#teenage music awards

[softerthanthesoftest]

“how’d you like to be MADONNA ???!!! :3

so much fun to be MADONNA !!! >.<

ohhhh, how’d you like to be MADONNA ..? >:3

you say you’d rather dieeee… :p”

[v0id-of-thought]

Man i didn’t even know 21 Pilots had haters, I thought you were either obsessed with them or never cared. Seeing all these people come out of the woodwork after their game awards performance declaring they’re retiring from haterdome is so funny like what did they ever do you?

[magickiss]

Katy Perry | iHeart Music Awards | 2024

[fandom]

TV Shows

Gods, angels, demons, dragons, vampires, and a bunch of first responders in LA.

Gravity Falls +56

Hazbin Hotel

Good Omens -2

Doctor Who +11

Interview with the Vampire +12

House of the Dragon +13

9-1-1 +18

Bridgerton +37

Percy Jackson and the Olympians +31

Supernatural

The Owl House -9

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles -7

Avatar: The Last Airbender +19

Danny Phantom +4

Stranger Things -12

Dead Boy Detectives

Hannibal +9

Our Flag Means Death -12

Fallout

House MD +43

The Bad Batch +23

Loki +13

Ninjago +24

The Eurovision Song Contest -8

Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir -18

Adventure Time -17

Agatha All Along

Star Trek: The Original Series +51

Steven Universe +12

Criminal Minds +37

Lego Monkie Kid +7

The Umbrella Academy

Merlin

Arcane +14

Heartstopper -15

The Last Of Us -32

Obi-Wan Kenobi +12

Star Wars: The Clone Wars +17

X-Men '97

The 2024 US Presidential Debate

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine +20

Smiling Friends

Game of Thrones +23

Young Royals -13

The 81st Golden Globe Awards +20

The Bear +30

Phineas and Ferb +44

The Acolyte

South Park -13

Scott Pilgrim Takes Off

Outer Banks +19

Sonic Prime -19

The Fairly OddParents: A New Wish

Adventure Time: Fionna and Cake -43

The Boys

Yellowjackets -29

The Muppets +12

The Sandman -29

Succession -51

Gotham +29

The 96th Academy Awards +7

Blue Eye Samurai

The Terror

Voltron: Legendary Defender

The Untamed -7

Buffy the Vampire Slayer +22

Invader Zim +33

The Sanremo Music Festival +29

Shadow and Bone -56

Total Drama

Ninjago Dragons Rising

The Dragon Prince -33

The 2024 MTV Video Music Awards

The Mandalorian -60

Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power

What We Do In The Shadows -53

Community +5

Teen Titans

Young Justice

The Walking Dead +16

The 76th Primetime Emmy Awards

Metalocalypse -43

Transformers: Prime

Star Wars Rebels -11

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia -25

Teen Wolf -49

Supergirl +7

The Witcher -67

Pit Babe

The 66th Annual Grammy Awards -3

Classic Doctor Who

My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic

Breaking Bad -43

Super Bowl LVIII

Amphibia -20

Abbott Elementary -50

The Simpsons -23

My Adventures With Superman -47

Twin Peaks

Over the Garden Wall

The number in italics indicates how many spots a title moved up or down from the previous year. Bolded titles weren’t on the list last year.

Love Hazbin Hotel? There's a Community (or 50) for that.

[stargrillzz]

𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘵 summary: where he has an interest in a certain pop singer, and he doesn't try to hide it. note: believe me or not i’ve been listening hip hop since Im like 15 y/o, soooo why not do an M&M’s fic?? Let me know if u want part 2! xoxo

The lyrics of Mr Eminem's new song being mostly about you? That was something you definitely didn't expect.

I get so weak on my knees

Lose all control

Damn, her silhouette

So hot

Fuck bein’ a gentleman

I'm going to fuck her instead

The red carpet at the Grammys has always been a dream for you, you had already won a couple of awards, today... you were excited to be the presenter of one of them.

Best Rap Album.

To say you were excited is an understatement.

You've loved this genre of music since you were a teenager, Tupac, Fifty, Snoop...to name the most classics.

The camera flashes were the only thing you saw, accompanied by many voices that stunned your ears just by hearing your name.

"Y/N! over here!" A reporter called you, without hesitation, you approached.

"Hey how are you?" you asked with a big smile.

"Incredible! How are you? I imagine you're very excited for tonight" he smiles.

"Don't even mention it! I can't wait to call the winner on stage!"

"Do you think Eminem is nominated? He's been on everyone's mouth lately with his latest song..."

Here we go.

"Yeah... well, I'm sure he'll be nominated, I mean, he's fucking Eminem, it would be like a sin if he wasn't, right?" You laughed a little awkwardly.

"What do you think about his last song, about his comments towards you? 50% of people are upset calling Eminem a degenerate..." you didn't let him finish speaking.

"Well...I really like him, I mean, I've always been his fan and it's an honor to be named in one of his songs. Plus I also think that...we all know how he's like, if you don't like his way to be, to think, to speak, the lyrics of his songs, just don't listen to it and that's it, problem solved, I don’t see the point in hating so much on something you can just...ignore" you laugh looking at the camera "Just take things more lightly, not everything is fighting and bad intentions."

You finished your conversation with said reporter and simply headed to your designated seat.

On the other hand, a certain blonde boy was also being attacked with questions regarding his controversial lyrics.

"She's here? Shit, I want to see her," the blonde rapper said, showing a small, very small, smile, turning his head around with the intention of catching some sign of the hot pop singer, you.

"Yes! In fact she will be the one to present the award for best rap album!"

"No shit! Damn man she's here" Em turned around and said to his best friend, Proof.

In a few minutes everyone finished settling into their seats and you both were surprised when you looked at each other, just a few seats away.

You were five seats to the right and three to the back, so you caught him every time he turned his head back a little to look and smile at you.

Until, soon...your moment had arrived, you got up from your seat to head backstage.

By the way, when you walked past the rapper, he didn't try to hide the fact that he couldn't take his eyes off you for even a second.

"And the Grammy goes to..." you created some tension "EMINEN!" You blurted out the name more excited than you should have.

The rapper's reaction might not have been very expressive normally, but he couldn't contain his smile when he knew who would be the one giving to him his award. The rapper and his friends got on stage and it was inevitable that you felt nervous as you watched him walk towards you, with a playful look, as if he knew what he generated in you.

"Congratulations," you whispered when he was close enough to you, taking the grammy as you felt the soft brush of his fingers against yours, he did it on purpose.

You didn't expect him to give you a hug.

"That's all I get?" He whispered back to you, keeping your faces close and your noses touching, his hands on your waist pulling you closer to him as if he didn't want to move away from you.

A great bustle from the public was heard, and it took them both out of the small cloud in which they were.

This was definitely going to stir the waters.

You both walked away, while you greeted and congratulated the rest of his friends (Proof winking at you in the process).

"Wow, shit, this is crazy, thank you so much to everyone who made the production of this album possible, Dr Dre, who always had my back, I will be forever grateful...and my god, damn, thanks to whoever the fuck is that put this beauty in that dress..." he turned to look at you and winked "Y/N Y/L/N ladies and gentlemen, the source of my inspiration for Heat Seeker"

Obviously, you blushed.

The entire audience was applauding, probably already starting to gossip among themselves about the little show between you and Eminem.

Like a gentleman he offered you his hand as he watched you walk down the steps of the stage with great caution. "Thank you," you whispered. “Any time” he smiles at you.

´Til the end of the awards you continued to connect glances from time to time, you also noticed how his friends bothered him every time he turned his head to look at you.

"Hey, Y/N! wait!" listen to yourself behind your back. "Hey," you looked at him softly, "whats up?" He shook his head quickly. "I just wanted to…I mean, normally I wouldn't give a shit, but, I wanted to make sure that the song didn't offend you, it wasn't to upset you…" You interrupted his attempt to apologies "Don't worry, I understand it was just the song, I didn't take it personally, actually, I loved it" you laughed. "You did? I'm glad you're not like the rest and laugh instead of being offended." His attempt to hide his smile failed completely.

It just slips away from him.

Just with you.

A few seconds of silence took over the situation, though it wasn't uncomfortable, your eyes connected and you didn't seem to realize that you had been staring at each other. "Uhm, I was about to go to my hotel," you pointed behind you, "I was gonna change for the afterparty."

"Can I go with you?" He asked you, but before you processed the fact that he wanted to go with you to your hotel, he interrupted your thoughts "I mean, just so then we can go to the party together, if you want" he scratched the back of his neck.

You didn't even need to think about it "Yeah, I would like that" you smiled.

The two of you walked together towards your limo, captured by several cameras, so neither of you doubted that tomorrow you would wake up to a bunch of articles about how Eminem and Y/N left the Grammy's together. But none of you care about it.

[iero]

TEENAGERS —MTV's Europe Music Awards (2007)

[jlheon]

𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐆𝐎 ୨୧ 𝐋𝐇𝐒

(𝓹airing) ── lhs x fmr ꣑୧ 𝓮xes to lovers ? ; idol au, angst, & fluff (𝔀ordcount) one thousand 𝓹eng's note. abrupt ending & not proofread oops 𝓫ookshelf

𝓼ynopsis. the idol life was what tore you and heeseung a part, but now you reside under the same label

lee heeseung is everywhere you go.

both of you are idols under companies under hybe. it’s not a rare occurrence to see your ex-boyfriend walking down the same halls, music shows award shows, flights, and every place imaginable.

it’s not unbeatable of course.

you are used to it, while it seems lee heeseung has erased you out of his memory.

acting normal, cordial, when you bump each each other in the elevator.

it’s like you never existed, like you never were a chapter in his life, but it’s not like you can do anything about it now.

THAT’S JUST THE WAY THINGS GO.

you dated heeseung for most of your teenage years.

as corny as it was, you thought he was the one and spend your whole lives together.

that you would end up marrying your first boyfriend.

you both shared the same dream, to become an idol. thus leading to the two of you auditioning for the same companies and picking one since you both got in.

heeseung and you practiced together in secret.

though he got ahead first, from nearly making it into txt and being picked for iland, heeseung was ready to debut.

on the other hand, you still had to wait a couple of years before hybe would consider debuting a girl group.

so you both agreed to break up in the midst of heeseung leaving to film the survival show.

it hurt, it did, but you spent all the remaining weeks together. a sort of final goodbye dragged out as the both of you didn’t want to let go of your relationship just yet.

it was a weird limbo stage.

the handful of friends who knew of your relationship were informed you two had parted ways while you two stayed glued to the hip in secret.

the morning of your last day with heeseung, you cried in his bathroom while he was still asleep.

you tried not to wake him and let him see you in such a state but he heard you. sliding down on his floor to take you into his arms as you cried.

neither of you talked during your last day together. some whispers of one-word replies every couple of hours but most of the time was solely about being close to the other. basking in each other's touch and presence for one final time.

you knew everything would be different after this survival show.

lee heeseung had everything, he was perfect, he was debut-ready. there was not a single doubt that he wouldn’t win the show and become a beloved idol.

even if there was a sliver of a chance he’d lose, his public debut even as a trainee would garner a fanbase waiting for his debut at another time.

when heeseung inevitably placed fifth overall you were watching in your room. a bittersweet feeling washing over you when you remember this means that it was the official end of you and heeseung. your chapter in his life coming to a close.

the last time heeseung contacts you was two days after the finale of iland aired.

a simple, text wishing you debut soon, that he is going to cut contact due to his dating ban, and needing to focus on his career.

you want to hate heeseung.

to yell at him over the phone and scream in his face about how he can’t just leave you behind like that. say that he can’t just forget about you after everything you’ve been through together.

but the other part of you wants to hope. to beg for him back. whether it meant in the future when you hopefully make your debut and he’s in the clear to date or secretly dating now. 

alas, you congratulate him and say only time will tell.

THERE’S SO MUCH LEFT TO SAY, I GUESS I’M JUST THE BIGGER GUY.

now three years past you’ve debuted and are thriving as one of hybe’s newest girl groups.

gaining in popularity with the latest release of your group's first full-length studio album.

which comes with the hectic schedules of filming music shows, variety shows, collaborations tiktoks, and more.

unfortunately or fortunately, enhypen just so happened to have a comeback at the same time. even promoting at the same music show on the same day. 

when your manager told you that you were set to make a video with an enhypen member you felt sick. there was a one in seven chance it would be heeseung.

though you had no say whether or not you did it.

nobody knew of you and heeseung’s past and it was planned to stay that way.

as you walked up to the shooting spot the air in your lungs slowly disappeared. nearly choking when you saw heeseung standing there watching your group's dance as he went over it in his head.

“hey,” heeseung whispered shyly when you quietly stood next to him.

you offer him a bow, as he was now your senior, not the boy you spent years loving.

it’s too quiet when you finish filming the tiktok challenge. rewatching it with heeseung after taking one final shot and bowing goodbye.

though after you notice the camera for both of your groups' behinds stop rolling and your manager doesn’t whisk you away just yet.

the amount of staff slowly disappears and you are about to follow after when you feel a grip on your wrist.

tugging you back towards himself, heeseung wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close.

“heeseung?” you question, words coming out airy.

“____,” he whispers, nuzzling his head into your hair, “i missed you.”

“you’re going to get us in trouble,” you mutter, though truthfully you just want to melt into his embrace.

“it’s okay,” heeseung’s grip loosens, only to spin you around in his hold. he looks down at your confused face, “i asked for some privacy with you.”

“why?” you whisper, his mere touch after years of yearning making goosebumps arise on your skin.

“i miss you a lot,” his arm rests around your waist. the other cradles your head and pushes it to rest on his chest, “please, i’m finally able to try us again.”

“i’m still on dating ban,” you frown, finally surrendering and hugging your ex-boyfriend back.

“i talked to your manager,” heeseung holds you tightly, “i took care of everything. please give me a chance again.”

it might be three years later, but for you, lee heeseung can wait thousands of years.

AND I DON’T MIND THAT THAT’S THE WAY THINGS GO.

[kerryshifts]

THE DISCOGRAPHY,

baby-doll, you need some rock n' roll. !!!!!!

for everyone who likes to scream in the void. no judgment is allowed. no fear will take control. music has always been a way to connect with the deepest part of you; and this is why they are always praised for. ladies and gentlemen… THE INKSTAINS.

with their raw, energetic and distorted sound THE INKSTAINS are meeting contemporary tastes and bringing back rock’n’roll at the top of international charts. they are a mania. founded in 2018 initially as a way for the group to disobey to their parents wishes, the four of them say to have found a part of themselves they have never seen before with their music. kerry colt (lead singer & face of the group), james potter (bass), remus lupin (guitar) and sirius black (drums), all in their teenagehood, are rebooting rock ‘n’ roll for a new generation of listener.

🎸 ✶ release date: september 20, 2019. DETENTION DIARIES.

alternative rock / desert rock / grunge. length: 54:20.

[ GEFFEN RECORDS ] & dan nigro, jack endino, butch vig.

TRACKLIST . .

i. pure games.

ii. true love knows no misery.

iii. frenzy.

iv. the time has come again 4 cocktails.

v. sweetheart inside destruction.

vi. my killer.

vii. someone new!!!!!

viii. hold me down with your games.

ix. social scars.

x. mess of a soul.

xi. stuck in my head….

xii. no sleep for dreamers.

xiii. lost signal.

xiv. over and out.

the debut album DETENTION DIARIES has received a lot of positive criticism. both the critics and the public admired the sound and the details put in each of the songs, such as special effects (ex: fireworks in social scars) in some of them, and how the sound and the lyrics matches each other while, when needed, can cause a sensation of discomfort and comfort. the album can both be raw and eccentric, capturing the essence of each member of the band. everyone can clearly hear how much all the people who worked on this project cared about the result. DETENTION DIARIES became one of the best selling albums of 2019, positioning at the first place on the globally billboards, along with nine of the songs placing on the top 30 songs globally. it became a global success, causing THE INKSTAINS to be 13th on the list of all artists.

THE AWARDS,

v mas 2019.

VIDEO OF THE YEAR: my killer.

BEST NEW ARTIST: THE INKSTAINS.

BEST ROCK: THE INKSTAINS / DETENTION DIARIES.

THE INKSTAINS performed my killer at the VMAS, causing not only a pop culture moment, but also controversy. the performance was raw to demonstrate the meaning of the song (the singer directly talks to anxiety, who is represented as a person, a femme fatale version of her, and who talks back to her). the two have two very different type of voices; with thehe anxiety having a very high-pitched voice). because of the sound & the lyrics & the outfit the band was wearing, they got ‘demonic’ accusations. the only response by the band was ‘you know you made it when they think you are demonic’.

grammy awards 2020.

BEST NEW ARTIST: THE INKSTAINS.

BEST ROCK SONG: my killer.

NOMINATED (best rock album).

DETENTION DIARIES TOUR.

from 5st january 2020 to 31th august 2020.

🎸 ✶ release date: march 4th, 2021. RUST&RUIN.

alternative rock / desert rock / grunge. length: 54:20.

[ GEFFEN RECORDS ] & dan nigro, jack endino, butch vig.

TRACKLIST,

i. the time has come again 4 introductions.

ii. serious teenager.

iii. unlikely magnets.

iv. mooore drugs.

v. it’s thought to make explosions.

vi. me n u and hellfire.

vii. in yesterday.

viii. out of anthems.

ix. please, no.

x. closer memory.

their sophomore album RUST&RUIN became a global success, easily beating their debut. the marketing for the album anticipation was, according to the critics, so in-style with the band that it almost felt surreal to assist in real time. all of the vinyls went out stock in less than ten minutes, and RUST&RUIN became the best selling album of 2021, making THE INKSTAINS the 6th artist most streamed on spotify. this is a more mature album, and everything seems to be even better than the debut one: from the melody, the voice, lyrics and production. the bandsurpassed all the expectations that everyone had. it wasn’t so different from DETENTION DIARIES, but it wasn’t neither the same. people loved it because it came with feelings, not only a good music.

THE AWARDS,

v mas.

SONG OF THE YEAR: me n u and hellfire.

BEST ROCK: RUST&RUIN.

( NOMINATED ) album of the year. best music video.

grammys.

BEST ROCK SONG: in yesterday.

SONG OF THE YEAR: me n u and hellfire.

BEST ROCK ALBUM: RUST&RUIN.

( NOMINATED ) album of the year. best music video.

RUST&RUIN TOUR.

from september 20, 2021 to august 5, 2022.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[valeisaslut]

can we get some more background on collide’s ellie before the story started? lowkey curious about her groupie days hahaha

THANK YOU GORG NONNIE I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO WRITE THIS. TURN IT UPPPP

Rockstar!ellie williams’ life before you came crashing into it was already wild in its own right. the fireflies started as this messy little project in high school, just three angsty teenagers skipping class to rehearse in jesse’s garage and dream too big. but from the very beginning, ellie had that thing. that frontwoman energy. raw, magnetic, loud when she wanted to be and quiet in the moments that mattered.

of course, being joel miller’s daughter didn’t hurt either. the joel miller—rock legend, guitarist god, literal music royalty. she grew up with guitars in every corner of the house, got her first custom pedal at twelve, and was getting dropped off at school in a vintage mustang with the windows down and her dad blasting nirvana like he wasn’t a whole icon. people were paying attention before she even opened her mouth.

their debut album dropped when she was barely nineteen and it exploded. like, charts on fire, critics losing their minds, fans already tattooing lyrics on their ribs kind of explosion. it was rough and loud and painfully honest, and people ate it up. suddenly the fireflies were everywhere—magazine covers, award shows, late night interviews where ellie would always roll her eyes and let dina do the talking.

and ellie? ellie was living like a rockstar. full-speed. full-chaos. she had girls lined up at every venue, backstage passes tucked into her back pocket like candy. groupies every night, different cities, different names she couldn’t remember in the morning. she wasn’t cruel about it, just detached. like she knew how to give people a night they’d remember forever, while she forgot it the second it was over.

there were stories, obviously. ellie williams didn’t just flirt with the whole sex-drugs-rock-and-roll lifestyle—she practically rebranded it.

like the time in chicago, where she went MIA a few hours before the show and no one could find her. security was panicking, dina was pacing, and jesse was one call away from having a heart attack—until ellie strolled into the venue ten minutes before set time, lipstick smudged all over her jaw, reeking of tequila and weed, with three girls trailing behind her like she was the messiah of sex. she still performed like nothing happened, of course. even signed a bra on stage mid-song.

or berlin, when she stopped the show halfway through, locked eyes with a girl in the front row who looked like she’d been crying, and straight-up jumped off stage. mic still in hand, she kissed her so hard it made at least 20 headlines. she never got her name, but later admitted in an interview that it was one of the best kisses of her life.

and then there was that rooftop in LA—the infamous afterparty for some alt girlband’s tour finale. ellie was already drunk, half in her underwear, making out with the rival band’s lead singer against a glass wall while their drummer tried to politely look away. jesse swears he walked in on her mid-threesome in the guest bedroom later that night, but ellie still denies it to this day. kinda.

there was one show—vegas, obviously—where ellie walked off stage with nearly twenty bras and at least ten pairs of panties stuffed into her mic stand, draped over her guitar, even hanging off her boot somehow. halfway through the set, it basically turned into a lingerie rainstorm. she played through it like a pro, flashing that smug little grin every time another piece hit the stage, only pausing once to pick up a red lace thong, twirl it around her finger, and go, “if you want it back, you’re gonna have to come get it yourself.” the crowd lost it.

dina joked that they could open a lingerie store with all the stuff ellie got that night. ellie just shrugged, grinning, and said, “what can i say? i’m a woman of the people.”

it was a mess, but it was her mess. untouchable, unstoppable, with this cocky grin and a body count that would make most people faint. music was her religion and girls were her favorite sin.

but all of that changed when you showed up. not right away—ellie was too stubborn for that. but eventually, the chaos started to feel a little quieter. the noise started to mean something. and for the first time, ellie started thinking less about the next city, and more about who she wanted waiting for her when the lights went down.

[iwanthermidnightz]

When I think back on the Speak Now album, I get a lump in my throat. I have a feeling it will always be that way, because this period of time was so vibrantly aglow with the last light of the setting sun of my childhood. I made this album, completely self-written, between the ages of 18 and 20. I've spoken about how I feel like those ages are the most emotionally turbulent ones in a persons life. Maybe when I say that, I'm really just talking about myself.

I think they might just be the most idealistic, hopeful years too. At this point in my life, I had released my second album, Fearless. It became the breakthrough moment I'd always dreamt of, one that catapulted my career to new realms of success. It had brought with it a tidal wave of pressures and pitfalls and growing pains. All the while, I was encountering the milestones and checkpoints of normal teenage growth. I had cataclysmic crushes and brushes with heartache. I moved out of my parents' house and set my bags down in a new apartment. I hung photos on my own walls and decorated the space where I would sob and cackle and shatter and dream. Sometimes I felt like a grown up, but a lot of the time I just wanted to time travel back to my childhood bed, where my mom would read stories to me until I fell asleep.

In my darker moments, I was tormented by the doubt that swirled loudly around my ascent and my merits as an artist. I was trying to create a follow up to the most awarded country album in history, while staring directly into the face of intense criticism. I had been widely and publicly slammed for my singing voice and was first encountering the infuriating question that is unfortunately still lobbed at me to this day: does she really write her songs? Spoiler alert: I really, really do.

In the years since, I've developed a thicker skin about public criticism and the cynicism with which some people approach the music I make. At that time, it leveled me. I had these voices in my head telling me that I had the perfect chance and I blew it. I hadn’t been good enough. I had given it all I had and been found wanting.

I wanted to get better, to challenge myself, and to build on my skills as a writer, an artist, and a performer. I didn't want to just be handed respect and acceptance in my field. I wanted to earn it. To try and confront these demons, I underwent extensive vocal training and made a decision that would completely define this album: I decided I would write it entirely on my own. I figured, they couldn't give all the credit to my cowriters if there weren't any. But that posed a new challenge: It really had to be good. If it wasn't, I would be proving my critics right.

I had no idea how much this pain would shape me. That this was the beginning of my series of creative choices made by reacting to setbacks with defiance. That my stubbornness in the face of doubters and dissenters would become my coping mechanism through my entire career from that point forward. This exact pattern of enacting my own form of rebellion when I feel broken is exactly why you're reading these very words, and I'm re-releasing this album now.

I went through my first worldwide scandal (the mic grab seen around the world). I experienced the weirdness of trying to get to know a boy while a swarm of paparazzi surrounds the car. Media contacting my publicist for an official statement on why two teenagers broke up. These are weird experiences to have at any age, but even more surreal when you're 19.

I had the nagging sense that in the most intense moments of my life, I had frozen. I had said nothing publicly. I still don't know if it was out of instinct, not wanting to seem impolite, or just overwhelming fear. But I made sure to say it all in these songs. I decided to call the album Speak Now. It was a play on the speak now or forever hold your peace' moment in weddings, but for me it symbolized a chance to respond to the chatter and commentary around my own life.

Some of these emotional revelations were surprising to people. Some expected anger and instead got compassion and empathy with 'Innocent'. Some expected a kiss-off breakup song but instead got a hand-on-heart apology, 'Back to December. It was an album that was the most precious to me because of its vast extremes. It was unfiltered and potent. In my mind, the saddest song I've ever written is 'Last Kiss'. My most scathing is 'Dear John' and my most wistfully romantic is 'Enchanted'.

I'll be forever proud of setting a goal and seeing it through. I'lI always feel shivers all over when I remember singing 'Long Live' to close the show every night on tour. The outstretched hands of those bright and beautiful faces of the fans. Their support was like an open palm that reached out and helped me up off the ground when others were, frankly, mean.

These days I make my choices for those people, the ones who thought I had been good enough all along. I try to speak my mind when I feel strongly, in the moment I feel it. I'm still idealistic and earnest about the music I make, but I'm less crushed when people mock me for it. I know now that one of the bravest things a person can do is create something with unblinking sincerity, to put it all on the line. I still sometimes wish I was a little kid again in a tiny bed, before I ever grew up.

I always looked at this album as my album, and the lump in my throat expands to a quivering voice as I say this. Thanks to you, dear reader, it finally will be.

I consider this music to be, along with your faith in me, the best thing that's ever been mine.

Yours,

Taylor

[halfmoonaria]

superstar

pairing: jenna ortega & reader

summary: you're a singer, and jenna thinks you're a superstar

word count: 1.6k

Jenna had always been adamant in interviews and podcasts that she wasn't looking for a partner.

The notion of opening herself up to someone, of sharing her most intimate and vulnerable sides, was terrifying to her.

She'd often say that the industry was already a whirlwind, and adding a relationship into the mix seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Her words resonated with a certain conviction, leaving fans and followers convinced that Jenna was dedicated solely to her career and personal growth.

Hence, when news broke that Jenna had met someone, the world was taken aback.

And her family, who had long accepted her stance on relationships, were particularly stunned.

What made it even more astonishing was that her partner was not just anyone but a singer. The very idea seemed to clash with everything Jenna had previously expressed.

If anyone had expected Jenna to find love, it would have been with someone far removed from the spotlight, someone who could offer a grounding presence amidst the chaos of fame.

Yet, there she was, completely enchanted by you, whose life was as much in the public eye as hers.

Your talent and passion had pierced through Jenna's carefully constructed walls, revealing a side of her that no one had ever seen.

It was an unexpected connection, but it was real, and it transformed Jenna in ways she had never imagined possible.

You were her age, having started singing at a tender age, your voice a gift that quickly became your solace.

From the early days of strumming a guitar in your bedroom to performing on small stages, your journey was one of both talent and resilience.

Your songs were deeply personal, often touching on themes of mental health, a reflection of your own struggles since your teenage years. The raw honesty in your lyrics resonated with many, turning your pain into a source of comfort for others.

Jenna admired you not just for your musical prowess but for your courage.

In a world where vulnerability was often masked, you stood as a beacon of authenticity. You spoke openly about your battles with anxiety and depression, both in your music and in interviews.

Your willingness to share your story in hopes of helping others, struck a chord with Jenna.

She saw in you a kindred spirit, someone who navigated the complexities of fame with a heart wide open, unafraid to show the scars that came with it.

The openness, the fearless confrontation of your inner demons, was what drew Jenna to you.

It was no surprise that the two of you had found each other, you were both well looking and had surprisingly more similarities than anybody would thought.

Your fame had skyrocketed over the years, just like hers had.

Sold-out arenas, chart-topping albums, and countless awards had become part of your daily reality.

You were recognized wherever you went, your face gracing the covers of magazines and your name trending on social media.

Just like Jenna; two of the biggest stars in the entertainment industry to end up together was something nobody had expected.

Despite your immense popularity, you remained grounded, always remembering the humble beginnings that shaped you.

The magnitude of your success was undeniable.

Fans across the globe found solace in your music, drawn to the sincerity of your lyrics and the powerful way you connected with your audience.

Your concerts were not just performances but communal experiences where people came together, united by the themes of your songs.

Interviews and talk shows frequently featured you, not only to discuss your latest projects but to delve into the deeper conversations about mental health that you championed.

Jenna couldn't help but be captivated by how you balanced the pressures of fame with an unwavering commitment.

It was this genuine openness, this ability to remain true to yourself amidst the chaos of fame, that drew Jenna to you like a magnet.

Despite your hectic schedules and the constant media attention, your relationship flourished in the quiet moments away from the spotlight.

There were times you often found yourself on set with her, quietly supporting her through long days of filming.

Whether it was bringing her coffee during early morning shoots or simply being there to listen during breaks, you made sure she knew you were always by her.

Likewise, Jenna joined you on tour, even if just few times. Those moments were rare but cherished, her presence bringing a sense of calm amidst the chaos of your busy life on the road.

She would watch from the wings as you performed, a proud smile on her face, supporting you in the way only she could.

At home, the connection between you two deepened in ways Jenna never had anticipated.

There were nights when she'd sit on the edge of the bed or curl up on the couch, watching you play your guitar and sing just for her.

The closeness of those moments, your voice soft and full of emotion, always sent a thrill through her.

More than once, she'd found herself unable to resist you, her desire building until she was straddling your lap, the vibrations of your music moving through her.

Which had ended up in her getting off on your thigh multiple times as you played, your voice serenading her into bliss.

Jenna loved you in a way she'd never loved anyone before. You were everything she didn't know she needed, the only person who truly understood her.

She often marveled at the thought that you were all hers, unable to fully grasp how someone as incredible as you had chosen her.

Whether you were strumming a guitar at home or belting out lyrics on stage, you captivated her completely.

You were the only one she wanted, the only one who made her feel this intensely.

When you performed was when all of those thoughts overflowed.

On stage, you were magnetic, your voice powerful and sultry, sending shivers down her spine. And when you danced, it was as if the music lived in your body, every movement fluid and mesmerizing.

Jenna couldn't take her eyes off you.

She adored the outfits you wore—revealing pieces that clung to your body, accentuating every curve.

She understood why you chose them; the heat from the lights and the crowd demanded something breathable, but there was no denying the allure they added to your presence.

She found your voice captivating, sexy almost, whether it was the soft croon she heard at home or the commanding, electrifying sound that filled arenas.

Each note you sang and every step you took drew her in deeper, reminding her that despite all the eyes on you, you were hers alone.

Jenna admired you fiercely. Every time she watched you perform, she fell a little more in love, unable to understand how she was lucky enough to have you.

The way you owned the stage, the way your voice and dancing wrapped around her heart, left her breathless.

She loved watching you perform. For reasons that went beyond the obvious.

It wasn't just for the music or the energy of the crowd. There was something deeper, more personal, in the way she observed you on stage.

How deeply you connected with your audience, but even more so by how much of yourself you gave in each performance.

She knew every movement, every note came from a place that only understood. And that knowledge made it all more thrilling.

But what really drove her wild was what came after.

The sex afterwards was incredible.

You'd come of stage, still pulsing with the energy of the performance, and she could feel the heat radiating off you.

The way you'd pull her close, your hands exploring as if you couldn't wait another second. Your touch demanding and urgent, made her knees weak.

Those nights, when you were still on fire from the adrenaline, were her favorite.

If something hadn't gone the way you wanted; a missed note, a technical glitch, or someone who'd pissed you off backstage — Jenna knew she was in for it.

You'd take that frustration and channel it directly into her, the way you'd push her against the wall, not wasting a second, your intensity making her shiver with anticipation.

She craved those moments, the way your hands would be rougher, your kisses hungrier. The way you'd take control, leaving her breathless and utterly consumed by you.

Jenna loved every second of it, the raw unapologetic need that you unleashed after a show.

It was the side of you that only she got to experience, and it was addictive.

After every show, after the adrenaline had faded and the passion between you two had cooled to a gentle warmth, it was the quiet moments that Jenna cherished the most.

Lying in bed together, your bodies tangled in the sheets, she would trace the lines of your face, marveling at how someone so fierce on stage could be so tender with her.

It was in those moments that she realized just how much she loved you—not just for the superstar the world saw, but for the person you were when it was just the two of you.

No matter how hectic your lives became, no matter the miles between sets and stages, the connection you shared remained unshakeable.

You both had your own worlds, your own battles to fight, but in each other, you found a refuge, a place where you could be completely yourselves.

And as she drifted off to sleep beside you, Jenna knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, nothing could change the way she felt.

You were a star, but more importantly, you were her star, and she wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

[ghstyles]

Date Night | FWFW Extra

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WC: 6k

Masterlist

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Harry stood in front of his closet, staring at the extensive collection of designer clothes with uncharacteristic indecision. Around him, discarded options littered the floor, shirts deemed too casual, too formal, too "celebrity Harry" rather than "just Harry."

"Fuck," he muttered, running a hand through his hair for perhaps the twentieth time that hour.

He'd performed for stadiums filled with screaming fans. He'd accepted Grammy awards on international television. He'd faced down music industry executives and his own mother's cutting disapproval. None of it had made his palms sweat like this—the prospect of taking his own wife on their first proper date. 

Well, technically ex-wife but harry didn't care for such specifications 

His phone buzzed with a text from Jeff:

Remember you have that call with the label tomorrow at 11. Also, TMZ keeps asking about the divorce rumors. What do you want me to tell them?

Harry texted back quickly:

Tell them I'm busy taking my wife on a date. Call can wait.

He tossed the phone aside and finally settled on dark jeans and a simple button-down shirt—casual but intentional. No loud patterns or statement pieces. Nothing that screamed "pop star." Tonight wasn't about Harry Styles the celebrity; it was about Harry, the man trying to properly court the woman he'd married for all the wrong reasons and fallen in love with despite himself.

Meanwhile, in the guest house where she'd been staying since their return from her hometown, Y/N faced similar wardrobe anxieties.

"This is ridiculous," she told her reflection as she tried on a third outfit. "We were married. We've seen each other at our absolute worst."

Yet here she was, fussing over her appearance like a teenager before prom. There was something both absurd and precious about the reversed timeline of their relationship—marriage first, dating later.

She finally settled on a simple, elegant dress that made her feel confident without trying too hard. As she finished applying a touch of lip gloss, her phone chimed with Harry's text:

Ready whenever you are. No rush.

Y/N smiled at the polite formality. It was strange seeing Harry so nervous, so careful with her. The arrogant superstar who'd stormed into her life with his sharp tongue and sharper contracts had vanished, replaced by a man who asked permission before he touched her and texted to make sure she was comfortable with their plans.

When she stepped out of the guest house, she found him waiting by his least ostentatious car (which was still ridiculously expensive, but at least it wasn't the flashy sports car he usually drove). He'd brought flowers, not an elaborate arrangement from some exclusive florist, but wildflowers that looked like he'd actually picked them himself.

"Hi," he said, suddenly shy in a way that made her heart twist. "You look beautiful."

Y/N accepted the flowers, noting the small scratches on his hands that confirmed her suspicion about their origin. "Did you actually pick these yourself?"

A flush crept up Harry's neck. "There's a field behind the north property line. I remembered you saying once that you hated how florist arrangements always looked too perfect, too arranged."

The fact that he'd remembered such a casual comment, something she'd probably mentioned months ago in passing, made her breath catch.

"Thank you," she said softly. "They're perfect."

An awkward silence fell between them. The strange tension of two people who had shared everything from bitter arguments to passionate sex to vulnerable confessions, but had never done this: a simple, intentional date.

"So," Harry cleared his throat. "I thought we could go to this little place in Hampstead. It's not fancy, but they make incredible pasta, and the owner keeps the paparazzi away."

Y/N nodded, trying not to laugh at how endearingly uncomfortable he looked.Harry Styles, fumbling through first-date small talk with his own wife.

"Pasta sounds perfect," she assured him. "Lead the way."

The restaurant was indeed small and unassuming, tucked away on a quiet street where London's wealthy residents preferred privacy to flash. The owner, a robust Italian man with a magnificent mustache, greeted Harry like an old friend and led them to a secluded corner table illuminated by soft candlelight.

"Your usual table, Mr. Harry," he announced with a flourish. "And this must be the beautiful wife we have heard so much about!"

Harry shot the man a warning look that made Y/N raise an eyebrow.

"How often do you come here?" she asked once they were seated.

Harry shrugged, studying the menu with unnecessary intensity. "Just occasionally. When I need to think."

"And you've talked about me to the owner?"

Harry's eyes flicked up to meet hers, then back to the menu. "I might have mentioned you once or twice."

The casual admission shouldn't have affected her as much as it did—the idea of Harry sitting alone in this quiet restaurant, talking about her to a sympathetic restaurateur while their marriage was falling apart.

The waiter brought wine, and Harry waited for her approval before pouring, another small gesture that spoke volumes about his determination to do things differently this time.

"This is weird, isn't it?" Y/N finally said, breaking the tension with a small laugh. "Us, on a first date, after everything."

Relief flooded Harry's face at her acknowledgement. "Completely weird. I feel like I'm sixteen again, trying not to say anything stupid."

"You say stupid things all the time," Y/N teased. "Never stopped you before."

Harry grinned, some of his natural confidence returning. "True. But now I care if you think I'm an idiot."

"I already know you're an idiot," she countered, but there was no malice in her tone, only gentle teasing. "An idiot who picked wildflowers and got scratched up in the process."

Harry glanced down at his hands and shrugged. "Worth it for the look on your face."

The initial awkwardness began to dissolve as they ordered food and slipped into easier conversation. They carefully avoided discussing the divorce papers, his mother, or any of the painful chapters of their recent past, focusing instead on lighter topics—childhood memories, music Harry was working on, books Y/N had been reading in the guest house.

"So what now?" Y/N asked as they shared a tiramisu for dessert. "With the... legal situation, I mean."

Harry set down his fork, expression serious. "My lawyers are working on contesting the divorce filing. They're confident they can make a case for invalidating the papers based on how they were obtained."

He hesitated, then added: "But ultimately, it's up to you, Y/N. If you want out, I won't force you to stay married to me, no matter how much I want this to work."

Y/N considered his words, appreciating the care he was taking to give her agency in this decision.

"I don't want out. If they can be contested, great. If not, so be it. Doesn't matter" she said finally. "I just want us to do it right this time. No contracts, no arrangements. Just... us."

Harry reached across the table, his hand open in silent invitation. Y/N placed her hand in his, feeling the calluses on his fingertips from years of playing guitar.

"Just us," he agreed softly. "Starting right now."

After dinner, they walked through a small public garden nearby, closed to visitors but accessible through a side gate that Harry apparently had permission to use. Under a canopy of fairy lights strung through trees, they strolled in comfortable silence, hands occasionally brushing but not quite holding.

"This reminds me of the woods back home," Y/N said, looking up at the illuminated branches. "Less wild, but still magical."

Harry smiled, watching her face tilt toward the lights. "I come here sometimes to write. It's one of the few places in London where I can actually hear myself think."

"And what are you thinking now?" Y/N asked, turning to face him.

Harry considered the question seriously, his green eyes reflecting pinpoints of light from above.

"I'm thinking that I've performed in front of millions of people, but I've never been more nervous than I am right now, trying to impress you."

The honesty in his voice made Y/N's pulse quicken.

"You don't need to impress me, Harry," she said softly. "I already know who you are—the good and the bad."

"And you're still here," he noted, a question hiding in the statement.

Y/N nodded, taking a step closer to him beneath the canopy of lights. "I'm still here."

Harry's hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch gentle, questioning. "Can I kiss you? Properly, this time?"

The request, so careful, so different from the demanding Harry she'd first married, made Y/N smile.

"You've kissed me hundreds of times," she reminded him.

His thumb brushed her lower lip, his eyes intent on hers. "Not like this. Not as a beginning."

Understanding the significance he was placing on this moment, Y/N nodded. Harry leaned in slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away. When their lips finally met, it was gentle, almost tentative, nothing like the passionate or angry kisses they'd shared before.

This kiss held a question and a promise: Can we start again? Can we build something real from the ruins of what we were?

When they separated, Harry rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed as if memorizing the moment.

"Was that okay?" he whispered.

Y/N laughed softly, threading her fingers through his hair. "For a world-famous heartthrob, you're surprisingly insecure about your kissing abilities."

Harry opened his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. "Only with you. Only because it matters."

The drive back to Harry's estate, though he still thought of it primarily as theirs, was quiet, a comfortable silence replacing the nervous tension of earlier.

When they reached the circular driveway, Harry walked her to the guest house door, maintaining the first-date protocol despite the absurdity of the situation.

"So," he said, hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. "Would it be too forward to ask for a second date?"

Y/N pretended to consider this, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I don't know. I usually make men wait three days before I agree to see them again."

Harry grinned, playing along. "I could wait three days. Or minutes. Your choice."

Y/N laughed, the sound carrying through the quiet night air. "Tomorrow," she decided. "Let's not waste any more time."

Harry's smile softened into something more serious, more vulnerable. "No more wasted time," he agreed quietly.

He leaned in for one more gentle kiss goodnight, then stepped back, respecting the boundaries they were redrawing together.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said, walking backward a few steps before turning toward the main house.

"Goodnight, Harry," she called after him, watching as he glanced back with a smile that made her heart flutter despite everything they'd been through.

As she closed the guest house door behind her, Y/N leaned against it, touching her lips where his had been moments before. Their first date. Their first real beginning after so many false starts and wrong turns.

It wouldn't be easy. Nothing about their relationship ever had been. But for the first time since this complicated journey began, Y/N felt something she'd almost forgotten: hope, fragile but persistent, taking root in soil once thought too damaged to nurture anything worth growing.

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That second date blossomed into a third and that turned into a fourth. Today was their fifth date. 

Y/N stood in front of the full-length mirror in the guest house bedroom, examining her reflection with critical eyes. The dress she'd chosen for tonight, a deep emerald that complemented her eyes and hair, hung elegantly on her frame, sophisticated without trying too hard. Perfect for the jazz club Harry had mentioned taking her to.

But it was what lay beneath the dress that currently occupied her thoughts.

On her bed lay two options: practical, comfortable underwear in nude tones that wouldn't show through the fabric of her dress...and a matching set of black lace lingerie she'd impulsively purchased during a solo shopping trip to London earlier that week.

Five dates. That was where they stood now, four completed, with the fifth looming this evening. Each date had ended the same way: a progressively longer, more heated goodnight kiss at her door, followed by Harry reluctantly pulling away and walking back to the main house alone.

His restraint both frustrated and touched her. He was letting her set the pace, waiting for her to signal when she was ready to move beyond their careful courtship into more intimate territory.

Y/N picked up the black lace bra, running her thumb over the delicate material. It had been just over two months since they'd been intimate—their last encounter a desperate, angry joining the night before everything fell apart. Before the divorce papers, before her flight home, before Harry's confession and their slow, deliberate rebuilding.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered to her reflection. 

Yet it didn't feel ridiculous. It felt significant. The decision to invite Harry back into her bed would mark another threshold crossed in their unconventional journey from arranged marriage to genuine partnership.

She thought about their fourth date two nights ago. A private concert at Abbey Road Studios where Harry had arranged for her to hear a legendary jazz pianist perform. Afterward, in the dim light outside the building, his goodnight kiss had lingered longer than usual, his hands at her waist pulling her closer before he'd forced himself to step back, eyes dark with barely-restrained desire.

"Not yet," he'd whispered against her lips. "Not until you're sure."

The memory sent a pleasant shiver down Y/N's spine. She made her decision, reaching for the black lingerie.

Twenty minutes later, as she applied a final touch of perfume to her wrists, a text from Harry lit up her phone:

Ready whenever you are. No rush.

The same message he'd sent before every date. His way of giving her space, of confirming that this was her choice too.

Y/N smiled, typing back:

Coming out now. Fair warning: I'm looking forward to more than just jazz tonight.

She hesitated before hitting send, wondering if the message was too forward, too obvious. Then she remembered Harry's words from their third date, when they'd discussed their communication failures during their arranged marriage:

"No more guessing games," he'd said. "If you want something, tell me. If you need something, ask for it."

She pressed send.

Outside, Harry was leaning against his car, scrolling through his phone when she emerged. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps, his casual expression transforming into something more intense as he read her message. His eyes met hers across the driveway, a silent question in them.

Y/N approached him steadily, confidence growing with each step. The black lace against her skin was her own private knowledge, a secret that made her feel both powerful and vulnerable.

"Hi," she said simply when she reached him.

Harry's gaze traveled slowly from her face down the length of her emerald dress and back up again, appreciation evident in his eyes.

"Hi yourself," he replied, his voice slightly rougher than usual. "You look incredible."

Y/N smiled, noting the slight flush on his cheeks, the way his pupils had dilated. "Thank you. So do you."

He did—the casual elegance of his black trousers and white open-collared shirt suited him perfectly, his cross necklace glinting against his chest where the shirt revealed a hint of his tattoos.

Harry opened the car door for her, his hand brushing hers as she slid past him into the passenger seat. Even that brief contact sent electricity dancing across her skin.

As Harry walked around to the driver's side, Y/N took a steadying breath. The awareness between them had shifted, charged with anticipation and renewed desire.

Once inside the car, Harry turned to her before starting the engine.

"Your text," he began, his voice careful. "I want to make sure I understood what you meant."

Y/N appreciated his caution, his insistence on clarity rather than assumption.

"I meant exactly what you think I meant," she confirmed, meeting his gaze directly. "I'm ready, Harry. If you are."

Something fierce and tender flashed in his eyes. "I've been ready since the moment you agreed to try again," he admitted. "But only when you were sure."

Y/N reached across the console to touch his face, her thumb tracing the edge of his jawline. "I'm sure."

Harry turned his head slightly to press a kiss to her palm, his eyes never leaving hers. The simple gesture carried such intimacy that Y/N felt her breath catch.

"Jazz club first," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent heat pooling in her belly. "I want to do this right."

Y/N smiled, settling back into her seat as Harry started the car. "Jazz club first," she agreed. "Then home."

The word hung between them—home, not his house or the guest house, but home. Their home, if they chose to make it so.

The jazz club was intimate and exclusive, tucked away in a basement in Soho with a strict no-photos policy that allowed its celebrity clientele to relax away from prying eyes. The maître d' greeted Harry by name and led them to a secluded corner table with an excellent view of the small stage where a quartet was setting up.

Under the table, Harry's knee pressed against Y/N's, a point of constant contact as they sipped craft cocktails and listened to the sultry notes filling the dimly lit space. The music wrapped around them like a cocoon, creating the illusion that they were the only people in the room.

"Do you remember our first dance?" Harry asked during a break between sets, his fingers tracing patterns on the back of her hand where it rested on the table.

Y/N nodded, remembering the charity gala where they'd first appeared in public as a supposedly happy couple. "You stepped on my toes twice."

Harry laughed softly. "And you called me a 'graceless giraffe' when no one could hear."

"You deserved it," Y/N teased. "Three Grammy awards and you couldn't manage a simple waltz."

"In my defense, I was distracted," Harry said, his eyes warm in the low light. "You were wearing that blue dress that made your eyes look like the Mediterranean, and I couldn't think straight."

Y/N blinked, surprised by the admission. "You never said anything."

Harry shrugged, a hint of vulnerability crossing his features. "I wasn't supposed to be attracted to you. It wasn't part of our arrangement."

"And now?" Y/N asked softly.

Harry's gaze intensified, his hand tightening around hers. "Now I'm free to tell you that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and that emerald dress is making it very difficult for me to focus on anything except taking it off you later."

Heat bloomed in Y/N's cheeks, spreading down her neck at his blunt admission. The knowledge of the black lace lingerie beneath her dress felt suddenly more significant.

"Maybe we should dance," she suggested, nodding toward the small space near the stage where a few couples were swaying to the quartet's mellow tunes. "For practice."

Harry stood, offering his hand with a slight bow that managed to be both playful and gallant. "I promise not to step on your toes this time."

On the tiny dance floor, Harry pulled her close, one hand at the small of her back, the other clasping hers against his chest. They moved together with a synchronicity that had been missing during that first awkward waltz months ago—a physical manifestation of how far they'd come.

"Better?" Harry murmured against her temple.

Y/N nodded, allowing herself to melt further into his embrace. "Much better."

As they swayed to the sultry saxophone, Harry's hand dipped slightly lower on her back, his fingers splaying possessively just above the curve of her bottom. Y/N responded by pressing closer, eliminating the last bit of space between their bodies.

She felt his sharp intake of breath, felt the unmistakable evidence of his desire against her hip.

"We should probably go," Harry said, his voice strained. "Before I embarrass myself in public."

Y/N looked up at him through her lashes, a smile playing at her lips. "Wouldn't want to damage your reputation."

Harry gave her a look that was equal parts amusement and hunger. "My reputation can handle it. It's my self-control I'm worried about."

They thanked the band, left a generous tip, and made their way back to the car in record time. The drive home was charged with anticipation, Harry's hand resting on Y/N's thigh, her fingers occasionally brushing the exposed skin at his wrist where he'd rolled up his sleeve.

When they finally pulled into the driveway of the estate, Harry turned to her, his expression serious despite the desire evident in his eyes.

"Guest house or main house?" he asked quietly.

It was more than a practical question about location. It was about territory, about whose space they would occupy for this significant step.

Y/N considered for a moment, then decided: "Main house. Your room."

Something like relief flashed across Harry's features. Whether it was because he preferred his own space or because he saw her choice as symbolic of her willingness to reenter his life fully, Y/N wasn't sure. Perhaps both.

They walked hand in hand to the front door, maintaining a respectable distance that belied the tension humming between them. Once inside, however, with the door safely closed behind them, that pretense evaporated.

Harry turned to her in the dim light of the entryway, his eyes dark with intent. "Last chance to change your mind," he said softly, giving her one final opportunity to set the pace.

In response, Y/N reached for him, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling his mouth down to hers. The kiss was immediately different from the careful goodnight kisses they'd been sharing—deeper, hungrier, laden with two months of restraint finally breaking.

Harry groaned against her mouth, his hands finding her waist and pulling her flush against him. Y/N felt herself being backed against the nearest wall, Harry's body pressing into hers with delicious pressure.

When they broke apart for air, Harry's lips immediately found her neck, trailing hot kisses down to her collarbone.

"Upstairs," Y/N managed, her voice breathless. "Please."

Harry pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, checking one last time for any hesitation. Finding none, he surprised her by scooping her into his arms in one fluid motion.

"Harry!" she gasped, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck.

He grinned, carrying her toward the grand staircase. "I'm doing this properly," he informed her, kissing the tip of her nose. "Carrying my wife over the threshold and all that."

The teasing playfulness was new. A stark contrast to their previous encounters, which had always been underscored by the arrangement, by performance, by anger or desperation. This felt lighter, genuine, yet no less passionate.

Harry's bedroom was exactly as Y/N remembered it, though tidier than the last time she'd been there. The massive bed dominated the space, windows overlooking the moonlit estate grounds.

He set her down gently beside the bed, his hands lingering at her waist.

"You're sure?" he asked one final time, his voice husky with restraint.

In answer, Y/N turned her back to him, sweeping her long hair over one shoulder, a silent invitation to unzip her dress. She felt Harry's fingers at the zipper, heard his sharp intake of breath as the emerald fabric parted to reveal the black lace she'd chosen with this moment in mind.

"Christ, Y/N," he murmured as the dress slipped from her shoulders to pool at her feet, leaving her in nothing but the lingerie and her heels. "You're trying to kill me."

She turned to face him, emboldened by the naked desire in his eyes. "Not kill," she corrected, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "Just torture. A little."

Harry laughed, the sound transforming into a groan as her fingers brushed against his chest while unfastening his shirt.

"Fair enough," he conceded, helping her push the fabric from his shoulders, revealing the familiar landscape of tattoos across his torso. "I probably deserve some torture."

Y/N's hands explored his chest, tracing the lines of ink she'd once known by heart. "Less talking," she suggested, her fingers dipping to the waistband of his trousers. "More action."

Harry's eyes darkened at her bold touch. "Yes, ma'am."

“You have condoms right?”

Harry paused, his eyes, darkened with desire, cleared slightly at her question.

"Yeah, I have condoms," he confirmed, voice rough. "In the drawer."

Y/N nodded, relieved. Though they'd been careless in the past, this new beginning deserved more thoughtfulness. Harry seemed to appreciate her caution, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before returning to the more heated exploration of her neck and shoulders.

As his lips traced a path down her body, Y/N pushed against his chest, surprising him. He pulled back immediately, concern flashing across his features.

"Everything okay?" he asked, searching her face.

Y/N smiled, appreciating his instant responsiveness to her signals. "Everything's perfect. I just want to..."

Instead of finishing her sentence, she sank to her knees in front of him, her hands smoothing up his thighs. Harry's breath caught audibly as he realized her intention.

"Y/N," he groaned, watching as she reached for his belt.

She looked up at him through her lashes, fingers working the leather strap. "Let me take care of you first."

Harry's hand caught hers just as she began to lower the zipper of his trousers.

"Wait," he said, his voice strained with the effort of stopping her. "Not like this."

Confusion flickered across Y/N's face, quickly followed by uncertainty. Had she misread his desires?

Harry must have seen the question in her eyes because he quickly clarified: "Not because I don't want it—fuck, I want it more than you know. But not with you on your knees on this hard floor."

He reached down, gently pulling her to her feet. "Your knees will be bruised to hell on this wood," he explained, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And I'd rather see your beautiful face anyway."

The thoughtfulness of his concern touched something deep in Y/N—it was such a small thing, but indicative of how their dynamic had shifted.

Harry moved to sit on the edge of the bed, then lay back, extending his hand to her. "Come here."

Y/N took his hand, allowing him to guide her to stand between his parted legs. From this position, he looked up at her with such naked adoration that it almost took her breath away.

"Much better," he murmured, hands sliding up the backs of her thighs to cup her bottom through the black lace. "Now you can do whatever you want without hurting yourself."

Y/N smiled, bending to kiss him briefly before returning her attention to his belt, which she unfastened with deliberate slowness. Harry's breathing grew more ragged as she lowered his zipper and helped him lift his hips to push his trousers and boxers down.

His cock sprang free, hard and already leaking at the tip. Y/N took a moment to appreciate the sight of him—all lean muscle and tattoos against the dark bedding, his eyes hooded as he watched her watching him.

She leaned over him, maintaining eye contact as she wrapped her hand around his length, giving him a few slow, experimental strokes that made his hips buck involuntarily.

"Fuck," he breathed, one hand fisting in the bedsheets. "I've missed your touch."

Y/N smiled, lowering her head to press a kiss to the sensitive tip. Harry's whole body tensed, a string of incoherent curses falling from his lips as she took him into her mouth.

She worked him slowly at first, relearning what he liked, what made his breath hitch and his hands clench. Harry's fingers tangled gently in her hair, not guiding or pushing, just connecting.

"God, Y/N," he groaned as she took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks around him. "Your mouth... fucking perfect."

The praise sent a thrill through her, intensifying her own arousal as she continued her ministrations. Harry's hips began to move in small, controlled thrusts, careful not to push too deep.

When she felt his thighs trembling with the effort of restraint, Y/N increased her pace, adding a twist of her hand at the base where her mouth couldn't reach. Harry's breathing turned ragged, his grip in her hair tightening slightly.

"Wait," he managed, his voice wrecked. "I'm too close. Want to be inside you."

Y/N pulled off with a slow drag of her lips that made him shudder. Before she could respond, Harry was moving, sitting up and pulling her onto the bed with him in one fluid motion. He rolled them so she was beneath him, his weight a welcome pressure against her body.

"My turn," he murmured against her lips, kissing her deeply before beginning a meandering path down her body.

He took his time with her breasts, removing the black lace bra with reverent hands to reveal her to his hungry gaze.

"Beautiful," he whispered, cupping their weight in his palms. "So fucking beautiful."

His mouth closed around one nipple, tongue swirling as his thumb teased the other to a stiff peak. Y/N arched into the sensation, her hands finding purchase in his hair.

Harry lavished attention on her breasts until she was squirming beneath him, desperate for more direct stimulation. Only then did he continue his journey downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her ribs, her stomach, the jut of her hipbones.

When he reached the waistband of her panties, he looked up, seeking permission. Y/N nodded, lifting her hips to help as he slowly peeled the lace down her legs.

Harry settled between her thighs, his broad shoulders spreading her legs wider. The position was vulnerable, intimate.Y/N felt exposed in ways that went beyond the physical as Harry gazed at her most private place with undisguised hunger.

"I could look at you forever," he said softly, his breath warm against her sensitive skin. "But I'd rather taste you."

Before Y/N could respond, Harry's mouth was on her, his tongue making a long, slow stroke through her folds that had her gasping and clutching at the sheets. He hummed his approval against her, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation.

"You taste even better than I remembered," he murmured, his words punctuated by the deliberate circles of his tongue around her clit. "So sweet, so wet for me."

Y/N moaned, her hips lifting instinctively toward his mouth. Harry's large hands curled around her thighs, holding her open to his attentions.

He was thorough, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and more focused attention to her clit. When he slipped one finger inside her, then two, curling them to find that spot that made her see stars, Y/N cried out, her back arching off the bed.

"That's it," Harry encouraged, his voice rough with arousal. "Let me hear you, love. Want to know how good I'm making you feel."

The combination of his fingers inside her, his tongue on her clit, and the praise falling from his lips pushed Y/N rapidly toward the edge. Her thighs began to tremble, her breath coming in short, sharp pants.

"Harry," she gasped, a warning and a plea.

He increased his efforts, adding a third finger and sucking gently on her clit. The pressure built and built until Y/N couldn't hold back any longer, crashing over the edge with a cry that might have been his name.

Harry worked her through it, easing the pressure but not stopping entirely until the aftershocks had subsided and she pushed weakly at his head, oversensitive.

He pressed a final kiss to her inner thigh before moving up her body, his expression one of profound satisfaction as he took in her flushed face and heavy-lidded eyes.

"You're fucking gorgeous when you come," he told her, brushing sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Y/N laughed breathlessly, still floating in post-orgasmic bliss. "If I'd known you were this good with your mouth, I might have been nicer to you from the beginning."

Harry grinned, the expression boyish despite the desire still evident in his eyes. "I'm good with more than just my mouth," he reminded her, pressing his still-hard length against her thigh. "But only if you're ready."

Y/N reached between them, wrapping her fingers around him once more. "I'm ready," she confirmed, guiding him toward her entrance. "Condom first."

Harry nodded, reaching toward the bedside drawer. As he retrieved protection, Y/N took a moment to appreciate the lean muscles of his back, the tattoos that decorated his skin like a private gallery.

When he turned back to her, sheathed and ready, Y/N opened her arms in wordless invitation. Harry settled between her thighs, bracing his weight on his forearms as he positioned himself at her entrance.

He paused there, eyes locked on hers. "This is different," he said softly, the simple statement laden with meaning. "This isn't like before."

"I know," she whispered, reaching up to touch his face. "It's more real this time."

Harry turned his head to press a kiss to her palm, then slowly, reverently pushed inside her. They both gasped at the sensation, at the perfect rightness of being joined after so long apart.

He stilled once fully seated, giving her time to adjust and himself time to regain control. When Y/N shifted her hips impatiently, he began to move in long, deep strokes that had her clutching at his shoulders.

"You feel so good," he groaned, dropping his head to the crook of her neck. "So tight, so perfect around me."

Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, changing the angle so he hit that spot deep inside with every thrust. The new position drew a string of curses from Harry, his pace increasing as his control began to slip.

"That's it," Y/N encouraged, nails digging into his back. "Harder, Harry. I need more."

Harry complied immediately, driving into her with renewed intensity. The headboard began to hit the wall with each powerful thrust, adding a rhythmic backdrop to their shared moans and gasps.

When Harry slipped a hand between them to circle her clit with his thumb, Y/N felt herself rapidly approaching another peak. Her inner muscles clenched around him, drawing a strangled groan from his throat.

"I love you," Harry said raggedly as their pace increased, his hands moving from her hips to cup her face. "I love you, Y/N. Only you."

She nodded, unable to form words. 

"Come for me again," he urged, his voice wrecked with pleasure and exertion. "Want to feel you come around my cock."

His crude words, combined with the dual stimulation of his thumb on her clit and his cock hitting that perfect spot inside her, sent Y/N spiraling into her second orgasm. She cried out his name, her body arching beneath him as waves of pleasure crashed through her.

The feeling of her inner walls pulsing around him pushed Harry over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside her and came with a hoarse shout, his body shuddering against hers.

For several long moments, they remained locked together, both too overwhelmed to move. Harry's weight pressed Y/N into the mattress, but she welcomed it, her arms wrapped tightly around his sweat-slicked back.

Finally, Harry stirred, pressing a tender kiss to her temple before carefully withdrawing. He disposed of the condom in the ensuite bathroom, then returned to the bed where Y/N lay in a pleasant daze.

Instead of immediately pulling her into his arms as he might have done in the past, Harry paused at the edge of the bed, an uncharacteristic uncertainty in his expression.

"Will you stay?" he asked quietly. "For the night, I mean."

"Yes," she said simply, reaching out her hand to him. "I'll stay."

Relief and joy flashed across Harry's features as he took her hand and joined her in the bed, pulling the covers over both of them. He gathered her against his chest, his chin resting on the top of her head.

"Good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Because I'm not ready to let you go yet."

Y/N smiled against his skin, hearing the deeper meaning behind his words. Not just for tonight, but for all the nights to come.

"Then don't," she whispered, closing her eyes and letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull her toward sleep. "I'm not going anywhere."

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

Taglist: @mysunflowerposts @lydiasfalling @panini @ell0ra-br3kk3r @donutsandpalmtrees @sunshinemoonsposts @angeldavis777 @fangirl509east @maudie-duan @indierockgirrl @harryssunflower17 @lizsogolden @daphnesutton @spinninc @behindmygreyeyes @wheredidmyeyesgo @matildasatellite @drewrry @inlikea-coolway @jerseygirlinca @nosebeers

[fandom]

TV Shows

Another big year for that show that hasn't aired since 2020.

Good Omens +20

The Owl House

Stranger Things -2

The Last of Us

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles +15

Our Flag Means Death -3

Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir -1

Succession +2

Adventure Time +72

Supernatural -2

Adventure Time: Fionna and Cake

Ted Lasso +48

Shadow and Bone +35

The Mandalorian +15

Doctor Who

The Eurovision Song Contest +16

Interview with the Vampire +11

Danny Phantom +12

House of the Dragon -14

Heartstopper -7

The Witcher -12

Wednesday

What We Do in the Shadows -16

Warrior Nun

9-1-1 -7

Hannibal -1

Yellowjackets

Merlin +18

The Sandman -17

Ahsoka

Young Royals +33

Avatar: The Last Airbender -1

Sonic Prime

One Piece

Loki -2

South Park +11

Teen Wolf +20

Lego Monkie Kid +31

The Dragon Prince

Percy Jackson and the Olympians -16

Steven Universe +3

Andor +28

Don't Hug Me I'm Scared

The Bad Batch

Bridgerton -18

Abbott Elementary +50

Ninjago +8

Arcane -44

Obi-Wan Kenobi -33

Breaking Bad -7

My Adventures with Superman

Riverdale +4

The Legend of Vox Machina -2

9-1-1: Lone Star +8

Star Wars: The Clone Wars -14

KinnPorsche -39

Gravity Falls -31

The Untamed -19

The Winchesters

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine +4

The Rookie

House MD

Castlevania

Golden Globes

Game of Thrones -21

Criminal Minds +5

The Academy Awards -14

The Muppets

Outer Banks

Ghosts +18

Daisy Jones & The Six

Star Wars Rebels

The Simpsons +13

Amphibia -61

The Bear

Lockwood & Co.

Willow

Star Trek: The Original Series +1

Love in the Air +11

Inside Job

Community +3

Velma

Better Call Saul -34

Only Friends

Columbo +12

The Grammy Awards

Buffy the Vampire Slayer -17

Gotham -16

The Screen Actors Guild Awards

Phineas and Ferb

My School President

Clone High

Supergirl -56

Moon Knight -84

The Walking Dead

The Sanremo Music Festival

Moonlight Chicken

Black Sails -22

Invader Zim -14

The number in italics indicates how many spots a title moved up or down from the previous year. Bolded titles weren’t on the list last year.

[missbellie]

The Afterparty-B.E

Synopsis: Two childhood friends, separated by fame and time, meet again at an afterparty. The encounter is electric, filled with nostalgia, unresolved tension, and the ghosts of a past long buried. As they reconnect, old feelings resurface, and they share a slow, lingering kiss that brings them back to a place they thought they’d lost. Amid the flashing lights and crowded rooms, they rediscover each other, and with one whispered question, they make a promise to not let go again.

Pair: B.e x F!Reader

Warnigs: none?

Words: 10,5k

Style: Fanfic | Imagine | Headcanons

Credits: @cafekitsune

The place smells like expensive whiskey and cologne, a mix of luxury and recklessness. The lights flicker in warm shades, shadows dancing across the walls as bodies move to the deep bass of the music. You’ve been to parties like this before—where everyone is too famous to seem impressed, too used to the extravagance to care.

But this one is different.

Because Billie is here.

You knew it the moment you stepped inside. Before seeing her, before hearing her laughter cutting through the low hum of conversations, you felt it. Like your body still recognized her presence, despite the years apart.

And then you see her.

She’s leaning against the bar, a half-empty glass in her hand, her fingers tracing lazy circles around the rim. A small crowd surrounds her, laughing at something she just said. Her hair falls effortlessly over her shoulders, and there’s something about the way she tilts her head, the way she bites her lip between sentences, that sends you spiraling back into memories you thought you’d buried.

Years. Years of only seeing her in magazine covers, award show speeches, and songs that felt too familiar to be coincidences. But now, she’s here. Real. Just a few steps away.

And she sees you.

The moment her gaze locks onto yours, time slows for a fraction of a second. A silent acknowledgment. A weight neither of you expected to feel so heavily.

Then, just as quickly, she looks away.

The spark ignites deep in your chest, the undeniable electricity that only exists between two people who were once everything to each other—and then, suddenly, nothing.

"Hello? Are you still with me?"

Gracie’s voice pulls you out of your trance, grounding you back in the moment.

"Yeah, sorry… What were you saying?" You turn your attention back to the short-haired girl beside you, catching the teasing smirk on her lips.

"What?"

Gracie raises an eyebrow, amused. "Why don’t you just go talk to her? You two keep staring at each other but won’t say a word."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "We’re not staring at each other."

Gracie’s smirk widens. "Mhm. Right."

You exhale, resisting the urge to glance in Billie’s direction again.

But you feel her.

Like a gravitational pull that never really faded.

It was a difficult mission not to look at the girl all the time, especially seeing her in your peripheral vision everywhere you go-or hearing her laugh behind you as if she wanted to be heard.

Gracie sighs dramatically, crossing her arms as she stares at her drink. "You know, I’m not a big fan of unresolved movie scenes. You should go talk to her."

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "And say what? ‘Hey, Billie, long time no see! Remember me? That childhood best friend you forgot when you got famous?’ Yeah, great idea, Gracie."

She rolls her eyes. "You two write songs about pain and nostalgia all the time, but in real life, you run from it like teenagers at a school dance. Grow up."

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Gracie is already standing up, adjusting the hem of her dress like she’s about to lead a revolution.

"Gracie, no!"

But it’s too late. Anxiety tightens around your chest as you watch her weave through the crowd with all the confidence in the world, heading straight toward Billie as if she’s on a sacred mission. The group around Billie makes space without question when Gracie approaches, a conspiratorial smile on her lips.

Billie greets her, leaning in slightly to hear what she’s saying over the loud music. You see Gracie gesture in your direction, and your heart skips a beat.

Then, Billie turns.

Her eyes meet yours again, and this time, there’s no escape. The music around you dulls, the faces of people blur into irrelevance. It’s like being pulled back in time—two kids in a backyard, whispering secrets under a sky full of stars. Only now, there are years between you, a distance forged by success, by busy lives, by those damn packed schedules.

Billie tilts her head, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. You realize you’ve been holding your breath.

And then, as if fulfilling an inevitable fate, she starts walking toward you.

Every step she takes drags memories with it. Time hasn’t erased the way she moves, that effortless but weighted presence. Anxiety grips your chest, and part of you wants to run. But another part—a deeper, more honest part—wants to stay. Wants to hear her voice without a digital filter separating you.

When Billie stops in front of you, the air between you turns heavy, almost suffocating.

"Hey," she says, her voice low, almost hesitant.

The only thing you can think is: God, I missed this.

You swallow hard, forcing the words out. "Hey, Billie."

Billie smirks slightly, taking a sip of her drink. "You disappeared, huh?"

You return her smile. "Look who's talking, Miss Eilish."

Billie chuckles, shaking her head. "Fucked-up schedules. You know how it is."

You let out a small laugh, and she watches you closely before speaking again. "I missed that laugh. You haven’t changed a bit."

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. "You think so? ‘Cause last time I checked, we were kids sneaking out of our houses to go sit on rooftops. Now we’re—"

"—adults sneaking away from crowds to talk like we’re still those kids," Billie finishes, her smirk softening into something more vulnerable.

You exhale, shaking your head. "Guess some things don’t change."

Billie hums in response, swirling the last bit of her drink in her glass before setting it down on the table beside her. "But some things do."

You don’t ask what she means, but the way she looks at you, really looks at you, tells you everything. The years apart weren’t just years. They were a shift, a slow, inevitable change in who you both had become—separate, yet somehow still connected.

She leans in slightly, her voice dropping to something only you can hear. "I listened to your last album, you know."

Your breath catches, but you play it off with a small smile. "Oh? Any favorites?"

Billie grins, tilting her head. "You already know."

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you glance away, shaking your head. "You always did love making me say things out loud."

"And you always did hate admitting when a song was about me."

You meet her gaze again, the air thick with something unspoken, something dangerously close to breaking through the surface.

Gracie suddenly reappears beside you, holding a fresh drink in one hand and a knowing smile on her lips. "Well, this is fun. Should I grab popcorn, or are you two finally going to stop being cowards and talk?"

Billie snorts, shaking her head. "Gracie, subtlety is not your strong suit."

"Never claimed it was." She winks before taking a sip of her drink. "I’ll leave you two to it. Try not to make this into another heartbreak anthem, yeah?"

With that, she disappears into the crowd, leaving you and Billie standing there, the weight of the moment pressing down between you.

"You wanna go outside? It’s kinda stuffy in here."

You nod, and Billie steps past you, leading the way to a balcony. The cool night air brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat inside. Billie leans against the railing, exhaling slowly.

"Congrats on your Grammy, by the way," you say, watching her with a small smile.

Billie glances at you, then looks down, a soft, almost bittersweet smile curving her lips. "Thanks, kitten."

Your expression softens at the sound of her voice saying your old nickname. There’s something in the way her voice sounds, something familiar, something that tugs at the past. Nostalgia washes over you like a wave, and you can see it reflected in her eyes.

You let out a quiet, breathy laugh, stepping beside her, fingers absently tracing the rim of your glass. "Feels weird, doesn’t it? Being here. With each other. After all this time."

Billie hums in agreement, tilting her head as she studies you. "We used to talk about nights like this. Said we’d never be like them—too busy, too distant. But here we are."

You look down at your drink, letting her words settle. "Guess we got caught up in it too."

Billie shifts closer, her shoulder barely brushing against yours. "Maybe. Or maybe we were just scared."

You glance at her, your pulse quickening. "Scared of what?"

Billie’s lips part slightly, but she doesn’t answer right away. The tension between you stretches, delicate and charged, like a wire pulled too tight.

"Of what it would mean if we didn’t let go," she finally says, voice barely above a whisper.

You hold her gaze, heart hammering. The air is electric. Her eyes drop to your lips for just a second, and you swear you stop breathing.

Slowly, hesitantly, Billie lifts a hand, fingers grazing your cheek. "Tell me to stop," she murmurs.

You don’t.

She leans in, closing the space, and before you can think—before doubt can creep in—her lips brush against yours, soft and hesitant at first, then deeper, like a memory she’s been dying to relive.

And just like that, the past doesn’t matter. Only this moment does.

Her lips connect with yours, in a nostalgic kiss, slow and long-awaited, as if you've both been waiting for this for years—because you have.

"Can I stay just a little longer?" Billie whispers, her forehead resting against yours after pulling away to catch her breath.

You let out a breathless laugh, the words slipping out like a promise. "Don’t ask me twice."

Billie smiles, a warmth spreading through her, her eyes meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and familiarity. "I’ve missed you. More than I realized."

You lean into her touch, your heart racing but steady at the same time. "Yeah," you say softly, "I missed you too."

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of your combined breathing and the quiet hum of the night around you. The city lights below flicker, distant and unimportant.

Billie tilts her head, eyes flicking to your lips before she locks eyes with you again. "You know," she says, her voice low and teasing, "we might be way too old for this sort of thing."

A smirk plays at the corner of your lips. "Yeah? I think we’re exactly the right age."

She laughs, the sound warm and inviting, before closing the distance between you again. This time, it’s more than just a kiss. It’s the unspoken words, the promise of no more running, of not letting the years slip away again.

And when you pull away again, it's not to escape. It's to look at each other, to search for a future that's always felt a little out of reach but now seems possible.

Billie takes your hand, her thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "So... no more disappearing?"

You nod, a grin tugging at your lips. "No more disappearing."

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both believe it.

love uuu babies xoxo

[just1cefor4ll]

—You’re the kind of person they write rock songs about

-modern!au Viktor x fem!reader warning. not proof read, swearing, might be OOC

part one || part two

‼️A/N. if anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this fic, let me know!! ‼️

'Taste me, you will see

'More is all you need..'

You were an art major with dreams of becoming a performer—a passion that stuck to you during your high school years. It wasn’t always a dream of yours; as a child, you’d imagined yourself as a ballerina or a doctor saving hundreds of lives but everything changed when the gates of high school and teenage drama opened up to you.

In your sophomore year, you and a few friends stumbled upon a shared love for music and decided to form a small rock band. Powder, your best friend, took the lead as the singer. Her stepsister, Isha, played the drums, while Ekko, Powder’s boyfriend, handled the bass. You took on guitar duties and backup vocals. The band quickly became a big part of your lives, and you weren’t half bad.

By the time you all made it to college—except Isha, who was in her senior year of high school—you were performing at local bars and small venues. The gigs didn’t pay much, but they weren’t a loss either, and your parents were proud of your dedication.

You got more of a recognition when the principal assigned you and the band to play some of your own songs or whatever covers you deemed fit for the occasion and even got an award which earned you the title of the ‘schools rock stars’ by most of the people who attended that day and it quickly spread and stuck until graduation.

The journey, however, wasn’t always just rainbows and sunshine. Learning guitar and perfecting your singing skills took patience, and there were moments of frustration.

Your forgetfulness and stupidity often kicked you right in the ass—or well, fingers— having to buy a new guitar pick every few days leaving your fingers bloody and sore. On a particular night performing at the Last Drop your guitar was left bloodied after you thought it would be an absolutely genius idea to play Metallicas ‘Master of Puppets’ which luckily went great! The crowd went wild however it did earn you quite a scolding from Vander as he carefully put band aids on each of your fingers. However he could tell by the proud look on your face that you thought it was worth it, people coming up to cogratulate you on your performance, suggesting songs or giving you sweets they bought as a sort of reward and all Vander could really do was laugh at his daughter’s best friends foolishness.

While you immersed yourself in music, Viktor—a double major in physics and engineering—navigated a completely different world. His close circle of friends—Vi, Powder’s older sister; Jayce, Mel and Caitlyn, Vi’s girlfriend—shared little in common with your bandmates, yet you crossed paths by chance from time to time. Viktor knew of you mostly through Vi and Jayce’s stories or from the few times he happened to see your band perform.

One such instance was prom, where he watched you take the stage with confidence. Another was a night at The Last Drop, where Viktor had ended up by chance when Vi dragged the group into the establishment for a few drinks.

Today the bar was as lively as ever. The dimly lit bar was packed, and the familiar hum of chatter and clinking glasses filled the air before the first note was played. “Are you ready?” You half screamed into the mic as a roar of cheers and claps bounced through the walls. You strummed your fingers along the strings of your guitar, gifted to you not long ago by your friends since your old one was pretty wrecked however it still had it’s place and on display in your bedroom as a symbol of where you first started while Isha got into the beat of ‘Can’t stop’ by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

You saw a few faces light up but most didn’t quiet recognize the song but still looked like they were enjoying themselves as the chatter slowly died down, all eyes and ears on your performance.

Viktor sat in the corner with Vi, Jayce, and Caitlyn, his attention flitting between their conversation and the band on stage. He wasn’t one for loud, crowded places, but something about your music intrigued him. He knew of the rock genre because of Jayce being quite a fan of System of a Down and many other bands he would need a whole notebook to name however Vi had a big part of the introduction herself but he adjusted to the change of genre he wasn’t quiet familiar with before he met his dear friends.

There was a passion in your performance that resonated with him, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

After the set, you stepped off the stage, sweaty and exhilarated. Powder gave you a playful nudge, her eyes twinkling with pride. “Killed it as always,” she said with a grin.

“Thanks, Pow,” you replied, wiping your brow. Your gaze swept across the room, catching sight of a group you vaguely recognized—Vi’s crew. As if on queue Vi averted her gaze from the group and caught your attention, waving you over, and though you hesitated for a moment before you all made your way to their table. “Hey, Rockstar!” Vi greeted, giving you a playful smirk. “Nice set tonight. You finally learned how to tune that thing, huh?”

You rolled your eyes at her teasing. “Thanks, Vi. You still can’t keep a beat, though, can you?”

The group laughed, and you found yourself pulled into their orbit. Introductions were made, though most were unnecessary—you already knew who they were. When it came to Viktor, however, there was an awkward pause.

“Viktor,” he said, offering a polite nod. You smiled and gave your name in response and decide to strike up a conversation with the man. “Thanks for sticking around! You don’t seem like the type for these kinds of outings.” You say truthfully and chuckle nervously.

“It was... impressive,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but sincere. “You’d be correct on that last part. I don’t often attend these kinds of events, but your performance was captivating.” His accent was foreign to you yet it was a cute quality, making your stomach flutter with butterflies. The compliment however caught you off guard. You weren’t used to that kind of earnest praise, especially from someone who seemed like they’d be more of the jazz or pop type. “Thanks,” you said, a bit bashfully. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

The conversation shifted back to the group, but Viktor’s words lingered in your mind. Something about his quiet demeanor fascinated you, and you couldn’t help but want to know more about this mystery of a man.

That night when you all went your seperate ways once you got to the college dorms, Powder noticed how lost in thought you were; basically just lying on the bed and looking at nothing. “Okay, what’s with your teen spirit Cobain?” She chuckles at her own joke and you look at her with a ‘really?’ face, letting out a giggle of your own. “So many other jokes out there and that’s what you come up with?” You push her shoulder playfully and sit up from your bed, facing her. “Okay, okay.. enough shaming my stand up comedy, what’s wrong Y/N?”

“That Viktor guy from your sister’s group.. with the accent and shit?” You start as a smirk sneaked onto her lips, kicking her feet in the air as she lied on her stomach. “Yeaah?” “Well I don’t know, something about me just.. makes me want to get to know him you know?” You sigh, throwing yourself onto Powders bed, lying on her stomach. “He’s such a nerd though! From what Vi told me over the phone a few times he’s like a workaholic but ten times worse girl. And he looks like he has a couple conditions.. probably should get that checked.” She mumbled to herself, making you giggle. “Come on Pow that’s just straight up mean.”

“But look who’s giggling.” She flicks the side of your head and joins in on your laughter.

You remember the cane he had, the golden details and carvings and the way his under eyes were darker then the rest of his pale, almost sickly skin. His jawline was sharp with a straight nose and an almost unnoticeable underbite. He was pretty cute.. He was probably a cool person to be around so you wondered if you’d have the chance to maybe hang out with him.

“Do you think your sister would be up to hanging out? You know, our group and hers? We have that show next weekend we can invite them there and spend the rest of the night doing whatever!” You suggest and quickly get a nod of approval from your blue haired friend which only made your excitement rise.

Next weekend it is.. Maybe he’d be up to a one on one hangout once you have the chance to ask, maybe even over the phone if you’re lucky enough to get his number or socials. Until next weekend all you could do was practice and imagine every sort of scenario of how it would all go.

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[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

Content: Theater Kid!Chrollo x Theater Kid!Reader, modern era, no Nen or crazy stuff, the Troupe members are just kids who grew up in the same neighborhood and had happy childhoods🥹, SARASA IS ALIVE!!!, female reader (I’m so sorry😭), mentions of different musicals and plays, mentions of séx, mostly fluff

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Theatre Kid!Chrollo, who’s known you ever since you were both only 6. Your parents both brought you to the same youth theater program 2 towns down just to see how the both of you would be as actors. Chrollo is staring at you doing the improv, impressed by how quickly you can snap back with such an emotional line right after the person in front of you starts the scene with no context at all.

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who falls in love with you because of how talented you are in acting, your angelic voice, and hardworking attitude. Whenever you’re both performing a show together, even if the director cuts a scene or adds a scene within a day’s notice, you’ll have it mastered within that very day. He can’t help that the admiration turns into romantic feelings!

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who’s ecstatic whenever you’re both cast as some sort of romantic duo. Whether it’s the Phantom and Christine, Cady and Aaron, Gabriella and Troy (which you weren’t particularly happy about), Ben and Mal, Marius and Cosette, or Alexander and Eliza (Chrollo wasn’t too happy about that one)

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who is perfect at acting JD from the Heathers. His acting is so impeccable and realistic, but when you’re cast as Veronica and Chrollo is singing Meant To Be Yours, his reaction seeing your “dead” body doesn’t really seem like acting anymore, especially not the small sobs that he lets out

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who acts so well with you whenever you’re in a romantic duo together that the entire school ships the both of you. Especially in the curtain call, when you and Chrollo walk out together, everyone is cheering for the both of you to kiss, in which Chrollo playfully “pretends” to plant his lips on yours until you walk away, fanning your bright red face. You tell him it’s just the bright lights shining on you that makes you feel warm—yep, it’s totally not the fact that Chrollo almost kissed you. Yep, totally.

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who is always the one paying for your food at the after parties. Whether the party is at a steakhouse or sushi restaurant, he will always take out that damn wallet before you do and pay for whatever you want to eat or crave that day.

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who finally kisses you during the last curtain call of your senior year. You can see Shalnark, Bonolenov, and Kortopi cheering, Franklin and Pakunoda clapping, and Phinks, Feitan, and Nobunaga seemingly talking about bets, and Nobunaga taking out his wallet in annoyance to give Phinks and Feitan both 500 dollars.

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who goes to the same elite college as you to pursue an acting career. You’re both dating, though unlike your child and teenage days, you’re not constantly acting in the same shows anymore. You both get role offers often, with mind blowing auditions.

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who only ever talks about you during interviews. Social media and paparazzi go crazy over the both of you, making so many edits of the both of you to all sorts of songs. The amount of edits you’ve seen of the both of you with people calling you both “mother and father” or saying “help bi panic rn” is honestly funny.

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who proposes to you at age 24 at the Oscars after he won the best actor award. Everyone on the internet and the awards ceremony is going crazy, and when you say yes, all you can hear are screams, cheers, and clapping—but all you can feel are Chrollo’s strong arms holding you close and his lips on yours.

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who cries when he sees you in the white dress. After all those times the characters that you both act get married, the actors acting those married roles are finally getting married themselves.

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who is always joking about “consummating your marriage” right in front of the paparazzi and media, in which you always pretend that you don’t know him, much to the internet and your fans’ amusement.

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who is always shielding you from the paparazzi. The moment Chrollo sees one, he instinctively walks with his arm looped around your waist, other hand holding yours as he stares at the paparazzi trying to take a picture of you. Whenever someone asks a weird question about you during an interview, Chrollo isn’t afraid to shoot right back with a snarky yet still polite reply.

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who is infinitely more protective of you while you’re pregnant. You have some insane pregnancy glow, and he’s aware of that. So whenever you’re on the red carpet and all sorts of people are taking pictures of you and your bump, Chrollo makes sure that they don’t get too close and make you uncomfortable.

Theater Kid!Chrollo, who isn’t a kid anymore. In fact, he has kids. He’s always making sure that your twin son and daughter never have much information given about them to the media, and that the media won’t get many pictures of them—if any at all. After some incidents of invasive paparazzi taking pictures of your kids and posting them on social media, both you are Chrollo are pretty damn close to quitting acting just to make sure something like this never happens again. Finally, after much coaxing from your managers, agents, and publicists, you both finally decide not to after setting some ground rules.

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bro why was i using the word “internet” like im a millennial or something😭 guys im gen z i swear