” I stopped.

“A car’s here for you.”

I looked at the glass doors and back at him.

“For me? Are you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Confused, I pushed open the door and stepped out into the night. Sure enough, a black car was parked out front. Pulling my phone out of my purse, I saw the new text I’d missed from Harry.

No need to take a taxi. I’m sending a car.

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[ala-baguette]

Returning Home

Summary: One year has passed since the War ended, and Harry returns to Godric's Hollow. Relationships: Harry Potter/ Ginny Weasley Rating: G 1400 words  |  Read it here or on AO3

Harry stepped out the front door of the cottage and paused in the sunlight on the garden path. The breeze rustled through the new spring growth of the trees lining the lane at the village edge. He heard the faint tinkle of a windchime outside one of the houses a few doors down. It was so quiet here. He pushed his fists deeper into his pockets.

In the entry behind him, Hermione was still grilling the estate agent on minutiae that he didn’t care about but probably should. Appliances and piping and cesspits and roofing and insulation and flood maps. Harry tuned it out. Instead, he merely stood and breathed the crisp clean air and listened to the wind. He could smell lavender from somewhere. He wondered where it grew.

An arm snaked its way around his own, and he blinked away the reverie about nothing and everything to look down. Ginny looked up at him and smiled. There was a subtle question there, but it was not insistent. So Harry merely extracted his hand from his pocket and wrapped it instead around her. Ginny seemed content with this. She rested her head against his shoulder and the pair of them merely stood there quietly. Listening to the wind.

“It’s a wonderful community here. Both Magical and Muggle alike,” the estate agent was saying to Ron and Hermione behind them. She’d clearly given up on trying to talk to Harry directly. “You should take a bit of time to explore, if you have it. See the village centre. Maybe have a bite in the Lion and Flame.”

“Where is that?” Ron asked.

“Wizarding pub. In the main square. The entrance is in the alleyway just to the right of the Muggle pub entrance. You’ll see a brick wall with a lion and phoenix. Just tap your wand and you’ll be able to step through.”

Harry did at least manage to muster himself to offer a smile, a thank you, and a handshake as the estate agent bid them farewell. What had been her name? He probably should have been paying better attention. No matter. Hermione would know.

The four of them walked along the village streets. Ron and Hermione were talking about asking price and cost of living and more things Harry didn’t care about. He remained quiet. They passed a small community play yard and Harry smiled a little, imaging bringing Teddy here when he came to visit. But he didn’t raise his head to look down the street where he knew the ruins of a long-destroyed house still stood. And he kept his eyes on his feet as they passed the war memorial, even when he caught the transformation out of his peripheral vision. When they passed the church, his eyes did dart a glance to the graveyard behind. But he didn’t slow. Not today. He would be back. He felt Ginny give his hand a small squeeze.

The pub was just where what’s-her-name had said it would be. They melted through the door one at a time and let themselves down the torch-lined steps. At the bottom of the stairs, Harry paused to look around. He took in the old-fashioned wood bar with its many beer taps and liquor bottles. The dim but warm lighting. The dark wood ceiling beams and panelling. The mismatched tables and chairs scattered across the well-worn red carpet. Harry loved it immediately.

“Alroigh’ me’ansum?” the barkeeper called to them, glancing up from where he was filling a round of pints; it seemed an automatic greeting he offered to any who entered. But then he did a doubletake and stared at Harry for a moment, his face inscrutable. The gaggle of middle-aged men who were leaning against the bar and chatting merrily, followed his gaze and stilled as well. Then the old witches in the corner who were gossiping over their sherry and knitting. Then the pair of boys who Harry vaguely recognised as Hufflepuffs who’d been a few years ahead of them at Hogwarts. Harry flattened his fringe. Ron and Hermione exchanged a smirk, and Harry reminded himself of the futility of this habit.

Harry braced himself for the onslaught, but the barkeeper merely went back to filling his pints. His patrons, albeit reluctantly, seemed to take their cues from him. They turned back to their conversations, though eyes continued to dart in Harry’s direction periodically.

After a moment’s hesitation, Harry sidled up to the bar, his friends falling into step beside him. “Hello,” he greeted as the barkeeper filled the last of the middle-aged men’s pints and passed them across the bar. The barkeeper jerked his chin up. Harry couldn’t say if it was an acknowledgement of his greeting or a request for his order or both. “Four butterbeers, please?”

The barkeeper merely nodded, unsmiling, and ducked under the counter. He reappeared a second later with four bottles. He tapped his wand to pop the lids and slid them across the counter as one. Harry reached into his pocket for his gold, but the barkeeper said, “On the ‘ouse.”

Harry shook his head. “Thanks. But I insist.” He slid a handful of coins across the counter.

The barkeeper shrugged. “Sui’ yourself.” He counted out the appropriate coins, and slid the remainder back to Harry. “Welcome ‘ome, Mister Po’er,” he said, still without a smile.

And there were murmurs around the pub as others intoned the same.

“Welcome home, Harry.”

“Glad to have yeh back.”

“Your ‘ealth, Mr. Po’er.”

Harry nodded at them awkwardly in thanks and picked up the butterbeers, passing one each to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, all of whom were quietly watching him. They seemed to be waiting for him to pick the table. His eyes roved the pub.

“Tha’ table in the corner.”

Harry blinked and turned back to the barkeeper. “Sorry?”

The barkeeper nodded toward the far corner of the pub. “Tha’s the one your dad and his mates used to si’ in. Every Friday noigh’. Least ’til your mum and dad wen’ into hidin’.” Harry followed his gaze to a round table with four empty chairs. Harry merely stared at it for a moment, before he remembered himself.

Blinking, he looked back to the barkeeper. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. The old man just nodded again, then turned his attention to wiping down the bar.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny followed him to the table. They seemed to sense that he was not in much of a mood for conversation and were content to let him sit quietly as they chatted. He sat in the chair in the corner and stared around the pub as babble continued around him. Harry watched as two older wizards debated politics; he watched as the Hufflepuff boys moseyed over to the dartboard on one wall; as one of the witches worried over a dropped stitch in her knitting and fretfully counted along her needles.

“—What do you reckon, Harry?”

“Huh?” Harry blinked and looked around to find his friends all staring at him expectantly.

“The house,” Hermione clarified patiently. “We were discussing the house. Just wondering how you liked it.”

“Oh. Right.” Harry’s eyes took another promenade around the room before they landed on Ginny. She was merely looking at him, patiently awaiting his answer. Harry swallowed, suddenly strangely nervous. How could he put into words that her opinion on this mattered more than anyone’s? Perhaps more than his own. He looked down at the butterbeer he held in both hands atop the table. “I thought… maybe it seemed like it could be home.”

He chanced a glance back up to Ginny. But she was beaming at him. He smiled back.

“Well, cheers to that, then,” said Ron, holding out his butterbeer.

“To home,” Hermione agreed.

“To home,” said Ginny softly, her eyes not leaving Harry’s.

His heart felt light as they clinked their bottles. He looked around the room again as he sipped his butterbeer, feeling affection for this room full of people he’d never met. His eyes fell on the barkeeper who was making his way toward their table with what appeared to be a large bowl of chips and a dipping sauce Harry couldn’t recall ordering. He suddenly realised he was famished.

For more about the Lion and Flame Inn, see the Remus Lupin installment of my Left Behind Series, 'Empty Chairs at Empty Tables'.

[steampunkserpent27]

Home

for @hdcandyheartsfest 's prompt: Home rated: T CW: Mermaid Draco, Minor Injury, Hurt/Comfort A sequel to this Draco was lingering near the far corner of his tank, fiddling with something in his hands. He found this rather odd, as Draco was always enthusiastic to see him and wanted hugs as soon as possible, he never stayed away. Harry scooched closer to the edge of the platform, crossing his legs, as he waited. He supposed Draco would come over when he was ready, even if he was starting to become a bit worried that something might be wrong. Draco kept glancing back at him, before he would look away again, all while keeping his back turned to him. It was certainly strange behavior for him. After a long while of waiting, he grew too concerned to continue doing nothing. “Draco?” Draco seemed as if he was tensing, as he slowly turned to look at him, although he didn’t come any closer and was holding one of his arms behind his back. He wished Draco would come over, so he could see him properly. “Is everything okay?” Draco nodded, although the expression on his face was the opposite of okay. “Can you come here for a moment, please?” There was a long pause, while Draco stared at the water, his lips wobbling, before he finally sank beneath the surface and swam over to him. Resurfacing beside him, Draco stayed close to the wall of his tank, keeping most of his body submerged and out of sight, aside from his neck and head. Draco glanced down and then looked back up at him, only to look away again a moment later. “In… In trouble?” “No. You don’t get in trouble with me. Remember?” Grey eyes found his, lingering for a moment, before they turned away, brimming with uncertainty. “Yes.”

He tried to look closer at Draco, but the majority of his arms and front were hidden against the wall. His tail seemed alright, as he couldn’t see any missing scales, and he couldn’t see any wounds on his back either. “What’s wrong?” Draco shook his head, his eyebrows furrowing. “I won’t be mad. You can tell me.” He prompted, keeping his voice soft. Draco chewed on his lower lip, his pointed teeth leaving small divots in the skin. Harry was starting to think that Draco wasn’t going to say anything, when Draco lifted one of his arms out of the water, holding it out to him. There was a scrape on the side of his arm, some of the skin having been peeled away. “Oh.” He leaned closer, reaching out and taking Draco’s hand, while he looked at his wound. “This looks painful. I’m sorry. How did this happen?” Draco was watching him closely, his lips in a thin line. “Wasn’t…” He paused and started again. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking where I was going. And…” He fell silent. “It’s okay. You can tell me.” “I hit my arm on the coral.” Draco looked away again, his eyes watery. “I’m sorry. Can I fix this up?” Normally, he wouldn’t have to ask to use magic around him anymore, but he thought with how Draco had been acting, he had better ask this time. Draco nodded, still staring at the water below him. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the scrape. “Episkey.” The wound vanished, being replaced with fresh, pale skin. He released Draco’s arm and put his wand away. “There. How’s that feel?” Draco glanced at his arm briefly. “Okay.” “Can I ask you something?” “Okay.” “Why were you trying to hide that from me?” Draco’s frown grew, as he let his arm slide back into the water. “Thought… I thought you might be mad.” He had to fight to keep himself from frowning. “Do I ever get mad at you?” There was a slight pause, as Draco thought about it. “No.” “That’s right.” He offered his hand, although Draco just tapped it, as he still hadn’t figured out how handshakes worked.”And I’ll never be mad at you for being hurt, okay? I promise.” Draco’s lips twitched, squirming between a smile and a frown. “Take care of me.” “Yes, that’s right. I take care of you, and I don’t want you to be hurt.” He tapped the back of Draco’s hand gently, mimicking what Draco had done just a moment before. “And you don’t ever have to worry about anyone being mad at you anymore, because this is your home now.” “Home.” Draco repeated, his lips finally settling on a nervous smile.

[hellfire--cult]

I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SOOO LONG!! BUT THIS IS SHOW YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH!! I fucking love Do I Wanna Know?. Got me takes forever to finish it but worth it! You can skip all the way down to bottom 😂

Part one: OH MY GOD. Steve is masterpiece, I would kiss all over his body fuck me. I am sooooo jealous of Barb got a touch lips by Billy! I do wish they could be date together because they’ll be so cute 😭 I DIE IF EDDIE DID TO ME AND, YEAH, I WOULD FAINT TOO!

Part two: Reader is so adorable. I wish Eddie could help me too, I’m not great around guys either. (Panic panic panic) I did laugh when reader yell “I’m sorry” and made Eddie jump, spill coffee. Reader and Robin are perfect best friend, it’s so cute when she told her that she was talking to Eddie, a stripper. JASON? LIKE ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT JASON CARVER A STRIPPER?!?! I need to know how Jason end up. I did little mad at Eddie because of Harry Potter, I was like how dare him?! 😂 but it cute that he already knew to make her to look at him. Nice one Eddie. You made me look up to see if black is colour, turn out it wasn’t, I am so mad but Black is my favourite COLOUR!!! I’m going to stick with that 😤🖤.

Part three: i love how eddie help her out at the mall (I wish he was there with her) to help pick out the dress (omg beautiful dress) I can see that Robin and Eddie are going to be great friend. First time to see reader dress took Eddie breath, oh yeah he’s going to falling in love with her. “I like spicy.” Eddie held in the smirk at your words, closing his eyes to not make a dirty joke out of it. had me giggling. I like how Steve and Billy gentler with her and helping her too, I like them. Billy… Billy… that goddamn blue eyes. (Hand fan) I had to look up what is Anchovy pizza look likes and ew. Haha there no way I’m going to eat them, I’m on Steve side.

Part four: I am sooooo proud of reader that she did it! Meet the other guys in eyes and didn’t even stutter! Ah so proud. I love how Robin yelled “Holy shit! GOD BLESS STRIPPERS!” got me laugh. I, Lucille, want taste Steve foods, I definitely want to call him my sexy chief. The touch! The TOUCH!! Billy AND Steve kissed?! I must need to see that! I’m sad that Billy is straight 😂 I kinda want Steve and Billy together. Why is so sexy that Billy help Steve, Eddie helped Billy and Steve helped Eddie that I can imagine them, kiss, touch skin and sexy dancing, my god 🫠 And the kiss!! The Kiss!! THE KISS!!!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!! Had me MELTING. I’m speechless. 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 Reader got second kisses from two men in one night! Why can’t that be meeeeee?????? 😭😭

Part five: Austin, oooohhhhh, he likes Harry Potter books, aaahhhhh. I do love Harry Potter, so obsessed and I do have tattoo! (Picture in bottom) Steve spit cheerios out had me laugh, poor Steve! But Poor Eddie. I love Robin taught her to cross her arm and make chest pop. I wish Robin’s my best friend or a real person. And she’s doing a stripper dancing for R! I. Am. So. Jealous. Steve dance for r? My god. BILLY dance for r? OH my god! “Angel” had me sweating and couldn’t breather either. Eddie- Eddie- Eddie- you kill me, you already kill me and I’m dead. I’m going sue you for that. He can take my dollar, no, hundred dollar. “I’ll help you shut your mind off. So… please- please let me make you feel good” o-oh Eddie, please make me feel good. Again… THE KISSING!! (Me: Gif ⬇️) “Feel me” WHY CAN I FEEL THAT?! I NEVER BEEN THAT HORNIEST IN MY LIFE!! I want to give you a handshake for thankfully because that was amazing I ever read. My husband give me the weird look, he asked “why are you so squirming so much?” I actually answered this, “well… Eddie is fingering me” 🤣 I cannot believe you choose Austin Butler and you got that right, I’m going to sue you. I can’t believe you didn’t pick Jamie/Henry! 🤪

Part six: 22.4K? Sweetheart. Darling. Roe. Whyyyyyyyyyyy?????? I have to make that plan to read them on weekend (my only day off) and it wasn’t easy not to read them! he whispered into his ear the same question he asked you before. "Did you have fun last night?" had me screaming! Reader shaved again and the black laced lingerie set? Oooohhhh I can feel spicy coming 🌶️ the date seem went well but then Dustin called. That little shit. 😅 I hope they meet one day and play game together! He make my cheeks hurt so bad from smiling. I love dustin so much! The smut! THE SMUUUUUUUUUT!!!!!! OH MY GOD I WOULD GIVE YOU THE BEST AWARD!! (Me; gif ⬇️) 🏆🏆 my husband gave me the weird look again 🤣

Part seven: ahh it made me so happier for Eddie and reader (love sight). But………. HOW DARE EDDIE?!?! No wait… HOW DARE YOU?!?! How could you do this to meeeeeeee?? 💔 not the purple dress! I’m so scared for her, I don’t want her to come back in shy again 😭 I hope Eddie better explain that

That’s all folks! Wow! This is incredible I ever read. And yeah, I read them each parts while write the reviews. I never done that before 😂 I’m so sad that your taglist is full but I am super looking forward for more and I cannot wait to read more!

My tattoo 💚

Oh wow LOOK AT HOW MUCH YOU WROTE I CANNOT BELIEVE IT

I love all of your feelings throughout the parts, it does make me feel like i did something right 😭❤

Can't believe you wrote your thoughts and feelings for each part, I am still in awe from reading it all! I am really happy that you liked them so much that YOU WROTE THIS MUCH AND YOU MADE ME SMILE SO WIDE, YOU HAVE NO IDEA

LOL YOUR HUSBAND, I had many people tell me that their partners were looking at them weirdly when reading the smut part or the cute parts of them all, AND I DONT BLAME THEM, NOR YOU, BECAUSE EVEN I THE WRITER WAS KICKING MY FEET WHILE WRITING IT

I AM A FAN OF HARRY POTTER MYSELF, and I lovE YOUR TATOO OMG. THE CUP!? THE DEATHLY HALLOWS?! AND THE FUCKING FLOWERS .S.FS.SE.FS

I love it so much and thank you again for this amazing response, it truly brings a smile to my face to know that I am making people feel these things just by my mere writing 💕💕