#if I could go back in time and watch one show for the first time again I honestly think it would be blackrock the effect it had on me was

[natalienomad]

1. Rivaini

2. chaotic good, there with the good morals but damn if it ain't weird as shit to get there

3. Elf and Deathcaller Mage. I figured a Lord of Fortune would be chill with spirit magic.

4. Relaxing at a graveyard in Rivain. Possibly digging up corpses looking for loot, and maybe a companion or two.

5. Oh sarcastic! If you're a necromancer ya gotta have a lil giggles in ya to be around the LoF.

6. Davrin. Hunting down monsters may not be Rooks jam, but petting a cute griffon? And saving griffons? Can't pass that up! Not to mention going on walks with tea that makes ya high sounds like a pleasant evening.

7. Emmy. My lil Richy. He needed someone to understand the spirits like him that wasn't from the Mourn watch. An outside perspective, with equal reverence for the spirits.

8. At first? Lucanis. Until he showed her coffee and rum go well together.

9. Oh no, Isabela thinks we're still too down to earth to really get into the thick of it. That's why she lends us Taash, to really get the fire going under the Veilguard.

10. Shes been known to take a few sticks and bang on rocks for a good time.

11. Staff. Staff Staff Staff. Make thing blow up? Make thing blow up Wayyyyyy over there? Yes please.

12. Asexual, with a Panromantic heart. If things happen, they happen. But the true goal? Is getting a kiss and really feeling it down in her chest.

13. Isnt necessarily evil, nor is it good. Simply a way of balancing the world. You live. You eat. You breathe. You die. ....though she may raise you afterwards.

14. She's a big nature hobbyist. Going out on walks, seeing the wildlife, trying to maintain that balance of life and death.

15. She liked Antoine and Evka right away. And her first hatred was with the Mayor of D'metas crossing. Trading life for gold was silly. You rob graves to get gold and raise them. Give them new life, not condemning them to a branded unlife.

16. Assan may be a good boy, but she's always wanted to have a few druffalo to tag along and help ferry her treasure and new friends.

17. It feels like she got tossed into the life, just by happenstance. She doesn't mind, tho she detests the leadership she has to take on, it weighs on her.

18. More than likely owning said druffalo caravan.

19. At an old age, after continuing our little Manny's training after my dapper guy passes on. One day I'll join him, after they dig his coffin up, and lay us to rest together. Knowing Manfred will become the greatest watcher of them all, a lich all his own.

20. It's a complex stance, she'd aid him in his freeing if the spirits, to take down a tyrant meant to enslave others. But to sacrifice those same spirits like a pawn? She'd feel regret and pity and shame and continue the fight, knowing it was the only way, but knowing this man also had to be toppled.

21. Hard to pick a favorite, she uses a healthy balance of fire, necrotic and ice. But if she had to pick one? The fire beam ulti.

22. Common, Elvhen and Qunari.

23. Ask Manfred to go on a walk.

24. Oh absolutely. Whether the skeletons we raise have a semblance of the original owner or just a spirit accessing the memories who's to say. But we certainly pass on, somewhere.

25. Oh Deathcaller for certain. She'd wish to dabble in Evoker, but being a powerhouse in the back that can wipe a wave of darkspawn out in seconds is a Good Feeling.

26. Herding Dog. Not a war dog. I have a job, and it's helping these nerds figure themselves out and point them in the right direction. And I'm happy to do so.

27. Traipsing along ancient burial grounds mostly. Going into town to sell said goods, share interesting stories I've heard from the spirits in the tombs.

28. Oh Rook is Alllllll too happy to let Isabela take the wheel. Literally and figuratively. The Lords are far more chaotic than Took could handle. She needs a good balance of crazy and semi crazy, and sane to help Her stay sane.

29. Mourn Watch. So I could've snuggled up to this kindly older man quicker! He's such a charmer!

30. Her carefree and loving nature that she expresses to herself and all her friends.

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

[xshadowdelta]

FORMER MANAGER

PART 5: PURITY.

Mashiro x Male Reader (4K length)

You observed your face in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, your messy hair, the marks of the sheets on your cheeks and some visible dark circles bordering your eyes, it definitely had not been your best night. You had barely slept, tossing and turning in bed all night while your head was spinning around the scene with Jang Wonyoung.

The image of her crying wouldn't disappear from your mind no matter how hard you tried, but how did this happen in the first place? The last memory you had of her was when you said goodbye years ago before returning home, back then she also cried, but this time it was totally different, her look of disappointment on you disturbed you even more than her tears.

You catched some water from the sink, throwing it over your face, trying to clear yourself up and wake up a little, because you had to continue with your life and your work, you would find a free time lapse to be able to fix this problem.

You showered, fixed your hair, and hid the traces of a terrible night on your face as well as you could before getting dressed and leaving your apartment heading to the company.

You arrived at the building where as soon as you entered, your boss was waiting for you, folder in hand, and while you both walked he explained the itinerary of the day and the schedule for the upcoming weeks. Kep1er’s members had returned from their last shows abroad, there had been a few changes at the management level, and a new comeback was already planned, so the work was going to be hard and intense.

Both of you stopped in front of one of the practice rooms, a light touch of your coworker knuckles on the door and you entered inside, a group of girls who were stretching stared at you.

“Good morning girls.” Your partner began to speak. “Before starting preparations for this new album I want to introduce you to your new full-time manager, starting on today he will take care of all of you and about everything you need.” He exclaimed, indicating for you to introduce yourself to them with a gesture of his hand.

You bowed them instantly. “Nice to meet you! I will be at your service from now on, I hope we get along well.” You said a little nervous, a feeling that disappeared when you saw the smiles and applause they offered you. “Nice to meet you, please treat us well!” They all said in unison bowing to you aswell.

"Good." Your boss interrupted. “The dance teacher will come right away to show you and start practicing the new choreographies, I hope the best from all of you. “Fighting!” He said with his fist, before handing you the information folder and leaving the room.

You watched him leave and when you looked back you jumped when you realized how the Kep1er girls had surrounded you, occupying any personal space you could have, their eyes analyzing you carefully.

"Hello!" One of them greeted with a huge smile on her face. “I'm the leader Yujin, nice to meet you, it's incredible, it's the first time I have such a young manager.” You smiled shyly, uncomfortable with the circle of people that had formed around you.

“Wow, can I call you oppa?” A girl with pink hair and rounded cheeks asked next to her, if you were not mistaken it was Kim Chaehyun, you nodded affirmatively at her question causing her to laugh.

You noticed that penetrating eyes were focused on you to the point that you realized that gaze was passing through you, you made eye contact with it, increasing your nervousness.

“Is something wrong, Xiaoting?” You asked softly making the mentioned girl blink a few times. “Do you know my name already?” She questioned surprised. “Our new manager has studied a lot!” Dayeon shouted, starting to laugh and causing the rest of the members to laugh.

“Look at his dark eyes, he sure hasn't been able to sleep all night!” Hikaru joked, releasing one of her particular laughs that resonated throughout the room, increasing the volume and joy of the rest of the members.

These girls were really loud and restless, they were going to give you a lot of headaches, yet a smile was drawn on your lips and for a while you forgot about the rest of your problems.

The dance teacher appeared and the morning passed with the girls memorizing and practicing the new choreographies, so you took the opportunity to go to your office to work on other aspects such as contacting the wardrobe team, making venue reservations where the filming would be done, hire the recording equipment.

The days went by and with the amount of work you had it was impossible to even think about Wonyoung. Your relationship with the members of Kep1er was improving and due to the characteristics of these girls, in just a week it seemed like you had been together since their debut, and that was something that relieved you and made everything much more enjoyable.

This day in question the girls would spend it in the recording studio, testing their vocals and recording the songs for the new album, so really your presence there was not very significant so your task for the day was to clean and organize everything in the house.

If you already hated doing housework, doing it in a home full of girls made you hate it excessively. A multitude of clothes scattered throughout the rooms, boxes and cardboard in every corner.

You were infinitely grateful to Bahiyyih for trying to keep the house in order, saving you some work, but the whirlwind that was Chaehyun Dayeon and Hikaru was simply unstoppable.

You finished off the apartment Yujin Bahiyyih Chaehyun and Xiaoting shared and headed upstairs to start cleaning the next one. You hadn't been there for long but there was a room that you had not yet accessed, it was a two-bed bedroom that did not belong to anyone in the group but that had serious signs of having been habited before, it was perfectly arranged and there were still clothes hanging in the closet.

You inspected said clothes, leaving them on one of the beds, you opened the drawers looking to know what, and this really had you confused.

“W-W-Who are you? What are you doing with my clothes?” A sudden voice surprised and scared you, almost making you fall on the bed when you turned to look at the door frame of the room, finding a small girl with brown hair and a rather cute appearance carrying a cardboard box in her hands, looking at you in a scared way.

“That's what I should ask, how did you get in here? The door has a password, and what's with your clothes?” You were trying to appear as calm as possible but you were really uneasy with that presence.

“Don't tell me…A SASAENG!” You both shouted at the same time, pointing your fingers at each other.  "WHAT? ME?" Now your fingers were pointing towards yourselves.

“It's over I'm going to call the police.” The girl said, dropping the box and taking her mobile phone out of her pants pocket.

“That's exactly what I'm going to do, look at this.” You said, taking out the company ID, surprising the girl.

"Huh?"

.

.

.

.

“I'm sorry again, I had no idea you were the new manager.” The girl said with her head down, looking at the ground, feeling guilty for the previous misunderstanding.

“The mistake was mine for not having recognized you before, Mashiro-shi.” Now you knew who this room belonged to.

Apparently, and after left the grou, both Mashiro and Yeseo had been terribly busy with their new group and their own activities that they had been coming and going to the house making small moves of their things. However some things of their property were still there.

“If you need help with your…”

“Oh no no, please, I'm sure you're very busy, I don't want to bother you.” She commented, making notable gestures with her hands. You smiled at how adorable that was.

“The rest of the members say that you and Yeseo will continue to be part of Kep1er forever…” You commented, bending down to pick up the cardboard box from the floor and put it on the bed, opening it. “So now I'm also your manager, okay Mashiro-chan?” You smiled warmly at her causing her cheeks to turn a deep pink color.

“O-O-Okay” She agreed shyly, approaching you and helping you pack more clothes from her closet.

Together you cleared out the closet and packed all the clothes, and you organized the rest of the room and cleaned it. You glanced at Mashiro from time to time, even with that strange first impression you had with her, you really thought she was a super adorable girl. Her small stature, her beautiful face and the dimples that were marked on her cheeks reaffirmed it.

“What do you think of the members?” She asked casually while doing her task, your gaze drifted towards the ceiling, sketching a slight smile after a few seconds of thought.

“Noisy.” You responded simply causing her to giggle, covering her mouth with one of her hands.

“I understand you perfectly.” She supported you.

“But they are really amazing.” You continued. “They spend the day laughing and making a fuss but they don't lower the effort they put into their practices one bit, sometimes I envy them. I would also like to enjoy my work like they do.” Out of the corner of my eye you could notice a small smile melancholy on her face, so you decided not to say anything else and continue with the cleaning.

You walked over to one of the nightstands next to one of the beds to open the drawers, see what they kept and see if there was anything else that needed to be packed.

“Don't open that!” Mashiro screamed hysterically, throwing herself on the bed trying to stop you but you had already opened the drawer. You looked at her confused, even more so when she threw her hands over her face trying to hide herself, while her ears turned red.

You looked down, looking at the vibrator that was inside the drawer, blushing too and quickly moving away, falling on your ass to the floor.

"I'm sorry."  You whispered embarrassed, unable to look up, noticing how your face was burning.

“Noooooo…how embarrassing.” Mashiro sobbed, rolling on the bed. You grabbed a lock of your hair, analyzing the situation, looking for the right words for a moment like this.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of Mashiro, it is something totally normal for someone your age and…Mashiro?” You were absorbed as you looked up to see directly at the girl who was still sobbing, covering her face with one hand, while the other was now rubbing her crotch over her pants. So those sounds weren't sobs, they were moans.

You saw how she relaxed her body and lie down on the bed. The hand that covered her face no longer did so, she was now looking at you clearly, intently, a look very different from what you had seen from her before.

“It has been such a hard, stressful and emotional weeks. Leaving one group to enter another, new members, comeback, and performances. Even now all the responsibility of being a leader falls on my shoulders.”

“Mashiro…” Your words were interrupted by a new moan.

“And I forgot my stress reliever during the move, I tried using my fingers but they didn't have the same effect…” You turned your gaze to the vibrator and took it in your hands, Mashiro's eyes did not take their eyes off the device. You turned it on, listening to the vibrations it produced, making Mashiro groan in despair.

“You said before that you were also my manager…” The Japanese girl began to say. “So, I need your help, manager oppa, please…” You swallowed after hearing that request of deep need in her tone of voice.

You stood up and approached the bed, sitting on the edge near Mashiro, who lowered the zipper of her sweatshirt a little, revealing a bit of the shirt she was wearing underneath and then, moving against the bed, she managed to lower her pants until her underwear was visible.

“You are very wet Mashiro-chan.” You commented looking at the huge stain that had appeared on her panties. “You really are so needy…”

She didn't respond but she brought her hand back to where the stain was now, caressing herself again with circular movements, closing her eyes enjoying her own touch.

When she stopped she opened her eyes to look deeply at you, eyes that were screaming for your help. You sighed and got even closer to her body, vibrator in hand, gently bringing it to her desired area, coming into contact causing Mashiro's back to arch due to excitement.

“Yes, please…” She continued asking needily.

You pushed aside the fabric of her panties, visualizing her wonderful pink pussy completely flooded that was crying out for pleasure.

The sex toy now caressed Mashiro's folds mercilessly, forcing her to moan loudly, her eyes closed again enjoying the waves of pleasure that ran through her body.

That scene was fucking erotic for you, so much so that a huge bulge peeked out from between your pants. With your free hand you managed to free that bulge from outside your clothes, however it was somewhat difficult to satisfy both of you at the same time.

A naughty idea crossed your mind. If you were busy offering pleasure to Mashiro she was free to give it to you, so you took her hand closest to you and placed it around your cock.

Upon feeling that she opened her eyes again, offering you a small smile when she knew your intentions, grabbing your penis tightly and beginning to move her hand up and down constantly.

“Oppa hentai…” She whispered, biting her lip, watching how she was masturbating you.

“It's your fault in the first place…” You responded, emitting the occasional small moan caused by her touch, and lowering the zipper of her sweatshirt completely with your free hand, allowing yourself to caressing her stomach and her hips.

You threw the vibrator to the side of the bed and began to caress her pussy with your own hand, separating her folds with your fingers and inserting a couple of them inside causing a squeal of surprise from her.

“Shit oppa…it feels so good…”

“A girl as adorable as you talking so dirty.” You said increasing the pace of your caresses on her pussy, feeling how your hand became wet with Mashiro's fluids.

“You love when I talk dirty, right oppa?” She asked continuing the caresses on your penis. “It hasn't stopped growing…”

You smiled, leaning over her body, placing a few kisses across her bare stomach. She released her grip on your cock to allow you to position yourself more comfortably on top of her, slipping your hands under her shirt touching everything within reach.

Mashiro slowly melted under your body, moaning louder and louder as your fingers caressed her tits. She was breathing heavily and her hair fell over her forehead giving it an even sexier touch, her entire face was flushed and hot.

Due to the constant movement of your bodies on each other there was a moment where your cock rubbed against Mashiro's pussy, tensing her body and placing her hands against your chest, pushing you away slightly.

You raised an eyebrow in confusion, realizing how hot this whole scene had become and how you had gotten carried away with it.

“I'm sorry if I…

“I have only used that vibrator… I have never had anything inside me beyond my fingers, I am completely a virgin.” She admitted, looking away embarrassed.

"It’s okay." You whispered softly, offering her a smile, caressing her right cheek with your hand. She took your hand and let herself be caressed by you.

“It's really strange and we just met...but I feel very comfortable with you, oppa. Although I don't think I'm ready to cross that line yet, I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize for anything.”  You leaned your head over her, kissing her lips, being instantly reciprocated by her, lightly biting her lower lip, drawing a moan from her and allowing your tongue to explore every corner of Mashiro's mouth.

“Oppa.” A thread of saliva separated your mouth from Mashiro's. “I need an orgasm.”

You smiled, recovering the vibrator lost in some corner of the bed, activating it again, this time with more power making the girl's body tremble.

“OH FUCK!” Squeals and moans came non-stop from the idol's mouth as you rubbed the toy again and again over her weak area.

You alternated the vibrator with the caresses that you provided with your hands. You lay down on the bed next to Mashiro without stopping masturbating her, she quickly took your cock again with one of her hands and now you were both pleasuring each other.

You inserted two of your fingers inside her completely tight pussy, stretching it slightly feeling her walls contract against your fingers. The girl's hips moved unconsciously as the moans did not stop and her grip on your cock tightened.

You then stroked her clit with your thumb, which was like touching the self-destruct button on Mashiro's body. You touched and pressed her clit as much as you could until her back arched again and a huge scream escaped her mouth.

Her body hit the mattress again, her chest rising and falling excitedly. It took her a few seconds to catch her breath and recover from that orgasm, she turned to look at you and you quickly wiped away some tears that were now flowing from her eyes with your hand.

“God…you're better than any toy, oppa.” Despite continuing to pant, her smile was wide, she laughed at herself for the situation she found herself in.

You laughed, also flattered but somewhat embarrassed by her comment. You tried to get up to get out of bed but Mashiro immediately stopped you and forced you to lie down, surprising you with her sudden reaction.

“Wait, you're not done yet.” She said and then you looked down at your penis.

“Please let me help you, oppa.” Mashiro demanded in distress, because she had been able to free herself thanks to your touch and you, on the other hand, were still hard.

How were you going to refuse that, you thought, lowering the clothes that covered your lower area to your ankles, leaving your member in full view. Mashiro was stunned to see it like that.

“It's even bigger…” She whispered, wrapping her hand around it again, beginning to cover it completely and therefore starting the massage.

You let out a moan and bit your lip. Under normal conditions it would take you long enough to cum to get a long treatment, but the hard work of these last few days had taken its toll on you too. You hadn't downloaded for days, even weeks, and none of the Iz*One girls had crossed your path during this time, so you and your friend were especially sensitive at the moment.

That Mashiro was inexperienced was obvious, not only because she had confessed to being a virgin, it was obvious that it was the first time she had masturbated someone.

She did it delicately but nervously, her hand trembled on your cock, so you decided to help her, placing one of your hands on hers, guiding her on top of you. This helped her to calm down and gain confidence, copying the rhythm that you were setting.

You moved your hand away once you saw her more prepared and in response to that she wrapped her other hand around your penis as well.

Now both of the girl's hands were working on your erect dick, covering the entire length between them, with slow and delicate movements that made you shudder.

Your moans began to get uncontrolled due to her touch, giving her more and more encouragement and causing the pace of masturbation to increase.

Her two hands worked now at high speed on your penis, with enveloping movements, noticing how it swelled and began to tremble.

“Shit...Mashiro-chan I'm about to...” You couldn't finish the warning when the first shot was propelled upwards, surprising the girl by seeing that white liquid escape from the tip of your penis.

After the first, the rest of the shots followed, progressively decreasing the intensity with each one until finally there was not a single drop left inside you.

Mashiro's hands raised the skin of your penis one last time, observing the brilliance that the tip of your penis now offered. Finally she let you go and you were able to sit up on the bed, seeing the mess that had formed on your abdomen, now covered in your own sperm.

You diverted your gaze towards Mashiro whose eyes did not stop observing that increasingly sticky area.

You moved your hand towards it, taking some of the sperm with your fingers and looked back at the girl, who now looked back at you.

"Do you want to try it?" You asked, smiling sideways, sneaking into her thoughts. She did not utter a word due to shyness and embarrassment but nodded affirmatively.

You brought your fingers closer to her face and she closed her eyes, opening her mouth, allowing you to insert them inside, licking and tasting your seed. Her tongue moved between your fingers, wetting them but absorbing all the liquid they were impregnated with.

She opened her mouth again for you to remove your fingers and you looked at each other.

"It is...you are...you taste delicious..." She admitted self-consciously but happy and satisfied. “C-C-Can I take some more?”

A few seconds later you had Mashiro leaning over you licking all the remains of sperm that were on your abdomen and thighs. That was making you hard again but you knew you had a line that you must not to cross.

The idol's tongue cleaned you completely, savoring every last bit of liquid she could get, repeating to herself how delicious it tasted. Once she was over with you, you left the room for a moment to go to the bathroom, cleaning yourself and put your clothes back on properly, when you returned Mashiro was also dressed.

You inserted the vibrator into the cardboard box, camouflaged between several layers of clothing, and took it into your arms, despite the girl's insistence that she could carry the box.

You went down together to the street, parked there was one of Mashiro's new group's cars waiting to pick her up.

"Thanks for everything, manager oppa." Mashiro smiled sweetly at you.

"Keep this between us, okay?" She nodded briskly heading to the car, turning around before opening the door.

"I'll think about you the next time." Those words caught you off guard, making you blush.

You watched as the car disappeared into the distance of the street, blending into the traffic. You sighed and walked back up the stairs to the apartment, there was still a lot to clean.

Just when you were about to grab the broom again the phone in your pocket started ringing, you picked up after reading the name of the caller and brought it to your ear.

“Finally, I only had to call you 7 times to get a callback.” You heard a sleepy yawn from the other side.

“I've been non-stop for months, many performances, shootings, ceremony awards, and exhausting trips, you know. I deserved a good restful sleep…of 14 hours.”

“Of course, we must keep the star Ahn Yujin in good condition.” Your laughter dissipated as you took a more serious tone. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah, I know. See you in like 1 hour? I will send you the location.”

“Sure, see you.”

You hung up the call and heaved a long sigh, rushing to get all the work done. You had a date in an hour.

[chimivx]

“…i want you, bless my soul…”

Four months.

You met him on your first day in your first class, your professor the agitated type, the kind that gave you piles of homework with every lesson. He sat beside you, slipping into his chair right before the syllabus slid onto the table in front of you.

Dark hair cut short in the back lived a little more free in the front, on the top, growing into a messier, curlier mop as the weeks drew by, on and on. Tall, broad, and most definitely strong as hell, he was gorgeous. There simply wasn’t any other word for it, he walked into class every week with his golden skin aglow no matter where the sun lived in the sky. You’d be lying if you said your stomach didn’t twist in knots watching his wide eyes scan the room, standing there near the doorway in a white t-shirt and dark blue denim jeans clasped to his waist with a leather belt.

What in the fucking Calvin Klein ad just walked in here?

Don’t sit next to me, don’t sit next to me, please don’t-

He wore Dior Sauvage, just enough of it to charm your eyes in his direction, the two of your glances meeting for only a few seconds, yet long enough to know that this was going to be a long semester.

After that first week, that first class, he showed up on time, sometimes even earlier than you, and sure enough he’d be in that seat and he’d offer you the tiniest smile while he pushed in his chair to let you pass behind him.

Did he own any clothes that fit?

It felt like every week he’d have on a new shirt that clung to him like seran wrap, every little chiseled sculpted by Michaelangelo notch in his body, his chest, completely and utterly visible. As if he didn’t know it, more than enough time in class he’d spend with his hands behind his head, his biceps tightening in his sleeves, bulging beneath the fabric that you waited to see rip.

Too often you’d have to tear your eyes away, too lost in wonder as to what kind of marvel sat beside you. Six foot something, perfectly built, not only did his appearance alone catch you off guard, but his ability to be so gentle. A smiley, sappy giant full of tooth rotting sweetness. Each raise of his hand, how he toyed with his pen between his firm fingers, the way he’d listen to other people speak — his eyebrows pulling up in the center, his eyes widening with wonder. He’d keep to his space, never once invading yours. Respectful, he knew to say hello, goodbye, would ask you quiet questions, like what page number you were on, and he’d give you thanks into oblivion.

It wasn’t until a month or so had passed that you realized it. One morning you stood in front of the mirror for too long, put a little too much effort into your makeup, into your hair. Spritzing a bottle of perfume to your wrist that you saved for special occasions, when the glass tapped back onto the shelf and you dabbed your wrists together, you gasped.

Damn.

Swapping the lacey sweater for something more casual, you know, for class, you pulled half of your hair up and back, letting some of it hang forward, praying to anyone who’d help that it didn’t look like you woke up before your alarm to get ready for a class you half cared about.

He noticed.

He sat down, walking in a few minutes after you, and his eyes lingered in your direction. Not that you could tell, nor were you paying attention, you were sitting backward in your chair with your nose in your phone. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t good at being nonchalant like you’d been for nearly two months now.

Besides, it didn’t work. He didn’t say a word the entire class, only his hello and his goodbye.

It didn’t upset you. That’s what you told yourself, the lies you fed your brain to pretend to feel better. It didn’t upset you, he was a boy in a class you didn’t see anywhere else on campus. He probably had a girlfriend. Look at him, listen to him, he definitely has a girlfriend.

By the next class you were back to the usual, the snoozed my alarm twice before getting up in a rush, a hoodie and baggy jeans. Hair thrown up, makeup minimal, you accepted your fate.

You weren’t expecting him to be in the room first, you’ve narrowed down his time frame of entry, typically within ten minutes of the lecture starting depending on when you’d arrive. He was five minutes too early. Giving him the tightest smile, you shimmied behind his chair and mimicked his greeting, shoving yourself into your seat, not prepared for fifteen minutes of silence with him beside you.

Nose in phone, nose in phone.

It was all you could do to keep from gawking, for some reason he was fresher than normal. Black t-shirt, denim jacket on the back of his chair, silver jewelry hanging off of him. He wore a different cologne, one you couldn’t pick out, but god it was delicious you wanted to lick it straight off his neck. He definitely sprayed it to his wrists too, typical, you could lick it off of him there too, why not. Maybe even his chest. No- anything beneath that shirt that should be squeezing the air out of his lungs was lethal, how was every muscle visible? How could he walk around like that, he had to know that-

“Did you do the homework?”

Great.

You didn’t dress yourself up to keep the giddy high school level crush on the DL, but the way you jumped at his words and your cheeks warmed definitely helped. And, yes, you were staring.

“I, uh, yeah, I did.”

If he noticed anything, he didn’t show it.

“Mind if I see it to make sure I got it right? You’re better at this than I am.”

Juvenile, all of it, from the way he checked his answers to the way he slid your notebook back over to you with a shake of his head. Nothing else was shared, the class had begun and he focused on your irritating professor who assigned similar homework for the third week in a row.

Holding onto the way he spoke to you, the soft tone, the warmth in his eyes, the subtle graveliness he forced but then got rid of when he answered questions aloud, you truly felt seventeen years old all over again.

He asked you a question.

He talked to you.

Did he spend more time on how he looked for you?

No, it’s for his girlfriend. The one he definitely has.

The girlfriend that he-

“Whatever perfume you had on last week… I liked it.”

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t wait around for you to say anything. He scooped his books into his arms, and he walked out of the classroom, leaving you in absolute shambles. Nerves lived within you for a week, so many nights spent lying awake thinking about him, what he said to you, what you were going to do. If you wear the perfume again you’re setting yourself up for exposure, you may as well just tell him you have a crush on him to his face. But, then again, if you didn’t wear it, you’d lose his interest. He wouldn’t think you had an interest in him, and what if he told you that because he does have an interest in you?

Oh god.

What if he knows?

You wore the perfume. One spritz of it over your heart before you left your room, enough that he’d just be able to tell if he paid as much attention as he suddenly seemed to be.

Early again, beating you to a class you tried to get to even earlier today, you did not miss the small smile that pulled at his lips as you slipped behind his chair. It was the only thing shared all class, a smile somewhere in between lessons when he caught your eye. He had that same cologne on, the one from last week, the one that had you envisioning what it’d be like to have your tongue dragging all over his body, it was hard to not look at him.

Oh, he definitely knew.

And so it began.

For another month, perfume and cologne alike, worn every class, you started to share more than smiles. He’d lean your way for questions and answers, would ask about the homework, the assignments, sometimes when he didn’t even need it, asking for an answer he already had scribbled on his paper. Fighting the nerves, the way your belly filled with butterflies and did cartwheels within you, you started to share more than just classroom talk. While you worked you chatted, you learned where he was from, where he came from, where you came from and why you both were here.

He was funny.

Funny in the way he didn’t know he was funny, oftentimes asking you what he did to make you laugh like that. You’d cover your mouth and pray the giggles away, unable to tell him how adorable he really was.

He filled every shoe you profiled him with. Kind, sweet, funny, gentle giant.

Chiseled chest his cologne, the one you loved, radiated from.

But you didn’t figure that out until the following month.

Month four.

Four months was all it took, and he was yours.

Class whispers turned into coffee dates. Coffee dates turned into homework dates, which turned into dinner dates.

By the end of the third you were wrapped in his sheets, wrapped in him, cologne on your tongue and lips pressed to his, whispering confessions of how long you liked each other but both felt too nervous to say anything. Reveling in pride, that you weren’t as obvious as you thought yourself to be, his sparkling grin overtook his face and he whispered two words that cradled your heart.

“I knew.”

[caitified]

could you write something where cc takes her daughter to post game media and is just like constantly babbling into the mic and just being cute with cc? 🩷🩷🩷

post match

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:none! i already had this concept done so this was perfect. thanks for all the family requests🩷

the soft hum of excitement filled the media room as caitlin stepped up to the podium, still slightly flushed from the fever’s latest victory. this wasn’t just another media session, though. tucked against her hip, wearing a miniature version of caitlin’s fever jersey, was bella, your one-year-old daughter.

from your spot near the back of the room, you couldn’t stop smiling. bella had insisted on “going with mama” after the game, her chubby hands reaching up for caitlin until she gave in. caitlin had always been a sucker for bella’s big eyes and determined little pout, and you loved her even more for it.

“alright,” caitlin started, adjusting bella on her lap as she settled in behind the microphone. “let’s get started.”

before the first question could even be asked, bella let out an excited babble, her tiny hands reaching for the microphone.

“oh, you’ve got something to say?” caitlin teased, holding the mic closer to bella.

“ba! ba-da-da!” bella exclaimed, her voice amplified across the room. the reporters chuckled, a few snapping pictures of the sweet moment.

“i think she’s breaking down the pick-and-roll for you guys,” caitlin joked, glancing over at you with a grin. your heart melted watching her balance being a professional athlete and an amazing mom all at once.

the questions finally began, but bella wasn’t interested in sharing the spotlight. every time caitlin answered, bella would chime in with her own babbling commentary.

“yeah, we really focused on improving our defense this week—”

“da-da-da!”

“—and it paid off tonight. right, bella?” caitlin asked, her tone amused.

bella clapped her hands, clearly proud of herself, and leaned forward to grab the microphone again. “go! go!” she shouted, causing another wave of laughter.

from the back of the room, you watched the whole scene unfold with pure adoration. caitlin’s face lit up every time bella babbled, and you could tell she wasn’t the least bit bothered by her daughter’s interruptions. if anything, she seemed to love it, letting bella’s antics steal the show.

finally, one of the reporters asked, “caitlin, how does it feel to share moments like this with your daughter?”

caitlin looked over at you, her eyes softening. “honestly? it’s the best part of all of this. basketball is great, and i love it, but moments like these—being with my family—they’re what make it all worth it.”

bella, as if sensing the sentimentality, patted caitlin’s cheek and then leaned toward the mic once more. “mama!”

the room erupted in laughter, and caitlin let out a playful sigh. “and i guess that’s bella’s way of saying we’re done here. thanks, everyone.”

as caitlin stood and made her way toward you, bella’s tiny hand reached out in your direction. “mama,” she said again, this time looking at you.

“she’s definitely a natural entertainer,” you teased as caitlin handed bella over to you.

“just like her other mom,” caitlin replied, pressing a kiss to your temple before ruffling bella’s hair.

you laughed, watching as bella turned to wave at the departing reporters, still babbling happily. if this was life with caitlin and bella, you wouldn’t change a thing.

[short-honey-badger]

Think about it

Pairings: Shanks x Female Reader

Minishot Masterlist

Usually, the navy stood little chance against the Red-Haired Pirates, but today seemed to be full of bad luck. Already, Shanks had woken up late, which had pissed his wife off since he'd promised to be up early to spend some with her. You’d given him the cold shoulder since he’d woken up, leaving whenever he got near or pretending that you couldn’t hear him. By mid evening, Shanks had been fed up with just about everything when the navy had attacked them.

It wasn’t just anyone either, but Fujitora and his crew of powerful marines who could give the pirates a run for their money. The blind admiral usually wouldn’t have attacked them, preferring to save his crew from the wrath that Shanks could be known for, but it wasn’t just him. Fleet Admiral Sakazuki was with them as well, and he had ordered the attack the second he realized that Shanks was on the same island as they were.

Shanks knew that you could take care of yourself. You wouldn’t have made it so long on his crew if that hadn't been the case, Shanks’ love for you notwithstanding. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t worry about his wife during the battle. He was currently locked in a match with Akainu and couldn’t turn his attention away from the magma devil fruit user, not when the man didn’t care if the civilians around them stayed out of the way or not. Shanks knew that the quickest way for this battle to end was for he and his crew to get the hell out of dodge before the navy could call in for reinforcments.

He pulsed his haki, a signal for his crew to get back to the ship. Shanks blocked a hit from Sakazuki, his armament haki covering his sword, but that didn’t stop the splash of magma from raining down around him. He grit his teeth and pushed back against the Fleet Admiral, sending the older man flying back. Shanks turned and made his escape, jumping from rooftop to rooftop until he made it to the docks.

“Let’s go, people!” Shanks called and watched as he crew loaded up into the ship and got it ready to set sail. He followed what he thought was the last to board and stood at the edge of the ship as he watched the marines scramble to follow his crew. There are a few stragglers, and Shanks counted heads only to come up one short. He whipped around, recounting as fast as he could once more.

“Where’s my wife!?” the captain demanded when he caught sight of Benn. His first mate frowned and looked back towards the burning town. Shanks turned to stare as well, fear eating at his chest as he thought of the worst-case scenario. Sakazuki would stick his darling wife so far down Impel Down that Shanks would have to raise the entire prison to get her out.

It was then that he felt his wife’s haki pulse through the town, and he jumped from the ship, running as fast as he could back through the town to get to you. He finds his wife facing off with Fujitora and lunges forward, blocking the Admiral’s sword with his own just in time.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” you snapped, and Shanks smiled a grin so feral that several marines behind Fujitora felt uneasy. You stared at your husband’s back, heart swimming with relief at the sight of him despite your anger at him from this morning.

“You know I’d never leave you behind, baby,” He cooed and had the audacity to turn his head and wink down at you. His wife delivers him an impressive scowl and picks herself back up, making a show of dusting off her backside. He pushes Fujitora back in a similar way he had Akainu and then swiftly turns to scoop you up in his arm and hold you close. You wrap your legs around him as he abandons the fight and races back to the ship.

“Does this mean you forgive me for sleeping in?” he quips, and you can’t help but laugh and clutch him tighter as he jumps from the docks and lands on the deck of the ship. You garb his cheeks and tug him in for a quick kiss before pulling away.

“I’ll think about it.”

[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. 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 weeks 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 sequined 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.

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 yanking 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,” she said, but there was no real bite in her voice.

“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, and for a moment, the tension between them didn’t feel so heavy.

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.

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 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 unhurried. 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 to 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.

You’ve made it pretty damn clear you’d rather be anywhere else than here.

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.

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

He smirked, slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly 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 to 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 said, 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. “Excuse me?”

“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.

“Noted,” 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?” Sarah asked, eyebrows raised.

“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’s not wine,” he muttered.

“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,” she mumbled, slouching further into the chair.

“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.” he said, his voice 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. “What?”

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,” he said, his voice low but 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, nothing that resisted 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 widen—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.

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [ii]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Tara mistakenly puts herself in a relationship she thought would be full of love.

word count: 1822

warnings: (Tara's POV), mentions of abuse, violence, angst, swearing

a/n: ok hi guys this is mostly Tara's POV and won't really be focusing btwn her and r's relationship. the next part would probably be the last one too but im always up on doing head canons for this pic. anyways apologies for any inaccuracy for this part, if ya'll have any feedback or suggestions feel free to dm me or send anonymously.

part [i] |

Tara never meant for any of this to happen.

She first met Amber a year ago, at a party that invited everyone from both Blackmore and Woodsboro High. Tara went with you at first, but you quickly got caught up in the chaos of the event, drinking with friends to drown your frustrations over the rivalry, leaving Tara to wander through the crowd alone.

Tara glanced around the room, feeling a bit out of place without you. It was her first real taste of a high school party, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You were missing. Some were celebrating—laughing, dancing, and basking in the glory of their win over Blackmore—while others attended this party just for an excuse to get drunk, but Tara wasn’t feeling the same rush. That was when she noticed Amber standing off to the side, holding a drink and watching the crowd with a knowing smile.

Amber had been a wild card that night. No one expected her to show up, least of all Tara. But Amber’s reputation preceded her—everyone knew she was sharp, calculated, and, most importantly, she knew how to play the game. She wasn’t just there to celebrate; she was there to get ahead.

Tara’s initial impression of Amber was a mix of admiration and curiosity. Amber seemed to hold herself in a way that suggested she knew something no one else did. And that intrigued Tara, even if she couldn’t quite explain why.

As Tara wandered away from the chaotic center of the party, she ended up near Amber. The two of them started talking, mostly small talk at first—what they were doing after high school, the thrill of their victory, and the peculiar tension between Woodsboro and Blackmore. Tara found herself drawn to Amber’s cool confidence, the way she seemed to have everything under control.

But what started as a simple conversation slowly shifted into something deeper. Amber had a way of making Tara feel like she was the only one in the room, even when there were dozens of people around. Tara’s mind kept drifting back to the feeling Amber gave her: like maybe she could be something more, something beyond the quiet girl who never quite fit in.

And so, things began to unravel.

Tara never meant for it to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, just a casual connection. But somewhere along the way, Amber made it clear that she wasn’t just interested in Tara’s company—she had a plan, and Tara was a part of it. Tara hadn’t realized how deep Amber’s intentions went until it was already too late. Now, Tara was left to figure out how she’d let herself be pulled into something so complicated—something that, in hindsight, was far more than just a meeting between two people at a party.

Everything was bliss when Tara and Amber started dating. She was kind, gentle, and attentive—the kind of person who made Tara feel understood and like the most important person in the world. It felt like a dream. Amber would send her thoughtful texts, surprise her with little gifts, and always knew how to make her laugh. Tara felt safe, seen, and loved in a way she hadn’t before.

But as time went on, Amber’s true colors started to surface—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first.

It started with small criticisms. At first, they were disguised as concern, little comments about Tara’s appearance or habits that Amber claimed were meant to help her. "You know, if you ate healthier, maybe you wouldn't feel so tired all the time." Or, "I don’t think that outfit is really doing you any favors." Tara tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just Amber wanting her to be her best. But the comments grew sharper, more frequent.

"You always mess things up," Amber would say when Tara made a mistake, like forgetting to pick up groceries or missing a text. "Why can’t you ever get anything right?" Her tone wasn’t playful anymore. It was condescending, even cruel. Tara began to feel like she couldn’t do anything without Amber pointing out what she’d done wrong.

The verbal jabs escalated when Amber started to get possessive. At first, Tara thought it was just a sign of how much Amber cared. But Amber's jealousy started to feel suffocating. She'd ask Tara where she was going, who she was with, and why she didn’t tell her first. "You don't really need to hang out with them, do you?" Amber would ask, her voice dripping with insinuation. It would have been even worse if she had hung out with you. It was as if you were Amber's breaking point. "They don’t even care about you like I do." "I’m better than them; why are you still hanging out with them?"

Tara found herself apologizing constantly—for things she didn’t even understand; she would say sorry just to voice the tension. 

It was always the same cycle: Amber would get irritated for no reason, her voice would grow cold and sharp just to insult Tara. "You always do this; you always make everything more difficult than it has to be. Why can’t you just do things right?". The next day, Amber would be apologetic, trying to console Tara, making her forget everything that happened the day before. She said all the right things, but Tara couldn’t ignore the knot of anxiety that lingered in her chest. She had a way of twisting everything, making Tara feel like she was always in the wrong, walking on eggshells.

And soon, the emotional abuse turned into physical fights. One day, Tara had dinner plans with Mindy when Amber confronted her again, "You always do this," she snapped. "You always choose them over me." Her voice was cold, venomous.

Tara tried to explain, but Amber wasn’t hearing it. "You think you can just leave whenever you want? No, you’re not going anywhere." Before Tara could react, Amber grabbed her by the arm—tightly, her fingers digging into Tara’s skin. "You’re hurting me, Amber; let me go!" Tara shouted, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened. She twisted Tara’s arm painfully, forcing her to sit down.

Tara’s heart was racing. She didn’t recognize this version of Amber—this wasn’t the woman she had fallen in love with. The love they once shared felt like a distant memory, replaced with anger, control, and fear. Tara was terrified, but she didn’t know how to escape. Before the day ended, Tara made up an excuse to Mindy that she couldn’t make it. She thought about her friends. Chad, Mindy, You. How will she be able to explain herself? She’s embarrassed and ashamed of herself if she were to ever face either of you. 

There was once when Amber picked up Tara from school when she saw her talking to you, both of you giggling like lovestruck teenagers, like you were in love with each other. And Amber simply couldn’t have that. Once both of them got back to Amber’s house, she gripped Tara’s arm, demanding an explanation. "So you’re just whoring around your school with someone else? Especially them? You’re just a slut, aren’t you?" Amber seethed, her nails digging into Tara’s skin, leaving another mark on her skin. Tara stood there, tears streaming down her face, knowing no matter what she said, it would be dismissed, twisted, or ignored. "You’re mine, Tara. I’m not letting you go anywhere," were the last words she heard before being shoved down the stairs, undoubtedly leaving bruises all over her body. She knew the next day Amber would whisper apologies, giving her kisses and hugging her in an attempt to make her forget.

Tara began pulling away, distancing herself from you, from Chad, from Mindy, from Anika—everyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t care anymore, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Amber’s wrath falling on them, especially you. She couldn’t risk you getting hurt because of her, couldn’t risk Amber turning her anger on the people she loved. The more Tara tried to protect her friends, the more she isolated herself.

Every moment felt like a calculation; every text, every phone call, every plan made without Amber’s approval felt like a risk. Tara started to feel like a prisoner in her own life, like Amber was always there—watching, waiting for her to slip up, to make a mistake.

Amber had a way of making her feel like she was constantly under surveillance, always one misstep away from an explosion. Tara couldn’t shake the feeling that Amber was breathing down her neck, that every time she laughed too loudly with a friend or spent too much time away from her, Amber would find out. And when Amber found out, the consequences would be brutal. Tara had learned that the hard way.

It was like living in a constant state of fear. Tara’s heart would race whenever she saw a message from you or heard from one of her friends. She hated that it had come to this—that Amber’s control over her had stretched so far that she couldn’t even speak freely without worrying about the fallout.

But more than anything, she hated that the woman she loved, the woman she had trusted, had become someone she feared. Every day, she woke up wondering how much longer she could live like this. How much longer until Amber's control over her—and over everyone she cared about—was too much to bear?

Amber’s behavior spiraled even further. The emotional abuse had crossed into physical violence, and Tara was left unsure of where it would go next. Amber would apologize, beg for forgiveness, and then turn around and hurt her again. Tara began to feel like she was losing herself. She was afraid of what might happen if she tried to leave, afraid of what Amber might do. 

Though she would still post pictures of them together, of them being in a happy relationship for people to see online, the reality was far different. Behind the carefully staged photos, the smiles seemed forced, the laughter hollow. She knew the posts didn’t reflect the late-night arguments or the hidden marks on Tara’s body. Yet, there was comfort in the illusion, in maintaining a facade that everyone else admired. It was easier to keep up the pretense than to confront the discomfort of what was really happening—of the slow unraveling that no one could see. The attention, the validation from likes and comments, provided a temporary sense of relief, a distraction from the gnawing uncertainty she felt every time she looked at Amber when the camera was off. It became a blurred line for Tara to interpret what was the reality and the sick image she created of her and Amber online. 

But one thing was clear: this wasn’t love anymore. And Tara didn’t know how much longer she could stay in a relationship that was slowly suffocating her.

-----------------------------

a/n: next update might be awhile bc exam season is coming up and im a chill girl that needs to rest so you'll probably hear from me in like 2-3 weeks :p

[jakeroo123]

Thank you to everyone who voted! This kind of... blew up way more than I expected it to. As promised, here are the answers and the episodes in which everything occurred.

Firstly, I'm going to reveal the status of the winning option, which was "Pikachu devolves into Pichu and becomes a literal Pocket Monster.": It is real, that actually happens, and I will give more context below.

Second, the trick behind the quiz is that all of the weirdness is real. Everything strange or impossible actually happened. For the actual answer, I simply changed the context around said weirdness. In this case, I swapped out one running gag for a very similar one.

Which means the correct answer is...

Brock falls in love with an old lady who uses ninja magic to look young.

While the old lady who uses ninja magic to look young is indeed real, first appearing in XY099, The Legend of the Ninja Hero!, Brock hadn't been part of the main cast and had not physically appeared alongside Ash for two hundred and forty episodes by then. Instead, it was Bonnie who did her whole "you're a keeper" thing.

Thoughts:

A few people did figure out that Brock not being in XY was the key to the whole thing. I was really surprised at how many people voted for Pichu the literal Pocket Monster, though, I thought that one was better known. It does break the established rules, yes, but there was an exception that allowed for it to happen! I will explain it in the context section.

Team Rocket winning was another popular choice. That option was included because it was just too funny not to include, I expected most people knew that one was real. Kudos to anyone who voted it solely because it was funny!

Out of all of them, the option that lasted the longest with zero votes was Ash getting turned into a Pikachu, which managed to last the entire first day with no one voting it. I expected people to know this one was real, but it's a shoo-in as far as lists of weird stuff in this show is concerned.

The Misty vampire hunting gear was a last-minute addition. I originally had something else there, about Ash entering the dreams of an unhatched egg and seeing its memories with no explanation, but I deleted it once I confirmed that I misremembered it. The egg had already hatched by the time that happened. I mean, there was a completely separate instance where an unhatched egg talked to him, so maybe that was where my confusion came from.

I mentioned in a reblog there was one I slightly misremembered and so stretched definitions a little, that one was "Ash, Pikachu, and Team Rocket help some aliens fix their crashed spaceship.". While you could describe Team Rocket as "helping", it wasn't quite willingly, and so I wouldn't have worded it the way I did had I remembered that detail.

Screenshots, episode numbers, and context below the cut!

Pikachu devolves into Pichu and becomes a literal Pocket Monster.

JN090, Showdown at the Gates of Warp!

Dialga's powers caused time to reverse, which in turn caused Pikachu to devolve back into Pichu. Ash puts him in his pocket to carry him, making him a literal "Pocket Monster". Interesting note, Ash never actually refers to him as "Pichu" during this time.

On his way to school, Ash somehow ends up in a parallel universe instead.

SM100, Battling the Beast Within!

Weirdly enough, this didn't actually happen because of an Ultra Wormhole, Ash just met Tapu Koko on the way to school, challenged it to a battle, and then Tapu Koko opened a rift with the help from the parallel universe's Tapu Koko. This was actually the first half of a two-parter, Ash only makes it home at the end of the next episode and it turns out that no time has passed.

Pikachu, Meowth, Piplup, and Croagunk pilot a spaceship for evil Togepi.

DP142, Where No Togepi Has Gone Before!

... Just watch the episode.

Pikachu nearly catches Meowth as his first Pokémon.

XY079, A Frenzied Factory Fiasco!

Meowth got a hold of Pikachu's Poké Ball while in a Poké Ball factory, and keeps trying to return him to it. At one point, Pikachu hits an empty Luxury Ball at Meowth with his tail to stop this. Meowth is very annoyed at how Pikachu nearly caught him once he breaks out of the ball. Pikachu even says "Pi-Pikachu!" (roughly "Gotta Catch 'Em All!"), the same thing he says when Ash catches a Pokémon.

May and Meowth bring a man back from the dead with a time-traveling locket.

AG157, Time Warp Heals All Wounds

The locket sent them back in time, and they change the past so that the locket's owner's husband doesn't die in an accident by preventing him from boarding a train. No, I do not know why the locket can do that. No Pokémon did this, it just happened. And then May's Eevee hatched at the end of the episode.

Ash gets turned into a Pikachu by a witch's magic potion.

EP241, Hocus Pokémon

It was actually supposed to be a spell that let him read the minds of Pokémon temporarily, but it went wrong and he turned into a Pikachu instead. Ash freaks out until he learns that it's temporary, at which point he decides to just have fun and play. It wore off at the start of the next episode.

Misty brings vampire hunting gear to a ghost fight.

EP020, The Ghost of Maiden's Peak

I don't really know why she did this either. Everyone else, including the talking Gastly that she brought the gear to fight against, was also very confused about this.

Ash and Goh have a rap battle that results in a golden pot of noodle curry.

JN097, An Evolution in Taste!

In hindsight, my description makes this episode sound much more normal than it actually is. I should have, instead of mentioning the rap battle, mentioned the fact that the noodles and curry start out separate and do a fusion dance with glowing and morphing and everything to become a giant golden pot of noodle curry.

Ash and Pikachu die and comes back to life by possessing their own corpses.

EP023, The Tower of Terror

I'm not sure they actually died, it was really unclear, but that's how I mostly see people describe this. Their spirits were definitely separated from their bodies for a good while after they got crushed by a chandelier.

Ash, Pikachu, and Team Rocket help some aliens fix their crashed spaceship.

BW133, Capacia Island UFO!

The Beheeyem are actual aliens, and, well, they crash landed. They hypnotized everyone on the island to help look for the missing part of their UFO, though due to being idiots Jessie, James, and Ash were immune to the hypnosis (Pikachu wasn't but Ash snapped him out of it). Ash agrees to help, and... well, Team Rocket didn't agree, exactly, but they were the ones who found the missing power source.

Ash actually loses a Pokémon battle to Team Rocket.

SM012, The Sun, the Scare, the Secret Lair!

After catching Mimikyu and Mareanie, respectively, Jessie and James actually manage to beat Ash's entire current team for the first time ever. And then Bewear jumps out of the water and takes them home before they're actually able to do anything with the victory.

Which of these didn't happen in Pokémon the Series?

So, this is an idea I had based on seeing someone do one for a different show a while back. Out of all of the options in this poll, eleven are real things that have happened over the course of Pokémon the Series during Ash and Pikachu's stints as protagonists. One of these is fake, and I want to see how many people can figure out which one! Or who are big enough nerds to have watched everything and know which one isn't real.

[snowball-doie]

୨୧ Poly!7Dream x Jisung ୨୧

| pairing: Poly!7Dream x sub!Jisung x Dom!gn!Reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. NSFW link. Orgy activities. MLM behavior. Corruption kink. Bondage. Nipple play. Forced orgasms. Overstimulation. Two instances of tickling (I’m personally not into tickling, but it was applicable here…… This won’t be a common thing in my fics tho).

| words: 3.6k

| aurora's note: squad, this was supposed to be about 500 words max......... idk what happened........... for my followers, this goes into the sooah au... for those who are new, welcome lmao <3

"You can hold my hand, baby, it's okay."

Jisung could be frustrating from time to time. His dedication to his job made it difficult to find free time where all seven boys and yourself were available to hang out and spend quality time together. The boys were always so busy... Mark and Haechan were out of the country more often than not, and with 127 schedules going on the back burner, the Dreamies were so busy that they were hardly home with you anymore, and that sucked-- It hurt, and they all knew that. When they were home, they tried to make the most of it, showering you with love and attention so that you had enough love in your heart and good memories to last until the next time they'd be able to hang out with you. But Jisung... He was pressuring himself too much again, constantly practicing around the house, going to the office on free days for extra help from his vocal coach or his choreographer, and he was at the office before the boys' schedules then stayed late past their schedules. You hated that. It felt like he was choosing to work instead of being with you and the boys, because he was going out of his way to work and rehearse instead of taking a break to relax in your arms or playing video games with Haechan.

“He’s been at it for two hours,” Jeno complained, wiping his palms over his face as he sighs. “How’s he not exhausted yet?”

The boys had practice starting in the morning, so of course Jisung headed out early, and they finished practice around 6PM, but Jisung stayed until 8PM when his choreographer finally sent him home… At which point Jisung continued practicing in the free room at the end of the hall. That had been his schedule for the past three days straight. The boys were sick of it. You were sick of it. While the seven of you were watching movies and tv shows together in the living room, Jisung was always upstairs, playing the same chorus over and over and over again—

“I’m going insane! Can we just tie him down or something so he finally fucking rests?” Haechan said, annoyed.

Even though he had been joking, it wasn’t a bad idea. Jeno perked up first because he was the one who was most eager to get Jisung to stop, and once he started looking around silently for back up, Mark and Haechan moved too, then Jaemin was at Jeno’s side. Chenle groaned as he stretched and mumbled, “Finally,” before pushing himself to his feet. The last two to give in were you and Renjun. The other boys’ reassurance to you were smiles they tossed in your direction as Chenle swung his arm over Renjun’s shoulder and started dragging him along upstairs while they conversed quietly in Chinese.

“I got the ropes,” Jaemin said.

“Grab the gag too,” Haechan commented quickly, just before Jaemin dove into his bedroom. “I’m sick of hearing him yap all night ‘cause he’s still wired with energy when we’re all exhausted…”

On your way to the extra room that had turned into a temporary practice room for Jisung, Jaemin gathered the materials needed for the night. Mark pocketed his phone as you all gathered outside of the door. He told the boys that he pulled a few strings so their practice the following day was delayed until after lunch, meaning they could have their fun and sleep in without worrying about any consequences.

“And this is why we love you, hyung,” Haechan teased. He wrapped his arms around Mark’s neck then started hanging off him. “What’s the plan?”

“I can distract him,” you offered.

“I can grab him,” Jaemin said, passing the ropes to Jeno.

As Jeno accepted the ropes, he contributed with, “I’ll tie him up.”

“And then what?” Renjun questioned.

“We tire him out,” Chenle replied with a grin.

With a series of nods from everyone standing in the hallway, you pushed the practice room door open to reveal the loud music Jisung was dancing to-- From downstairs, all you could hear was the obnoxious bass and the thumping of his footsteps, but the second you were in the room with him, the full force of how loud he was actually blasting the music suddenly hit you like a slap in the face. Once Jisung noticed you, however, immediately rushed to pause the music. His face was flushed from overworking himself all day. Sweat dripped from his dark hair, his glasses were all fogged up, and he was panting through his plump, swollen lips.

"Sorry, was I too loud?" he asked.

Well, the answer was yes, but that didn't matter so much with the boys anxiously waiting outside for their moment to jump him. So you shook your head and approached him. His blue hoodie was soaked in sweat, and his black gym shorts were barely clinging to his hips; you figured the safest place to touch him was his bare waist which wasn't too sweaty.

You shook your head. "No... I just missed you today... Wanted to hang out with you for a bit." When your cold hands made contact with his warm skin, Jisung hissed under his breath before gulping down his reactions. "Did you miss me?"

He nodded.

"You sure?"

He pouted and nodded some more. "I'm just really busy right now, I don't really have time to stop and--"

"And hang out with your partners?"

Jisung fell silent.

"It's okay," you cheered him up with a smile.

Jisung's eyes met yours again, giving you the perfect opportunity to kiss him passionately, your hands still glued to his hips so that he couldn't escape. He teased you by biting your lip. In return, you chuckled and started unzipping his sweaty hoodie to remove it from his body, which he surprisingly didn't protest to even though he was very adamant that he had no time to waste. In the midst of Jisung's habit of closing his eyes while kissing, the boys snuck into the room quietly, and you turned Jisung slightly so that his back was to the door, leaving all of his focus on you. Just as Jisung leaned further into your body and moaned into your mouth, Jaemin grabbed his hands that were headed for your hips.

"Wha--" Jisung pulled back. He looked around, confused, startled. "Hyung, what--" Despite Jisung's attemps to wiggle out of Jaemin's tight grip, his hyung was far stronger than him, making it impossible to escape. He looked at you for help with those big eyes of his.

Haechan approached and started kissing Jisung's exposed collarbone from behind until Jaemin rolled his eyes and pushed Haechan out of the way because he was in the way of their plan, which included Jeno stepping forward to help manhandle Jisung onto the floor so that all the boys could work together to hold him still while Jeno tied Jisung's wrists to his calves so that he was forced to sit down with his legs spread. Jisung whined and continued to thrash around. He asked silly questions and look around for help, but he was outnumbered. All of you were on the same page that he needed to let loose and that you were desperate to spend time with him, even if that meant restraining him to make it happen. To keep him quiet, Haechan took the gag he'd requested and he stuffed it into Jisung's mouth then secured it with the straps that wrapped around his head.

“Hyung, there’s duct tape in my desk drawer,” Jaemin said in Mark’s direction, prompting the eldest to hurry to his feet and scurry to Jaemin’s desk drawer. He dug around for a few seconds before returning with a roll of duct tape. Mark eyed Jaemin suspiciously. “It’s for wire management.” Jaemin took the roll and pulled the end up with his teeth before he began wrapping the sticky side around Jisung’s feet to keep him for kicking anymore. “And for tying Jeno up—“ Jaemin chuckled as Jeno reached over to smack Jae upside the back of the head. “Hey! It came in handy! Look!”

Jaemin patted his work then leaned back. All eight bodies in the room stilled as seven of you stared at the sight in front of you. Wow, Jisung really was handsome. Of course you knew that perfectly well already, but it was times like these where you were specifically reminded of it because there was a lull in excitement and all of the focus was put into every detail of who Park Jisung was. From his fogged up glasses, to his shirtless torso that showed off his hard work via his toned abs that he kept hidden from the public because he only ever wanted you guys to see all of him— He really was just a mini-me of Mark sometimes; to his erection growing in his gym pants, to the ropes tied expertly around his arms and legs… He was perfect. He was amazing. You needed him. Every inch of him. Always.

Haechan laughed as he tickled the bottom of Jisung’s feet to get the reaction he wanted where Jisung jolted, his body tensing, his eyes shooting wide, and desperate, muffled pleas were panted behind his gag. When Haechan did it again, Jisung’s feet fought against the tape, but he had nowhere to go. His struggle was in vain. That right there was the best part— Watching the moment he tried his best to free himself but couldn’t… Watching as all of his defined muscles worked in tandem to find a solution that would never appear.

Jisung pouted and slumped. His breathing was heavy thanks to Haechan who had riled him up, but also because he was anxiously watching all of you, waiting to see what you had in store for him.

“Do you remember what you said to me this morning before you left for work?” Jeno finally began the interrogation.

Jisung looked up through his lashes and vaguely shook his head. He was being extra cautious, you noticed. Perhaps he did remember but didn’t want to confess because it would only land him in more trouble— Or maybe he really didn’t remember and that was why he was so confused to have ended up in the position he was tied up in.

“I told you that you needed to say goodbye to everyone… That you needed to find a way to spend more time with us.”

Jisung gulped. So he did remember.

“And you said, ‘What does it matter?’”

The fear in Jisung’s face was nothing in comparison to the anger washing over half of the people standing in the room. He had said what?!

“Let me at him, hyung… I asked him to play basketball with me two days ago and he ghosted me,” Chenle said.

“You’re ghosting us now?” Mark questioned.

Jisung shook his head adamantly, his eyes pouting and his eyebrows raising like he was trying to tell you something, but it went unsaid.

“He talked back to me, so I get dibs,” Jeno said, which forced Chenle to back down. “But you can help.” Now that brought a smile to Chenle’s face.

Jisung squirmed some more as the audience closed in on him. Renjun went to his side first to ask something about safe words and if Jisung remembered how to put a stop to this even with the gag in his mouth. Jisung nodded. That seemed to ease both Mark and Renjun who were a bit uneasy about ambushing Jisung in the first place. Renjun shifted slightly so that he was at your side instead, leaving plenty of room for Jaemin to take his spot because his job was to try to keep Jisung still while Jeno took the lead and Chenle followed by sitting opposite Jaemin.

"Are these sensitive yet?" Chenle flicked his finger over one of Jisung's nipples. Jisung moaned and rolled his head back against the wall. "They are..." And he did it again.

Jeno ran his palm over Jisung's erection in tandem with Chenle's teasing, and when Jisung jolted upright and pulled against his restraints, Jaemin jumped into action by pressing his hand on Jisung's bare chest before pushing him against the wall. By the time you could bring yourself to pry your attention away from Jisung, Haechan was already kissing Mark who had his hands on Hyuck's hips to keep both of them steady so that they didn't fall back onto the floor. Hyuck was a bit aggressive. He was trying to sit on Mark's lap, but Mark fought by using his grip to roll over on top of Haechan who moaned when their crotches touched over their pajama pants.

Renjun whined beside you. He was looking for attention too but three of the boys were busy with Jisung, Mark and Haechan were busy with each other, and Renjun was getting hard watching everything happen around him. You pulled Renjun onto your lap and slid your hand under the waistband of his pants. He shifted slightly to accommodate your touch. You moaned into his ear once you got a hold on his cock, his pre-cum already leaking onto your hand; and he moaned in return when you used your free hand to hold his chin to make him watch what was happening in front of you where Jeno had fished Jisung’s dick out of his shorts and slowly started jerking him off. Jisung moaned happily.

Though he seemed to dislike being ganged up on and tied up, the fact that Jisung was finally being touched after you’d worked him up in the first place came as a relief to him. You matched Jeno's pace. Whenever he jerked Jisung off fast, you went at the same speed on Renjun-- Both of them wiggled their hips, Renjun struggling adorably in your lap-- and when Jeno slowed down, you teased Renjun's tip until he was begging you for more. Chenle contributed to Jisung by pinching his nipples over and over again as an added measure of stimulation to get Jisung off. Poor thing had incredibly sensitive nipples. All of you liked to take advantage of that because he made the cutest noises when his nipples were teased; but Chenle was doing it with the sole purpose of getting Jisung closer to the edge.

"Jebal--" Jisung moaned behind his gag.

Jeno pulled his hand away from Jisung's cock. While Renjun anticipated you to follow suit and was prepared to beg you to continue, you actually didn't stop touching him. He wasn't being punished like Jisung was. There was no point in edging him and torturing him, which came as a relief to Renjun who continued to moan your name and thrust his hips up into your fist. Beside you, Haechan and Mark were finally going at it like they were in their own world as they rubbed up against each other and Haechan was adjusting to ride Mark's thick thigh.

When Jeno restarted his motions, everyone else continued too. Jaemin and Chenle played with Jisung's nipples, you jerked Renjun off faster, and Haechan was biting Mark's bottom lip to pry more moans out of his hyung. Jaemin did something mean where he kissed Jisung's cheek to keep him distracted momentarily before he pressed his index finger over Jisung's sensitive tip to gather up some of his dropping pre-cum before smearing it over the gag Jisung was wearing.

"Jebal, jebal, jebal--" Jisung moaned as he came.

Renjun's body toppled forward, his hands on your knees, fingernails digging into your skin. "C-Can I--"

"Cum for me, sweet boy."

Jisung's body was still shaking through his orgasm when Renjun hit his peak too. As Renjun's cum leaked down your hand, Jisung's cum painted his stomach and hit Chenle and Jaemin's hands, and both boys were watching each other as content to really make their highs hit harder, as if they were watching porn or something. When there was nothing left to milk out of Renjun, you slowed down before wiping your hand on his thigh then pulling away entirely. He slumped against your chest. For a moment, he caught his breath while watching Jeno who didn't slow down or stop playing with Jisung. The poor guy realized what was happening just as his orgasm faded and the overstimulation began.

"Hold still, Jisung-ah," Jaemin cooed tauntingly with a tigher grip on their maknae.

"Some help would be nice," Chenle called over to you and the three other onlookers.

You inched forward with Renjun still resting on your lap so that you could corner Jisung even more to make it really noticeable that there was no escaping the nipple stimulation or the fact that his cock was still being played with after he'd made a mess. Jisung whined pathetically. He looked around for a savior, but the only two who could have been any help-- Mark and Haechan-- were still preoccupied with each other. You looked down to see Jisung's cum frothing between his straining cock and Jeno's pumping fist-- And much to your surprise, Jisung wasn't softening. He was still hard, and he was leaking cum bit by bit by bit.

Haechan finally sat upright. His brown hair was a mess, his cheeks were flush, and his cum left a wet spot in his pants, and there was another wet spot on his thigh where Mark had cum too. Both of them panted as they looked around to catch their bearings.

"You guys aren't helping," Chenle scolded.

"Sorry," Mark apologized, completely dazed.

Haechan and Mark crawled over to find empty spaces for them to squeeze into. Haechan, to have fun, tickled Jisung's feet again, which set him off with another serious of muffled moans before he opened his eyes long enough to glare at Haechan. That earned him a pinch to each of his nipples.

Jisung started squirming harder and whining louder the closer he got, almost like it was a warning to everyone in the room with him that he was about to tip over the edge if you kept messing with him. The only problem for him was… the seven of you knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted him to cum. Again. And then maybe again for good measure— And fuck it, another time after that. You wanted to pry as many orgasms out of him that his body could provide, and even then you were sure that you could get a dry orgasm or two in there for your entertainment.

Shaking his head, he mumbled behind the gag, "I can't."

You ran your fingers through his hair comfortingly as you cooed, “Shhh, shhh, shhh… You can hold my hand, baby, it’s okay.”

Jisung did just that. His hand grasped yours desperately— Well, he tried to find your hand but kept slipping to your wrist which he held with an iron-tight grip as his hips squirmed some more in an attempt to get away from Jeno.

“I’ve got you,” you said.

A loud moan echoed through the room as another orgasm was forced out of him. His cum leaked onto his chest in a pathetic stream which Haechan caught with his fingers so that he could have Mark clean it up. Both Jeno and Chenle worked Jisung through his second orgasm, Jaemin tried his best to hold him still, and Mark and Hyuck were back to kissing each other. To everyone's surprise, Renjun leaned forward on his knees to roll his palm over Jisung's sensitive tip.

"Hyung!" Jisung cried out behind his gag.

Jaemin put more pressure on Jisung's chest to hold him still for the last minute or so that they continued to bully him with overstimulation.

"Okay, okay," Mark said, pushing Haechan off him in order to catch his breath. He licked his lips. "We should get cleaned up."

"He has one more in him, hyung," Chenle complained, his fingers still playing with Jisung's nipples.

Mark observed Jisung for a moment. His body was slumped with exhaustion, his head braced against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to bear the way Renjun was torturing his tip. He looked exhausted. After working long hours and practicing so much, you'd already milked the rest of his energy out of his body-- For lack of a better word. You pulled Renjun's hand away. When Jeno noticed, he brought his movements to a halt and shot Jaemin a look which told him to release Jisung who panted the second he was shown an ounce of mercy. Chenle, despite what he wanted, obeyed Mark's orders and your silent lead.

"Let's get him out of these," Hyuck said.

Everyone moved to undo the restraints. Jeno's knots were tight, but the ropes were loose around Jisung's limbs, making it easy to wedge the knots loose before untying them altogether. Meanwhile, you moved your weight onto your knees so that you could reach over the boys and take Jisung's gag out of his mouth. He gulped through a heavy breath.

"You okay?" you asked.

Jisung nodded tiredly. "Ne."

A wadded up ball of duct tape made its way into the trash in the corner, thanks to Renjun, and when he returned he had Jisung's water bottle in hand so that once Jisung was free he was able to take slow sips that Mark monitored closely.

"You did good," Mark complimented.

Jisung blushed. "Thanks, hyung..." He turned to face away from everyone.

"I'm going to get him in the shower. You smell disgusting," Jeno said.

"That's what rehearing for thirteen hours a day will do to you," Jaemin added.

Jisung set his water bottle down on the floor. "Okay, I get it, I need to relax with you guys more. I get it. I'm sorry." He hooked his arm over Jeno's shoulder, then on the count of three, he was lifted to his feet. He put all of his weight against Jeno because his legs were shaking and his body was exhausted from the overstimulaton.

You stood to kiss Jisung gently. "Sleep in my bed tonight?"

He nodded.

taglist: @junrenjun @topmoondanse @wonsyn @jaeminnanaaa17 @jsbluu

@trash-number-one @multifandomania @jimintrain @notbasickpopie @blueblazings

@ho3central @kiwiiess @ant-onie @jeongjaeleftbicep @secretlifeoftw

@9763vill @sinsgaybutthatsokay @aeriwave @leesura @kittydollzz

@daryaa8a @henderysposts @mystverse @mwokyo @nbm08

@seokiesung @j4rsofit @fuckmeupnct @pandagirl753 @starrysturniolo

@your-local-k-pop-stan @neverendingminho @strawberryax0lotl @nmhkih @itskpopular

@n0hyuck @meowniee @faeryus @zhapire @oonyourmmark

@hyunjinologyy @october-saturn @kiwichenji @shoetaroshoe @neo11kun

@iiohii @armaegddn @vinsmokesanjis-wife @riaa72 @czennielove

@llcvleywons @s3onghwaswifey

[mekakitsune]

mean!jinx x fem!reader - nsfw - minors dni

request from anon: "Hi love, I would like to request Jinx x Reader. The reader is Jinx's girlfriend and they are at the bar and a guy approaches the reader asking if the reader would like to go out with him and Jinx obviously doesn't like it, can this end with her fucking the reader to show everyone that the reader is hers? Please 😮‍💨"

dates in public really werent jinx's thing, or yours for that matter. she would always say something along the lines of "why go out when we have everything we need here?" by here, she meant her "workshop"– where it was cluttered with mechanical parts and the smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air constantly. it was more than enough, but sometimes, even you needed a break. had you not been so convincing, jinx would have not let you drag her out to the last drop. she didn't like drinking, nor did she like the usuals at the bar. they were loud, arrogant, and just plain gross.

she sat at the end of the bar, some fruity juice concoction in her cup as she swirled her straw around the glass looking less than interested in what was happening around her.

"i want another drink, ill be right back, kay?" you lean into her, and she nods, watching you hop off the stool and stroll (rather stumble) to the other end of the bar where the bartender stood. she watched as you smiled sweetly at the man, leaning against the bar as you recite your order. he nods and moves to make your drink, leaving you to stand waiting. without notice, a man slinks in beside you, with an unsettling smirk on his lips.

"put the lovely ladies drink on my tab, would ya?" he gruffed at the bartender, sending you a wink as he spoke. you smile politely, shaking your head as you speak up– "hey... im alright but thank yo-"

"nonsense, let me treat a pretty lady to a drink, yeah?" he cut you off. he reeked of booze, and was ultimately too close for comfort.

"okay...its a just a drink, but im a-" he cuts you off again.

"see, knew you'd want it. so hows about we getchu that drink and then ditch this place?" he smirks again, placing a hand on your shoulder, one eye brow cocked like he was waiting for you to agree. before you could utter a word, an arm wraps around your waist, and the mans hand drops from your shoulder immediately.

"sorry to interrupt whatever youre trying to do here, but shes taken."

jinxs sneers at the man, looking like she was ready to pounce any second. the man, stupidly, didnt budge– obviously not seeing your girlfriend as much of a threat. her fingers gripped your hip, hard.

"ohh so its like that? y'know, ive always wanted to see some girl on girl action in real time." the man stands, arrogant and overly confident. the smirk on his lips made your stomach twist. without thinking, per her style, jinx lunges at the man, slamming her fist into his nose.

your eyes go wide as the man stumbles back, hand gripping his now bloody nose. "you little bitch..."

the man moves quickly towards her, but a familiar metallic hand finds his shoulder first.

"you two. out. now."

it was sevika, of course she had been there. she had been watching the two of you since you walked in, knowing trouble was bound to come with you guys around, it seemed like it always did.

"i'll fuckin kill you..." the man spat, trying to remove himself from sevikas grip. she looked at you sternly, and you got the message from the expression on her face.

"pssh, you wish." jinx muttered mockingly, clearly not wanting to leave without finishing what she started, or rather, without killing this guy first. you grab her wrist and speak– "lets just go jinx, cmon.." you pull her towards you, and she follows as you drag her towards the door. shouts from the man can be heard from behind you, and jinx stops in her tracks to flip him off. you bite back a laugh as you tug her along into the cool air outside of the bar.

"what a creep..." she spoke low, eyes ahead of her as she walked, avoiding your gaze completely.

"im sorr–" suddenly she whips around to face you, brows furrowed. "i mean seriously? that perv was all over you, and you were gonna let him buy you a drink!? are you stupid?" she cuts you off to rant, making you shut your mouth.

"he could have done something bad, and you were just gonna let him? the hells wrong with you?" she continued, hands moving dramatically.

"i was just gonna empty his pockets when he wasnt looking, jinx... aren't you the one that always says "if you see an opening, take it?"– you quote her. "its clear he had money..."

this seems to make her head rush, anger and possessiveness rushing through her. before you can process it, shes grabbing your arm and dragging you into the alley on your right. with shocking force, she presses you against the wall, her face dangerously close to yours as her eyes bore into yours.

"that doesn't mean go around and act like some sort of slut." she squints, cocking her head to the side.

"are you kidding? fuck you, jinx. i-" she doesnt let you finish as she smashing her lips into yours, hard enough to bruise, surely. you gasp at her suddenness, and her hands find your hips again, pinning you to the wall behind you.

her tongue wins the easy battle for dominance, completely consuming you as if the two of you werent stood in an alley. the only light was a dingy street lamp, casting a warm glow onto the two of you. the kiss was hot, messy as she took control of every movement, hips pressing into yours. she pulls back from the kiss, chest heaving as her hands find your belt.

"what are you doing?" you pant, watching her as her skilled hands mess with your waistband.

"whats it look like, dollface." her tone is low, and you can tell shes serious about taking you right here in the alley.

"cmon...not here...people could see us." you shift your hips as much as you can, but theres little to no room between you and the wall, so your attempt are deemed useless. ignoring you, her fingers pop the button on your pants, and find their way into your underwear.

her lips are on you again, flush with your neck as she sucks marks into the skin.

"let em'. dont care." her words are muffled against your neck. you gasp quietly as her fingers find your slick folds, a low chuckle coming from her.

"see? slut. all worked up, and from what, hm? some creep sweet talkin you?" she rambles, her words making your skin flush. her fingers circle your clit, making you buck into her as she holds you steady with her other hand. the cool metal of her finger bleeds through the layer of fabric riding up your hips. soon enough, shes moving her fingers and sliding them into your cunt, making you whimper. you feel her smirk against your neck, lips leaving a trail of searing marks with the intention of claiming whats hers.

"or is it that you like the thought of being caught, hm?" her fingers pushed a relentless pace, making your knees shake. "y'like me fuckin you in public baby?" her words are making your head spin, along with her fingers inside of you. her breathing picks up again when she hears you whine, cunt tightening around her fingers.

"m'close, please..." you muttered helplessly, surely dripping down her wrist at this point. she presses a kiss to your lips as she pulls her hand away. you watch in awe, chest moving rapidly as her fingers come to her mouth, sucking them clean.

"what the fuck?" you pant, fingers wrapping around her wrist. she simply smiles, before slipping out of your grasp.

"s'one thing to act like you enjoy being flirted with, but im not about to make you cum where anyone could see." she shrugs, her grin sinister as she turns on her heel.

in disbelief, your shaky hands move to fix your pants and belt. she had it coming once you stepped back into the confines of her workshop, that was one thing for certain.

thank u for the yummy rq i hope u enjoy :3

[johnnysuhbmarine]

Knowing a change of scenery was what your mental health needed, you transferred to where your brother, Mark, goes to college. The good news is, he’s not too cool for his younger sister, so he lets you join his friend group immediately. The bad news is, Haechan is in that friend group, and a brief encounter four years ago was enough for you to understand he does NOT like you. Even worse news, he’s a lot hotter than he was four years ago…

Chapter Fifteen: I'll just ask Mark - four images, 1.5k words - heads up, this chapter deals more with y/n's mental health than previous ones

You were thankful you didn’t have any classes for the rest of the day, because time slipped right by you while at lunch with Haechan. The two of you got sandwiches and coffee from the library café, but when you quickly realized all the tables were taken, you ended up bringing the food back to Haechan’s apartment just a short walk away. This is where time started flying past. The two of you turned on an old cartoon show to watch while you ate, but once you were finished, your own voices quickly overtook the sound of the television.

It was a strange truth to find out - that you and Haechan actually got along swimmingly, taking to each other like a duck to water. Of course, up until the last week or so, the majority of your time knowing each other was spent either ignoring one another or exemplifying passive aggression; so your ability to actually carry a conversation for hours was a very new concept, but one you could hardly take the time to question when you were too busy laughing until you couldn’t breathe.

Haechan was the first to calm down after the last bout of laughter shared in the living room, and he leaned his head against the front of the couch - the two of you opted to sit on the floor as you ate since there was no coffee table to place everything on; not to mention the couch wasn’t that comfortable in the first place.

He rolled his head to the side so he could look at you, your eyes squeezed shut as you bite on your bottom lip to try and stop more laughs from leaving your system. He let a soft grin come across his face as he took in your presence, and the fact that he was happy here with you. “Remind me to thank Mark for convincing you to transfer,” he says gratefully, traces of a laugh still tainting his light voice. Though, all at once, your body stills, and you open your eyes to meet his soft gaze before swiftly bringing your focus to where you had begun messing with your fingers in your lap.

“Oh. It wasn’t really- he didn’t convince me, so to speak. I had to transfer.” You fumble through your words, embarrassment tinging your cheeks a shade of pink.

Haechan furrowed his brows at you. “What do you mean?” He asks curiously, and you can’t help the heavy sigh that escapes you.

You stop fidgeting, but you can’t bring your gaze up from your lap as you respond smoothly. “I was really, badly depressed. Not to mention half the student body at SM used to actually bully me," you recall with a scoff.

“At the end of the day, I just wanted my brother closer than thirty minutes away from me. Helped me feel less alone, or at least helped me not make rash decisions, I mean- I hated myself. Wasn’t sure I was anything but a waste of space, honestly; and the idea of going to my brother to be talked down felt better than going to my friends, cause I always thought they would leave me if all I did was come to them with struggles. My brother can’t leave, he’s stuck with me. Though most of the time, that doesn’t really make it any easier - it’s still putting so much responsibility on Mark, when he’s probably the last person who needs any more added to his plate. Regardless, he does his best - and only partly because he's forced to," you say with a weak laugh before continuing softly.

"In transferring here, my parents made him promise that he wouldn’t allow me to throw myself into oncoming traffic, or maybe it was off a bridge. I don’t know. Something stupid but-”

You cut yourself off when you hear what you think is a sniffle from beside you. You whip your head over to look and get confirmation that he’s actually crying. “Haechan?” You get out worriedly, your brows furrowing as you take in his wide watery eyes and small trembles. You reach out to wipe away at the tears racing down his face, and he just shakes his head against your hold.

“Don’t leave. Don’t you ever dare leave,” he manages to get out somewhat firmly. Your lips form a tight smile at his care and you shake your head, trying to dispel his worries.

“I’m not-” You start, but he cuts you off and you’re sure it’s because he doesn’t quite believe you…not that you could blame him.

He moves from sitting flat on the ground to instead lean over and engulf you in a hug, made awkward by the fact that he was practically just ramming his body into your side. You didn’t care, you wrapped your arms around him the best you could as he gets out choked words. “I need you. Here. I need you here,” he hiccups, and you break.

“Haechan…it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” you say, trying your best not to cry now, too as you begin to rub a hand up and down his back.

You feel a light poke at your side and glance down to see his pinkie outstretched. You look back up to face him in confusion, but his eyes are still directed towards the floor, not to mention squeezed shut. “P-promise,” he gets out weakly. With the tears staining his face, the shaking of his body, and his choked words, you knew you never wanted to see Haechan like this ever again. So, without truly realizing how much this pinky promise was going to mean to him, you lace your finger with his and watch as the smallest wave of relief crashes over him.

He falls more decidedly against you, and you hold him there tightly, running your fingers gently across his clothes and through his hair. You don’t know how long the two of you stayed like that, but you know you didn’t let up from the hug until he was completely rid of tears. Though, when you lift your arms up and allow him to sit back upright, he doesn’t, and a small smile crosses your face as you gently place your arms back around his figure.

You hadn’t seen him look this small ever before, and the fact that he was being this emotional and vulnerable with you was making warmth spread through your entire body. You only hoped it could transfer through the hug you had him in, figuring he probably needed it more right now - for some reason, it couldn't click that he was crying over you, that he was currently concerned about making sure you felt comforted and cared for...though that quickly changes with his next words.

“I’m sorry I was a dick to you earlier,” he finally says with resolve. You move to shake your head and dismiss it, but he presses on. “I treated you poorly for no reason, and I’m sorry. The last thing I ever want to do is remind you of someone from your old school. I’ll do better. I promise all I’ll ever try to do is put a smile on your face, but if it’s ever not genuine, I need you to know that you can come to me, confide in me, whatever. Your heavy feelings aren’t going to scare me away. You don’t need to ever pretend around me, and if I’m the only person who has made that clear, then so be it, I’ll be your rock.”

He finally moves as he says this so that he can make eye contact with you, unfortunate because you had finally started crying at his words. “It’s so hard,” you squeak out. “With my family, I mean - I just want to be a good daughter- a good sister. They don’t deserve all that stress of my mental health. I- I broke my family’s heart telling them how I thought of myself…the point I was reaching. I don’t ever want to worry them like that again.” As you finish, your attention is turned towards where Haechan lightly grabbed your hand in his.

“You broke mine, too, but you need to understand that I’ll let you break it over and over again if it means you aren’t going through this alone.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone and it sends even more tears racing down your cheeks. He sighs, bringing a hand up to wipe gently under your eyes. “Y/n,” he says, his voice soft but filled with intent.

You nod your head, knowing what he was looking for - any confirmation that you were actually taking in his words. “Thank you,” you say weakly, causing a corner of Haechan’s mouth to perk up in a soft grin.

His hand that was previously at your cheek moves up to eventually run back down through your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear. “Do you wanna watch The Aristocats?” He asks gently.

Your wide eyes meet his. “You’d watch it with me again?” You respond in awe.

Haechan lets out a small laugh, turning his gaze to the floor before shaking his head and looking in your teary eyes again. “You said it’s your comfort movie…I’d watch it a thousand times.”

[previous] -> [masterlist] -> [next]

a/n: yuhhhh

Taglist: @fullsunstrawberry @choizzn @raevyng @dudekiss3r @yewshi @artsenthusiastk77 @injunnie-lemon @markeroolee @chan-yeoldelling @sunflowerhae @mystverse @urlovelily @luvandletter @jeonghansshitester @dinonuguaegi @untilthesunrises @clean-soap @andassortedkpop @dlin3 @roseangelxfuma @gomdoleemyson @simmsunshine @swanyvess @awktwurtle @t-102 @kukkurookkoo

@hahaechans @ypoom151999 @goldenclosethobi

[evanhereonearth]

Dorian knows.

Dorian has always known.

He’s been by her side this whole time, treasuring every moment, as she has done with him.

He has helped her. Trusted her to know herself like only one other person ever has—and he could never begrudge her that person.

Besides, he’s to be at the forefront of a new Tevinter, and they’re the two most powerful Dreamers in Thedas.

Dorian and Lavellan have gotten by with sending crystals in the long months apart over the past ten years, but she’s never been more than a dream away.

His work is just beginning—all he has wanted for his dearest friend is for her to be able to take the mantle of the world’s salvation off her shoulders.

He will sit down with Mae tonight. They will cry. Tomorrow, a shy Rook will show up with a letter and a tentative hug and a “She asked me to keep you company today”, but tonight, it’s just Dorian and Mae and the familiar voice of an old friend that blooms just out of sight before the shape of him appears in the firelight.

“Hello,” Cole says. “You hurt, because she’s gone, but you know she didn’t leave you. I promised to go where I’m needed most. Soft sadness, songs of Solas she always sang, but also solace. I hope you’ll let me help.”

They will take care of him, Mae and Compassion and Rook, they will smooth the steps to give her and Solas time to start their healing.

One day, not too long from now, Dorian will fall asleep after a long day trying to raise a nation from the wreckage of Tevinter’s blood-and-blight-drenched shame, and she will be there. With her love. Hand in hand.

She will embrace him first, kissing his cheek, holding him tight enough he might wake with broken ribs.

And then she will step back, and Solas will take her place with a ferocity he never could have expected.

“Ma serannas, lethallin,” Solas will say to him, with the gratitude of a decade of watching their friendship hold them both together where he could not be himself. “For everything.”

This is only the beginning, not the end, of their grand friendship.

The one he loves the most is, after all, finally, finally free.

When they leave him to his dreams, he will watch two wolves lope into the distance. He will never, as long as he lives, tire of hearing them sing.

one thing i will never get over is before fighting elgar’nan, when you talk to your companions the final time, is dorian and solasmancer inquisitor looking at each other and he asks her:

“so after this…you’ll be off again?”

“something like that”

she made up her mind. she knew she was going to go with solas and she didn’t want to tell her best friend to break his heart. 😭😭 i’m sick!!

[rineros]

SHE WAS TOO GOOD TO ME

summary: he wants to heal

characters: miya atsumu, ex!reader

contains: 1.6k, self reflection post breakup

note: don’t judge ooc atsuwu i haven’t written hq fics in four years and he was the closest person to my ex bestie #fuckthatguy

sometimes, miya atsumu allows himself to wonder what could have happened if he wasn’t such an asshole.

he glances to his right. across the empty side of the bed where the scent of your shampoo was fading, his alarm clock reads 2:56 am. he groans loudly in frustration and drags his hands down his face, stretching out his tired features.

he stares at his ceiling that is illuminated by the glow in the dark stars you and he stuck up there once upon a time. a small smile strikes him when he remembers walking in on you hopping on the bed to get them up there.

he had watched you for a minute before you saw him. he’ll never forget that warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest when you laughed joyously the moment you saw him and jumped from the bed to his arms. he held on to you tightly as he spun you around, relishing in the feeling of being truly loved.

you had kissed him so gently as you smiled when he set you down that he thought of himself as an adorable little puppy.

you excitedly showed him the progress you had made over the past hour, which honestly wasn’t much, but he knew you had probably gotten distracted by your phone.

“i got an idea,” he said, putting his hands on your shoulders. “turn around.”

“you’re one dirty dog, you know that?” you giggled as you followed his movements.

you had yelped as you felt yourself being hoisted up into the air, but he gripped your waist as you held on to his hair for dear life. you steadied yourself and praised him for being such an innovative and creative problem-solver, making his cheeks flush.

from there, he walked to wherever in the room you wanted to place the stars, bed be damned, and by the time you two had finished, the sun had set. he set you down as he had done earlier and the two of you had lain patiently in bed, talking to pass the time as you waited for the darkness to settle.

when the stars started glowing, both of you had squealed childishly, but he thought that all those rare, once-in-a-lifetime comets could never compare to the sparkle in your eyes. cheesy, he knows.

he checks his clock again. it’s a quarter past three.

osamu’s going to be pissed if he calls him.

fuck it.

atsumu grabs his phone from the nightstand and dials the person who will always listen to him. he cringes when he hears osamu’s ringtone across the hallway.

it rings… and rings… and rings. voicemail.

an eerie silence settles in the apartment. you always hated that. the air is still, his pillow is much too flat, and there’s a disturbing feeling bubbling in his throat.

atsumu jumps and drops his phone on his face as his ringtone blares in his ears. he pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing it to soothe the sharp pain as he accepts the call.

“the hell you want?” the raspy voice of his brother mutters. atsumu feels bad because he knows that osamu’s first class starts at 8:00, but he can’t deal with this anymore tonight.

“i just… i wanted to talk.” his foot starts to shake and bounce as the silence returns.

a second passes, then another.

“come over.”

with that, his restless body rises from bed and walks quickly and nimbly across the hall to osamu’s room with his blanket wrapped around him. he opens the door to a half-asleep osamu and climbs into his queen-sized bed, the perk he received since atsumu got the bigger room. he makes himself comfortable as he lays on his side to face osamu, bringing the blanket up to his chin, basking in the warmth that could never match your own.

“gimme a sec,” osamu says gruffly. his eyes are still closed as he lays on his back. atsumu watches as he takes a few more deep breaths, then slowly cracks his neck to wake himself up. “talk.”

atsumu moves to lay himself on his back after he sees his eyes open slightly. they both stare at osamu’s bare ceiling.

“i never told you this, but when she broke up with me,” he pauses. “she didn’t cry. she looked too exhausted.

“she told me even before we broke up that i stopped putting in as much effort and that she felt like she wasn’t even in a relationship anymore, just the ghost of it.

“she completely tore me to shreds without even raising her voice because that’s who she is. no matter how much you hurt her, she’ll never hurt you. she cares too much. she wasn’t even trying to rip into me, like, she was just explaining the type of person i am and how my actions affected her and everyone’s perception of me.

“she told me that every time i hurt her, it seemed like i didn’t take her seriously and i never took accountability for my actions; i was always trying to weasel my way out of trouble.

“but i just wanted to preserve everyone’s feelings, y’know? i wanted to keep the peace. i never meant to make her feel like that.”

atsumu stops talking for a second as he waits for osamu to say something. it’s all a blur, with bits and pieces flashing in his head, but he could never forget the blank look in your eyes as you pointed out his shortcomings as a person, not just as a boyfriend.

“we judge others based on their actions, but we judge ourselves by our intentions,” osamu says. his voice is still ragged with exhaustion and his eyes have closed yet again. “i heard mom say somethin’ like that to her friend once.

“i believe you when you say you think you didn’t do anything wrong, but that’s only from your perspective. you’re busy; i get that and so does she. there’s volleyball, classes, homework, clubs, work, your friends, and then you added her, but it seems like you had spread yourself too thin already—“

“and that’s exactly one of the points i told her,” atsumu interrupts. “i’m not gonna be able to give her 100% all the time because i already do so much.”

osamu side-eyes him. “will you shut up and let me finish?”

atsumu huffs but lets him continue anyway.

“what i’m trying to get at is that, yeah, you’re busy, but you’re not the only person that’s busy. this isn’t just your world that we’re living in, it’s everyone’s. to her, it must have seemed like all of the effort, time, and love she invested in you was losing its value every time you ignored her or prioritized something stupid when she needed you. it’s not difficult to detach yourself from something that treats you like you don’t matter if you know your worth.

“you also lie. a lot. and i know you think they’re harmless little white lies, but they’ve gotten too out of hand lately that you’ve probably become desensitized to them.

“she’s smart and she knows you. she knew whenever you lied and it destroyed any kind of trust or credibility that you had.

“and that bullshit about wanting to spare everyone’s feelings? you know you don’t care about all that. also, who cares? nobody made you play mediator besides yourself and it’s impossible to not hurt anyone. you’re already hurting people; you’ve done it before and you’re going to keep doing it because that’s what learning is about. making mistakes. and if you haven’t already realized that you’re hurting people more than you would if you’d just tell the damn truth, you’re screwed,” osamu finishes his monologue, leaving atsumu in his thoughts.

was it really that bad for you? was he?

when he was younger, his tongue was as sharp as a shard of glass and he was much more careless with his words. it didn’t matter to him if the true words, in his opinion, hurt those around him. his belief was that there was no improvement without criticism. as he grew up, however, he had to learn to filter himself because nobody would willingly choose to be around someone who solely focused on their flaws.

and somewhere between then and now, he had forgotten the importance of honesty, usually opting to twist and bend the truth to preserve his reputation. it started off with a fib of “too much hw, can’t hang tn :(“ to multiple complicated lies spanning months, in which he would tell others things to make himself seem better. the kinder person, the most reliable, the smartest. just better.

eventually, it became too difficult to manage all of these lies and his stories became mixed up. when he was questioned about it, he would lie even more and even harder.

even now, as osamu told atsumu what he thought of him and his situation with you, there wasn’t much good. though atsumu came to osamu for comfort tonight, he, like you, wasn’t trying to make him feel bad, but it seems that’s the way he is destined to feel about himself when his personality is brought into conversation.

osamu snores next to him and as atsumu snuggles up to his blanket further, he realizes that this is a path he no longer wants to walk down.

he’s going to be better.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 5 part 3

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4])

when I first watched this I reallllllly hoped sharon was about to come back. but she wouldn't have ever called herself mrs. hart, that was an obvious giveaway

I know I'm repeating myself but - THIS MOTHERFUCKER

aw of course alice is immediately protective. that's so hot of her.

rio you'll have to stop being delighted at her antics, you're only enabling her at this point

agatha you fucker. and kudos for the excellent debra jo rupp impression, kathryn.

it's sweet and so sad that lilia fell for it. she consistently loses her seer abilities when dealing with the guilt for the people she couldn't save

jen is so done

rio is dismissive but also soft when she says this. and then she raises her eyebrows at agatha, as if dating her to deny it.

you can literally see her mask falling off.

billy shakes his head, disappointed. this is the first time he sees agatha fall so low

rio is like, come back here and face the music, my darling. she's really not letting her off the hook anymore

rio laughing in delight when death is mentioned, like yes! that's me! I'm here! just happy to be included!

agatha's panic is so overwhelming she's already at the point when she bolts. but there's no running this time. billy, like wanda, is merciless.

screaming so awful that lilia jumps back to episode 2 to escape it. meanwhile, rio.

(is jen wearing bunny slippers lolll)

yes, yes, it's hilarious that she had to spit out her retainer. but dear god evanora getting to jen first because she's the one agatha hurt the most.

now rio is casually modeling. she's making a great show of not caring about what agatha is going through

her coven turning her back on her. again.

sorry for always pointing out what rio is doing, but aubrey is killing me. now she's going oh well! you heard what the lady said! looks like I'm not the only one who thinks you're a piece of shit!

and despite it all rio (who, once again, is not allowed to kill a fly) is not doing what everybody else is doing. she's just being butthurt at agatha

the essays I could write about agatha's internalized misogyny

oh billy, no. you didn't ever realize all the shit you were stirring.

wow this particular line coming from jen really hurts

rio is trying to decide if she's into zombie agatha, lol. it's like she's always in a different show than everybody else. or rather, she's transcending genres, she's always doing her own thing because the Road doesn't affect her. while the others see real danger, she sees painted sets she can cut through with her knife.

but look what happens next. rio suddenly turns serious, and there's even a hint of panic in her voice. it's as if she realized this is not all tricks and smoke.

and finally, she fully comprehends how dangerous billy is. like, the staggering scale of it. chaos magic creates life in an artificial way that goes against everything rio stands for. wanda did not create an illusion of Vision, she made a real, alive vision out of thin air. billy himself was created the same way. and now he has effectively brought back evanora - not a pale imitation, a ghost Evanora functionally indistinguishable from the real thing, just as full of hatred and just as capable of hurting agatha. if it wasn't personal before!

you know, I didn't like this episode as much as the others on first watch, but I was wrong. there is a lot to unpack here. like many things on AAA, it's all in the subtleties.

go to episode 5 part 4

[almostloverboy]

It was your first time going to your roommate, Tommy’s, gym. You felt a flash of thrill come up your chest as your hand touched the handle and pulled the front door open. You still weren’t passing very well yet, nor were you out to anyone but Tommy, so going to an all men’s gym was something that made your stomach churn. Tommy had told you to walk straight back to the locker room, that he would tell the front desk to expect you on his visitors pass. Just as your hand absentmindedly went to touch the badge hanging off the waistband of your sweats, you made eye contact with the attendant at the front desk. He eyed you suspiciously, but you guessed that your freshly buzzed hair and excessively baggy sweatshirt gave him a clue. He pursed his lips but with a swift nod of his head directed you back to the locker room.

There was only one, and Tommy said he’d meet you in it. When you walked in, you immediately caught sight of his bulky frame casually draped over with some towels coming out of the sauna. His skin practically glowed and you had to take a moment to really appreciate the sea of various gorgeous bodies following suit. There were some guys wrapped in towels as they came out Some guys were brazenly naked, showing off their bare chests or horizontal scars and tdicks and happy trails. The next thing you knew, Tommy was grabbing you by the shoulder. "Admiring the view?" He snickered and you can feel blush burn your cheeks. Maybe you were being a little too obvious with your staring.

Tommy took you to the back, where there were some free lockers. He took your bag and shoved it in, then turned to you expectantly. His arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting for a petulant child. "Well? Strip." You shook your head vigorously and tried to sputter off some excuse about being shy but Tommy was having none of it. "It's just guys here. No need to be weird about it. Nobody's looking but you." Your flush grows hotter but you know Tommy well enough to know that he won't let you weasel out of this so easily. So you drop your sweats, exposing the jock strap you were wearing underneath. What could you say? You were trying something out and your jaw dropped when you saw yourself in the mirror. It made you really feel like a guy. Tommy seemed equally impressed, but was much more fixated on your bare ass. "C'mon. All of it." He muttered breathlessly.

When you glanced over to make sure that there was, in fact, no one watching you strip, you noticed a couple of guys looking over your way. When you caught their eyes, each of their lips pulled up into a playful smirk. One guy whose lower half was covered up by a large gym towel started adjusting it while holding your gaze, opening it just slightly. Maybe it was to show solidarity, but you couldn't take your eyes off where you'd seen the glimpse of his hard cock. You couldn't help but imagine how long he'd been on T to be that big. Like they had a mind of their own, your hands started to pull off your sweatshirt and shirt in one go. You don't even bother to shove it into your locker, it just drops to the floor.

As soon as your taped chest is exposed, you feel Tommy's hands on your now bare hips. You start to move to cover yourself, hyper aware of all of the sexy guys staring you down and just how much more... Like men they looked. As if he could read your mind, Tommy spoke up as he moved to stand behind you. "Whadya think, guys? He's comin' along quite nicely, huh?" You hear a general murmur of agreement that makes you want to cringe away from all the eyes on you, but Tommy grabs your wrists and holds them behind you. You can feel his crotch push up against your bare ass, only shielded by the scratchy white towel.

"I bet those growing pains are a killer." You hear one guy mutter. Another nudges a friend: "You can already see some hair on his stomach." Finally, one guy takes the first step towards you and you're drooling. He's a big guy, and you can tell he spends every day at this gym because his arms make you want to lick them like ice cream. Your knees almost buckle at the sight of his bare body in front of you, but he smiles kindly. "Don't worry, we'll turn you into a real man here. You'll only look like a twinky little fag for a couple'a months more. Soon you'll be a muscular little fag."

The Adonis looks over at Tommy, as if asking permission. You can't see his response, but the guy's arm darts out to snap the elastic of your jock strap, earning him a sharp yelp and your voice cracks. You were surprised, you didn't think your voice had changed at all yet, but some of the guys grinned knowingly. "See? It's workin' already."

Tommy started to tug you toward the showers, and you noticed that there weren't even any walls or curtains between each shower head. There was already someone in there, he was leaning his head back in the stream and sighing as his fingers slid in and out of his cunt. You thought Tommy might notice the interruption and go someplace with some more privacy, but you also guessed after using you as a show for his friends, he didn't have much shame back here. "Hey Jack, why don't you show my roommate here how things go back here?"

The guy only opened his eyes just to roll them in Tommy's direction, but he seemed to comply. "Damn, did you tell him what was happening? This is quite the little outfit he has on. Practically begging to be used..." You can feel Tommy's hands let go of you as Jack ushers you to take over the shower stream he'd been occupying. "Don' worry, I'll be gentle." He muttered as he got to his knees in front of you. The steaming hot water hit your back and you couldn't help but relax at the feeling. It was nice. Jack leads one of your hands to grab at his tits, and your other hand is led back to your ass. "Lube will make the next bit more fun. It's in the dispenser next to you." He said like he'd done it a million times before. Maybe he had.

"I called dibs, Jack, don't use him up yet." As your lubed up fingers slide into your ass, you hear Tommy's voice ring out. You can hardly see him among all the steam, but you can tell he's close to you. "I get to break him in."

[lucebun]

Lucifer x f!reader

Omg hi this is my first Lucifer x reader on here anyways hope you enjoy!

CW: sub?lucifer, kinda dom!reader, dryhumping bc that’s hot as FUCK

Lucifer wanted nothing more than to touch you right now. He was fighting the crave coming from deep in his core to not grab you and fuck you right against the bar countertop.

You both were a couple drinks in so the atmosphere was easy and comfortable. He ran his finger along the top of his glass, watching you laugh and talk with the other hotel residents. Controlling himself was getting harder and harder when your dress strap kept slipping down your shoulder showing more than needed.

“WOW! It’s getting pretty toasty in here, I’ll be in the bathroom!” Lucifer pulled at his collar and jerked up off his seat, tripping over his feet as he practically ran upstairs.

“What’s his deal?” Angel questioned as he leaned over your shoulder to watch the scene make its way upstairs.

“I have no idea-“ you were interrupted with a text notification from your phone. The king’s contact popped up with the text requesting your presence and you grinned. Angel smirked and pushed you out of the chair.

“Go get him girl, he was eyeing you all night.” He winked and waved you off.

You ascended the stairs and turned the corner, trying to get to find where Lucifer wandered off to.

Suddenly, a firm grip had ahold of your waist and you were pulled behind a wall in the dark of the hallway.

“What the fuck-“ you were silenced with a dark hand covering your mouth, you gazed down and met the pathetic and needy red eyes staring up at you. His hard-on was slightly touching your thigh from the close proximity Lucifer dragged you into.

“Please.. I need you right now..” he whined against your shoulder, his hands snaking around your waist to slide up your bare back. He was rocking his hips into your upper thigh with urgency. His breathing was getting heavier by the minute.

Each thrust of his was getting needier and needier resulting in you being turned on.

“Fuck, Lucifer,” you slotted your other leg to wrap around his, pushing your clothed cunt against his pants. You began to grind into him, pressing his back against the wall behind him. Lucifer was desperately clinging onto you, trying to be as close as he could while rubbing against your thigh.

“You don’t know what you do to me.” He growled against you as he pulled the strap of your dress down, revealing your breasts. His hand moved to palm one and twist a hardened nipple.

Your panties were damp and leaving a mark on his stark white dress pants. Desperate moans escaped your mouths as the grinding got faster.

“I’m close, baby. I’m close,” Lucifer strained through a whisper.

“Come on my thigh, Lucifer. Show me how bad you want this.” You gripped his hair and leaned down to speak into his ear.

He whined in response and jutted his groin hard into your thigh, resulting in reaching his climax and cumming in his pants.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He rode out his orgasm as you reached yours, soaking your panties and his thigh.

You rocked your hips together and pulled his face up for a messy kiss. Your kiss couldn’t last more than a few seconds at a time due to still catching your breath from before.

Lucifer pulled your dress strap back over your shoulder and pulled apart from the kiss.

“Oh, don’t think I’m done with you for the night, Lucifer.” You grabbed him by his collar and pulled him into your room across the hall.

He was in for a long night, but he definitely wasn’t complaining.