#cross did everything wrong gin did nothing wrong

[hj-skb]

“Hotarubitale” - for @dreemurr-skelememer about their AU story and OC, Gin 🌸 A gift from the event @gyftmas2022 :^D

A story about a skeleton fated to be far apart from everyone he loves and yearns to be close with, but despite being far apart, tries to be there for them in his own ways……

[itjazzbicch]

Blessings

Pairing:  Sosuke Aizen x Fem Reader 

First time writing for Aizen so I hope I did well! 

Summary: After running into former comrades while taking a trip to the world of the living, the reader's loyalty to Aizen is tested. As she passes that test, she receives a blessing from Aizen himself...

Warnings:  SMUT (18+ ONLY! MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI)

Word Count: 1k 

Having to take a visit to the world of the living thanks to Grimmjow’s actions, I found myself swirling in thoughts.

Running into former comrades, their words had me thinking. Only if they could understand, they never would.

Our plans weren’t far from being executed. This was no time to be worried about emotions that were dead.

“Y/N,” Gin’s voice caught my attention, seeing he was waiting for my return, “Lord Aizen would like to see you.”

Nodding and making my way, I wondered what he would want with me at the moment. Maybe to report on my trip?

Heading to his balcony with a look out of Hueco Mundo, I could see his arm shooing away a servant that brought him hot tea:

“Y/N, you have returned.”

“Yes, Lord Aizen,” I approached carefully, staying to the side of his seat and bowing my head, “Everything went smoothly.”

“Great. I’d expect nothing less of you,” Sipping his tea, we met a gaze in the corners of our eyes, his eyes staring into my soul like he knew who encountered, “I’d never question your loyalty either.”

“Never sir,” I assured, bowing to my knees, “I will always be by your side and be loyal to you endlessly.”

“Oh dear, there’s no need,” Taking my hand, he guided me back to my feet, setting his tea down and bringing me to face him.

Staring deeper into his eyes, my breath began to hitch, listening to his knowledge:

“I do know who you crossed paths with in the word of the living.”

My former squad mates. This spiked some fear through me, quickly reassuring him:

“Yes, my former squad mates. But don’t worry, Lord Aizen. They never meant a thing to me. They didn’t even have the bravery to step foot near me.”

“Just as I expected. As I said, I’d never question your loyalty, Y/N,” Holding my hand, thumb caressing softly, that fear began to die, his next words helping more, “You just keep making me proud.”

“There’s nothing more I’d love to accomplish, sir,” I smiled softly, bowing my head again, but picking it up quickly as he began to bring me closer:

“Come here.”

This was one thing I never expected, his hand fixing me across his lap, getting chills as he stroked a strand of hair away from my face:

“For someone capable of the things you’ve done, who’d know you were so innocent deep down inside.”

“I only wish to please you, Lord Aizen,” That’s all I could think of, silenced by his smirk, his fingers tracing my jaw and around to my chin:

“Such a good girl. Allow me to gift you for your hard work and loyalty.”

His lips were so soft, chills intensifying with exhilaration as I kissed back, hands sliding down my shoulders to be rid of my cloak.

Next was the zipper in the front of my dress, freeing my breasts and placing his face between them before leaving kisses behind.

Being intimate with Lord Aizen was something someone could only dream of, but there I was, nearly becoming a mess from just a bit of an extreme pleasure that was beneath the surface.

The heat between my thighs was growing to be so hot, twitching at his palm sliding between them, fixing my panties to the side before fixing himself.

His moves showed his experience, resting my head over his shoulder as I felt his cock stretching my walls, easing my hips down onto him.

“Sosuke-“ I moaned angelically, pupils expanding at what I said and quickly apologizing, “I’m so sorry, Lord A-“

“Sorry for what? Enjoying yourself?”

This new side of him kept on surprising me, just to moan more at his hips working up against mine.

“You know if you were to do something wrong, you’d be punished,” He clarified, gripping my ass hard, warning with a slight spank, “But if you keep sitting there doing nothing, you will be.”

“Yes sir,” I gasped, mind becoming a free space, not wanting to waste this opportunity and beginning to bounce softly on his cock.

I was falling in love with how full I was, how good his cock was, the heat annoying me some and so, tearing away my dress completely, arching my back so our chests met, moaning into his neck.

“You never disappoint me,” Bringing my lips to his again, he slouched back some, his thrusts rougher and quicker than mine, making the pleasure pool into my stomach quicker.

“And I never will, Sosuke,” I cooed, words broken up into bits by moans, trying to keep up with his thrusts, but my tempo was broken from the burning nerves that made me shudder more by the second.

“You better take those words to heart,” It seemed like a warning, but his smirk showed how I like my praises, whining out:

“I do! Always!”

“Good,” Holding my head by my hair to keep my head still, a hand tweaked at my nipples, pinching softly, soon finding my clit, having my hips roll uncontrollably.

“Sosuke!” I kept rolling where his tip was bumping my sweet spot, feeling the friction from how tight I was when I tried to rise on my knees, crashing back down and nearly screaming out as a thrust of his own penetrated so deeply.

“Keep being good and take me,” His whisper was so hot and nearly sinister, nibbling my ear softly, “Don’t stop till you cum for me.”

“I won’t!” I promised, whining through the shaking and pushing myself closer, “I’m abo-“

My words were taken away from huffs, eyes rolling white as my wet, warm juices soaked his cock, collapsing to his chest, but not daring to stop rolling my hips, even when they nearly died and ached.

“My oh my,” Looking between our thighs with a chuckle, there were some groans deep in his throat, kissing while ramming his hips upwards, keeping mine pinned down to his, “Don’t waste a single drop.”

Clenching my fist into his cloak, my walls continued to pulsate around his throbbing cock, gasping and heaving with moans at the warmth of seed shooting into me, whispering:

“I’d never waste such a blessing, Lord Aizen.”

Just to prove, I raised my shaking hips so it was just his tip, sitting back down to his base and filling myself deeper, his twitching cock leaking out a little more.

“Keep up the good work, dear,” He cooed, fingertips tracing my spine and back around to my chin to kiss, “And you’ll keep receiving more blessings.” 

[rangikuxmatsumoto]

“Glad you like it…” Perhaps it was a bit half-hearted, laced even potentially with some sarcasm but she managed to crack a small smile. Still, it didn’t last too long, the food nearly turning to ashes in her mouth as Giselle followed up with such a pointed and direct question.

What was on her mind? Couldn’t she have taken a guess, after where their conversation had steered over the course of the last few minutes. She’d offer her three guesses, but she doubted she’d actually need all three.

Her chopsticks clattered down against the small holder, as she gave a small shove to the bowl of rice to push it away from the edge of the table. Only then did she sit back, arms crossed against her chest, but the position didn’t suit the anxious energy that coursed through her; instead, she eased forward, elbows upon the table as she leaned upon them, shoulders slumped, head hung, blonde locks curtained around her head. Her left hand rose, pinching at the bridge of her nose before she squared her shoulders, shaking her head to toss locks back over her shoulders.

“…It’s not a waste of a question. This is what we agreed upon isn’t it? To talk,” nearly hissing the last word. Her index finger curling in to pick at dried skin next to her thumb nail, picking at it till it made a small clicking noise – a terrible nervous habit. Note to self, apply some hand lotion tonight before bed.

What was there to say? What was on her mind? Everything and nothing. She had replayed the memories she had countless times, wondering what action she could have done differently, would there have been a different outcome? Could she have done more for Toushiro? Why hadn’t she been more serious about training – she could have had her Bankai stolen, if only she had one to steal. Would it have made a difference? What if she hadn’t been so hardheaded – or scared – all those years ago, if she hadn’t followed Gin, afraid to lose him, if she had never gone to the academy. This was the spiral she had feared, the one she hated thinking about. Everything that had happened in the last handful of years, how could it have been different, would it have been different, should it have been different?

“…There’s a lot…” For all the venom that had built up inside her, for all her anger geared towards her current companion, her words were barely above a whisper, choked in emotion. “Everything I’ve survived…not just you…” She quipped, a brief flicker of a smirk on her features, “It’s barely been two years since the last war we faced, I nearly died there. Probably should have. I was just getting over everything from then when you invaded. Then what happened, you know that well enough, better than me.” She shot a glance at her once more before staring intently at the sake in her cup.

“I’d rather be alive than dead, don’t get me wrong – but hearing you just now, that the process could have been reversed, rather than being Kurotsuchi-taichou’s latest science experiment makes my blood boil. And I know I don’t even have it the worst of us. You know, I knew what I was signing up for when I joined the academy but at the same time, I naively thought I’d never face all out war, certainly not back-to-back.” Gently, she took the sake cup within her grasp, giving it a small swirl before she leveled her gaze upon Giselle once more, “But all I can think about now is what I did to piss off the Reio so much that he’d deal me the cards that I’ve been dealt. Nearly starved to death as a kid. Nearly died in war, survived. Watched the man I loved, die. Actually died, miraculously, brought back. Can’t wait to see what’s left in my shortened lifespan.” Sarcasm oozed from her words as she threw back her cup before letting it clatter to the table’s surface without care.

“Happy?”

Not often she had such a captive audience. Familiarity with her abilties isn't something most sought out. So many just preferred willful ignorance. As if absence of information was a shield.

But she understood the drive behind it. Rangiku had a lot to do, and wasn't content with just having barely made it. She wanted to scrutinize, especially since it wasn't just her own life that hung in the balance. She had ulterior motives. So Giselle didn't mind expounding and expanding. In honestly a way she usually didn't.

Even as Rangiku became more tense, she remained lax and sipped her own drink. Offering a warm smile and thanks to the waitress before watching as Rangiku took a bit of food, and then proceeded to grab some for herself. Chewing a few pieces and perking up. Oh, this was quite nice!

Still. When Rangiku finally DID speak up, she raised a brow and canted her head to the side. Oh? No follow ups? Hmmm.

"My turn hm? This is really good, you made a good choice! It's beena while since I enjoyed something like this." She sighed softly, a fond little hum escaping her throat.

"Hmmm. Well, if you don't mind me asking. Perhaps this is a waste of a question. But what's currently on your mind? All of this curiosity. I understand the curiosity. But this is more...technical than I thought you'd ask about. Is there something you want from me? Or is this just curiosity?"

[velvethopewrites]

Fantastic

When Ginny finds out she is pregnant for the first time she feels two emotions at once - elation and anxiety.

It’s a bit soon, that’s all. She and Harry had been talking about it, but it was still early days. And she still has another year on her Harpies contract, but…

A baby. A little piece of her and a little piece of Harry, growing inside her. She holds her stomach protectively, feeling humbled and then awed.

But then, the anxiety kicks in. What does Ginny Weasley know about babies? And almost as though she cast a memory charm, the laughing face of one Teddy Lupin instantly fills her mind and the nerves are calmed somewhat. Taking care of Teddy has been one of her greatest joys and she should trust that, right? She should trust the fact that she and Harry have never once lost him, dropped him nor screwed him up in any way (that she knows of, she reckons time will tell on that one).

But still. She is going to be a mum. She now has to be dependable. She now probably has to wear clothes on Sunday. She has to be strict. Kind. Caring. Probably when she doesn’t want to be. Especially when she doesn’t want to be. She will now have to practice her mum-voice. Dear Merlin, did she even have a mum voice? She has to make sure she always has handkerchiefs and hard candies in her bag and plasters and nappies, and stuffed bears and everything else a child might need. (Not that her own mum ever had all those, but this thought is irrelevant to Ginny)

Why is the idea of it so bloody scary?

She comes home from the Healer’s appointment and sits at their table, a cup of tea going cold next to her. The clock ticks in the kitchen and in between each click she has convinced herself that she is going to be the worst mum in the history of being mums.  Harry will leave her. He’ll run off and have kids with whoever it is Rita Skeeter is pushing this month and Ginny will be a single-mum and a used-up Quidditch star with nothing much to show for it all except the stretch marks from childbirth. Even though there’s now a spell for those, Ginny is somehow convinced she will prove impervious. She worries that now the Weasley ‘hips’ will find her and expand forever, making sure that never again will she be able to fit into her sexy nightgowns or even her jeans. (Ginny loves her mum and all of her softness, but she does not want her mother’s hips, is that so terribly wrong of her?)

It is then that Harry finds her, in the middle of her insanity, and he smiles at her, not yet aware of what he has stumbled onto. But he takes one look at her and knows something is wrong. He comes to her immediately, taking her hand into his.

“Gin? What is it? You’re as white as Nearly Headless Nick.” His lips turn upward in amusement, but she sees the worry in his eyes. She remembers then that he knew about her appointment and is probably thinking the worst. She squeezes his hand and suddenly Ginny knows - like she knew that day so long ago in the Gryffindor common room before their first kiss. Harry is the one. Always and forever. The man across from her would never leave her for being a bad mum or for having slightly larger hips. She is daft. She is ridiculous. Ginny knows he will help her and hold her and be there for her and why was she being so silly? 

She knows Harry will be absolutely thrilled to start their family. 

“I have news,” Ginny says lightly, swallowing the lump that has suddenly appeared in her throat. He nods and sits down in the chair across from her, still holding her hand. He takes a deep breath as though preparing for bad news and Ginny smiles. She leans across and kisses him and it is just like all those years ago - just her and Harry. His eyes darken when she pulls back and he licks his lips and leans closer to kiss her again. Before she realizes it, she has crossed the short distance between them and moved into his lap. And it is lovely and nice and everything she loves about them, and as Harry’s hand moves down across her body he rests his hand on her stomach, and Ginny giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, amusement on his face. 

“Do you want the news before or after we snog for a bit?”

“Well, that depends, is it good news?”

Ginny nods, biting her lip. 

“Okay, tell me now, because knowing you, this “snogging for a bit” will turn into me not moving out of bed all weekend.”

“Harry!” Ginny laughs.

“I just know my wife and her nefarious plans for my body.”

“Nefarious, eh? I see,” Ginny says playfully, and almost doesn’t want to tell him. Doesn’t want to change them forever. 

But no, it is not changing them. It is adding to what they already have. And what they have is fantastic. And with that - her anxiety flies away like a golden snitch. She grins widely and places her hand on Harry’s chest. 

“You know how we were talking about starting a family the next few years after I decide to retire?”

“Yeah. You want to start this weekend then? Is that it?” Harry lowers his mouth to her neck, kissing her in her favorite spot and she shivers.

“Well,” Ginny pauses and waits until he’s looking at her, eyes curious. “We don’t have much prep work to do. Not now.” She bites her lip and waits for the ball to drop. Harry frowns at her, clearly not understanding.

“There’s prep work now? Like, different, erm, positions-”

“Harry. I’m already pregnant.”

Harry stares at her, eyes wide and Ginny feels her anxiety start to flutter back to her. No, what has she done? She’d been so sure he’d be over the moon…had she misjudged the whole thing, did Harry not want children? Had he just said that? 

Some of her frantic thoughts must have shown on her face because he suddenly kisses her, hard, and Ginny forgets to breathe. When they finally come up for air, they both look down at her stomach and then at each other. It isn’t anger or worry or disbelief on her husband’s face - it is joy. Unmitigated and pure - utter joy. And Ginny knows then it’s going to be all right. 

“Truly?” Harry asks, voice rough. 

Ginny nods her head, afraid of what her own voice sounds like.

“What do we do now? Do you need to lie down? Should I carry you? Do you need something to eat? Any weird cravings? Have you told your mum? Do we know if it’s a boy-”

Ginny places her hand over Harry’s mouth, smiling. “Take a deep breath, Harry. What do we do now? We live our lives. Do I need to lie down? No, but you can have your way with me on this table in a bit. Which answers the question about something to eat, hopefully, and no, no weird cravings unless you count my insane need for your lips. No, I haven’t told my mum. Just you. And no, we don’t know the sex yet. Anything else you need to know, Potter?”

Harry chuckles and then it grows into a full-blooming laugh and her heart fills with peace.  And Ginny knows, whatever happens, they are going to be bloody brilliant parents. Because they are Harry and Ginny Potter, and failure is not an option. No matter whatever mistakes they are sure to make, their child will be loved. She will be a mum and Harry will be a dad and it will be fantastic.

[mimidorika]

Bleach Hot Take #1/100

Gin died a selfish death.

While Gin did what he thought would make Rangiku not cry anymore, throughout the betrayal and even after his death, he was the sole reason why she was miserable. His goal didn't even matter. The moment he drew his last breath, Rangiku cried her eyes out so hard that I bawled out with her. He never told her what really happened nor spoke of his double-cross with Aizen. HE COULD HAVE SAID ANYTHING TO HER! ANYTHING GOOD TO IMPART ON HIS LAST MINUTES EXISTING. BUT, NO. NOTHING. He was just glad that he said sorry awhile back. Did he even love her to consider how she would feel?

I cannot deny that people hold different views on love and how they show it varies. Maybe Gin's perspective was it's better to love her from the outside and not get in her way, ignore her and keep her in the dark of his future plans... now do you see a pattern here? does this count as someone who's prioritizing their loved one first? Even if it is at the cost of everything including her? Was it even worth it?

I have seen a lot of forums comparing Gin to Itachi (From Naruto). Since both of them are deemed martyrs and that they did everything whether it was good or bad, for the person they care about. I strongly disagree with this.

The story of Itachi is a masterpiece. He was tasked to annihilate his entire clan to avoid a conceivable war, he knew it was wrong but, did it anyway because of his duty and allegiance as an ANBU and for the chance of a less chaotic world. In the latter part of the manga, Obito exposed his true story to Sasuke—that Itachi was a double agent who betrayed his clan instead of the Leaf Village. Itachi's father was the mastermind of the potential uprising of a war.

He slaughtered them all, his relatives, his partner, his mother and father, all of them, except one. He spared Sasuke, his little brother. You could see throughout the series, how subtly he cared for Sasuke, how he planned on Sasuke being the one to deal the final blow, to exact the burning hatred and revenge that he has caused. He bore the burden, the trauma and the animosity. He knew what he had done was unforgivable.

Yes, he is not a saint, who would even do that to their lil bro? but, I ask of you, consider their world and how it functions and see how Itachi in the beginning was fighting a losing battle. He did not have a choice. The only thing he could do is guide Sasuke from afar, protect him the only way he can and after all is said and done, be killed by his lil bro's hands, freeing him of further anarchy and vengeance. They even managed to talk to each other, with no masks and apprehensions during their final fight.

Hell, when he was re-animated by Kabuto in the war, he was happy for Sasuke and how far he has come. He also said that it's okay if he would never forgive him. All he wanted was his lil bro to live his life whatever path he chooses. That is what I call SELFLESS. That is LOVE. WHOLESOME.

Now, Gin on the other hand, is a whole different story. While his motive for joining Aizen's rebellion was vague at first, when it came to his character's climax (him double-crossing Aizen), we got a chance to take a peek on exactly why he was doing all of this... and all of it comes back to Rangiku.

In the canon series, their dialogue between each other are quite minimal. The most honest emotion, Gin ever expressed was when Rangiku held his wrist and trapped him with her Zanpakuto. "If only you had held on a bit longer. Sorry."

Now it makes me think of two things:

He never wanted to get this far. Gin was, indeed, hellbent on enacting his revenge on Aizen but, didn't take in account for how long it would take and how much time he would sacrifice not being with Rangiku. Now, that he is neck-deep in Aizen's plot, he can't get out all willy-nilly, so might as well execute the plan whatever it takes and/or...

He never cared what Rangiku felt. He was focused only on his mission and disguised it as justice when in fact, Rangiku never asked him to do anything about it. She is more bothered and saddened by the fact, that Gin is always abandoning her. She is drowning herself with sake almost everyday (witnessed by Capt. Hitsugaya and her drinking buddies, Shuuhei, Kira and Renji) and we all know why she keeps doing this self-destructive behavior. She questions her self-worth, asks why does he keep leaving without telling her where he goes. That's cold AF.

I watched all episodes of Bleach, the fillers, the movies, the game intros, I am even active in Bleach Brave Souls where all characters are still alive and are updated with stories... There is a side story where Gin (prior to the Karakura War Arc) visited the human world to attend a festival. When asked, he says that stress isn't good for anybody and that he just wanted to have some fun. Eventually, he runs into Rangiku and notes that, she would look pretty in a yukata but, before she even gets the chance to talk to him, he just freakin' leaves. Vanishes! Disappears! I was like WHAT WHAT THE FRICK

And even after that! Renji and Ichigo asks Rangiku what's wrong and here she does what she's best at, hiding the pain and constantly lying about being fine. AUGH I FEEL SO MUCH FOR RANGIKU

He avoids her like the plague smh, yeah i know i know Aizen might become suspicious of him if he ever was found to have close ties with her but, geez, he has done a lot of things with other shinigami characters that Aizen never questioned him about sooo ???? also if Aizen was indeed, all-knowing like in the case of Ichigo where he literally watched him grow up as a part of his plan, wouldn't he have already known of Gin and Rangiku's past relationship ??? if it was even that important ??? so why Gin still chose to ??? ignore her ???

Gin and Rangiku's relationship does not make sense to me. It's like they're two different people who didn't grow up together.

Comparing them to Rukia and Renji who were childhood friends, you would see such a stark contrast. Yes, after Rukia was adopted by the Noble Kuchikis, Renji distanced himself from her and the reason for that, was because he thought that if he spent more time with her, Rukia would separate from the Kuchiki household. He thought he was doing her a favor, her being a part of something that they once had, a family. Also, he felt inferior and unworthy, seeing as he lacked a high-ranking position in his respective squad back then.

In the Soul Society Arc, admittedly, Renji was a complete asshole to Rukia at the time of her arrest but, ultimately, did a 180 and almost freaking DIED fighting HIS CAPTAIN, Kuchiki Byakuya, for her. Scratch that, he almost DIED two more times, battling Ichigo and Aizen. During his duel with Ichigo, Renji did the most selfless act, dropping his pride and honor just to woefully beg for Ichigo to save Rukia.

He knew he was no match for the upcoming battles, seeing as he could not defeat a mere Ryoka... He trained his butt off acquiring a BANKAI, to be more powerful in hopes of reaching for the stars, for RUKIA. He vows to be her protector even if he freakin' DIES. If that ain't true love, IDK what is ?????

There were so many ways for Gin to get back at Aizen without sacrificing his relationship with Rangiku. Sparing her from the torment and regret. Just saying, if he didn't brown nose his way into Aizen's plan, he could've fought alongside the Gotei 13 during the Arrancar saga and he'd still be alive today. Instead, he chose to harbor a grudge from someone else's misfortune, pretend like that someone never existed, and turns it into his own concoction of misplaced heroism.

In the movie, Diamond Dust Rebellion, when Capt. Hitsugaya went missing (he abandoned his post and left his subordinates, Soul Society then suspects him of treason), there is a scene where Rangiku says, "Why does everyone just disappear without saying anything?", both Rukia and Renji who were present in the room with her, were shocked. And Renji being the lovable oaf that he is, blurted out that Capt. Hitsugaya is different from Gin.

HER FACE THO. HER FACE WHEN SHE HEARD HIS NAME, JUST CRUSHED MY HEART INTO LITTLE FUCKING PIECES. RANGIKU DOES NOT DESERVE THIS.

After everything that had happened, Rangiku contemplates on Gin's actions. On how much she hated that he would disappear without leaving her anything behind to remember him by... but she later appreciates that the absence of him was what she needed, pushing her forward to finally move on.

Now, for the record, one of my favorite Bleach characters is GIN! and I have been and still am a Gin x Rangiku enjoyer. I think what happened to them was unfair and tragic. Up until now, I feel sorry for the both of them.

In conclusion, before i forget, I just wanna say this...

You can analyze and critique a ship while still being a fan of it.

Please understand that it's okay to see both the bad and the good when it comes to shipping. It makes it more enriching and fun to discuss.

I only talked about what happened in the canon universe so if ever Kubo-sensei would continue his new one-shot exploring the treacherous Hellverse, we might and i say "might" get to see Gin and the others again. Well, it is quite confirmed that Yamamoto, Unohana and Ukitake (possibly Kaien and Chojiro, too) are in hell, as well as all of the dead Espadas but, in Tousen and Gin's case... since they were not given the proper or traditional "send-off" ceremony, their potential presence is highly unlikely.

until next time. see ya!

[celtics534]

In Your Warmth I Forget How Cold it Can Be Chapter 4

Not Everything Had Gone to Plan

Time for some action! I’m very excited to share this chapter! I hope you all like it too!

Also Read On: FF.net and AO3

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Harry tried to walk as quietly as he could into the little flat above the garage. He had stayed at the station way later than intended. There had just been so much to cover. His partner, Seamus, had waited for him well past the end of his shift. They'd talked about everything Harry knew about Ginny, discussed what had happened to her, laughed about her choice of weapon. There had been a detour to the lab to hand over the evidence Tonks had collected, but in the end, Harry and Seamus had ended up at their desks researching possible kidnappers. 

 They played with the assumption this wasn't the perp's first time. From the way Ginny made it sound, her kidnappers had been finding other women too. Again another assumption was that they were selling their kidnapped victims. Ginny had sounded like a special case, picked for whoever the ring leader was, but Harry knew in his gut that there must have been others. So they started searching the database for known traffickers. The problem was there were too many unknowns. For starters, their area of attack. Ginny had said she had been in London heading home from the gym when she'd been attacked. So the question was, how did she end up halfway across the country?

 Seamus had suggested these guys worked in multiple locations and brought their victims back to a select destination, but they couldn't be sure; Ginny was a special case. The distinction added so many layers and questions to the mystery. Did the "Boss" know Ginny? Had he been watching Ginny, and did he tell his men to grab her for his sadistic desires? Or had she just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the appeal the "Boss" was looking for?

 They'd gone round and round with their options, trying to come up with anything to narrow down their searches. But nothing helped. It was well after ten when Harry and Seamus left the station. And now it was well after eleven when he snuck into his flat.  

 Harry went in under the assumption Ginny had gone to bed early. After all she'd been through, there was no way she wasn't out cold. He reached his dresser and slowly pulled open the drawer where he kept his old joggers and shirts. 

 He pulled off his dirty top, throwing in the direction of the hamper (and more than likely missing). Next were the socks and trousers. He took a seat on the sofa, pulling off each sock one by one before standing back up to start at the button of his trousers.

"Woah, Harry!"

 Harry jumped as he spun around to see Ginny sitting up in his bed, her hair mussed and eyes wide as she flicked on the side lamp.

 "Ginny!" Harry's hand jumped to his heart. It was beating so hard he thought it might jump out of his chest. "I thought you would be sleeping."

 Ginny gave him a self-deprecating smile. "I thought so too, but apparently, my mind had other plans. Every time I fall asleep." Even in the minimal light of his bedside lamp, he could see the haunted expression cross her face. "I just… I see it all again, but I don't get out. I don't manage to —" Her breathing was becoming labored, and her body started to shake. 

 Harry didn't plan to walk over to her. He didn't think about the fact that he was crawling half-naked into bed with Ginny. All Harry knew was that he couldn't stand to see her in such distress. He wanted to help her, make her feel safe again. So he brought her into his arms, holding her close to his chest as she started to cry. 

 He lifted her in his arms, keeping her close, before placing her back down onto his lap. She clung to him, her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck Harry couldn't have escaped even if he'd wanted to. His hand came to her back, rubbing soothing circles that created wrinkles in her shirt. 

 "It's gonna alright, Gin,” he whispered into her hair. "We're gonna get you home. Back to your family, and everything will go back to normal." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I've got you."

 He held her as her trembles slowed and then stopped. She released a deep sigh, her breath warming his chest before she pulled away, leaving him cold. Her eyes lifted to his. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cry all over you." 

 Harry shook his head, his fingers lifting to brush away a stray hair that had stuck to her cheek. "You never have to apologize for needing someone, Ginny. We all need someone, and I'm happy to be your someone." 

   Ginny pursed her lips as she nodded. "I can't — you are — thank you."

 "You don't have to thank me. I want to help you, Gin."

 She held his gaze, the deep brown seeming to pull him into their depths. There was something so hypnotic about her eyes. Harry had never been so enchanted by someone's eyes. But Ginny's were just so… incredible.   

 He hadn't even noticed himself leaning towards her until he was halfway to her lips. With a jerk, he pulled himself back into reality and adjusted his course, so he kissed her forehead. 

 Ginny let out what sounded like a content sigh before she lay her head back on his chest. Harry kept his arms around her as they lay in silence. The only sounds came from their breathing and the hum of the cold box in the small kitchen. 

 Harry slowly leaned back against the headboard, the wood cooling his bare back . Bare back…. He was shirtless. In bed, with a kidnapped survivor…. What the fuck was he doing!? He was a professional, and this crossed every single line!

 "Hey, Ginny?" Harry spoke quietly, not wanting to scare her. She didn't move; rather, her breathing came out smooth and rhythmic. Harry silently cursed. She'd fallen asleep on him. 

 He was torn between being happy that she'd finally felt safe enough to sleep, but the other half… The other half of him was screaming how bad it was for him to get this attached. Harry wasn't so blind to his emotions that he didn't realize how Ginny was worming a place in his heart. He knew better than that, though. Harry knew better than to grow attached, but with Ginny…. Fuck, he couldn't help it. She was just so sweet, kind, adorable, funny, and at that moment, he couldn't help but notice how perfectly she fit in his arms. 

 He let out a long sigh through his nose. Tomorrow he was bringing Ginny home. Tomorrow she would be safe with her family, and he would only focus on her case. Keeping her separate from him, having that distance, would help him get back to normal. He had to lose this… this keen attention towards her and find a way to compartmentalize it all. 

 Ginny let out a cute little snore that made Harry smile. She truly was adorable. Harry shifted his body, so he was lying down on the mattress. Ginny's arms stayed wrapped around him. Despite being asleep, she seemed attuned with his movement, and her head rolled to lay on the crook of his arm. 

 Harry considered trying to break from her hold, but that part of him that cared too much for her wouldn't allow it. So instead, he pulled the comforter up around them and closed his eyes. They had a long drive tomorrow, and they both needed a good night's sleep.    

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 Harry leaned against his car, waiting for Teddy to let go of Ginny. In less than twenty-four hours, Teddy had decided Ginny was the best person in the world, and the fact that she was leaving ruined his young life. Tears were flowing, and his wails echoed like a siren. 

 "Teddy, luv," Tonks tried to soothe the rampaging toddler. "Ginny can come back any time she wants."

 "No!" Teddy shook his head, holding tightly to Ginny's leg. "She stays with me."

 Ginny ran a hand through Teddy's brown locks. She bent with her knees, so she and Teddy were closer to eye level. "Can you look at me, Ted?"

 Teddy sniffled into Ginny's trousers before pulling far enough back to look at Ginny. "Ginny, no go."

 "Ginny has to go." Ginny pulled Teddy into her arms. "But I promise when I get this all cleared up, I'll come for a visit. I'll even bring my niece Victoire so we can have a big fun play date." She pressed a kiss to Teddy's forehead. "Would that be okay?"

 Harry couldn't take his eyes away from the scene. The way Ginny was with Teddy… fuck, it was one of the sweetest things he'd ever seen. The simple fact was that Teddy loved her so much after so little time. To be fair, Harry was in the same boat. Ginny was incredible. Harry was tempted to cling at her leg and beg her to stay too. 

 Teddy scrunched his face in consideration, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears. After a second, he nodded reluctantly. "Soon?"

 "As soon as I can, mate," Ginny promised with a final kiss to the boy's head. Teddy sniffed but nodded. He released Ginny's leg and pouted over to his mother, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders in support. 

 Ginny rose up to her full height and moved over to Harry. Her smile was wistful. "He's so cute."

 Harry looked over her shoulder at his godson. Teddy was trying to convince his mother he deserved a biscuit after such a hard morning. "He's the best." He looked back at Ginny and smiled. "But I'm excited to meet the famous Victoire! From the way you talk about her, she and I will become instant best friends." 

 "I don't doubt that," Ginny laughed. "Your charm is practically irresistible."

 A kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered through his gut at her words, but he ignored them. After last night… Harry had been dealing with complex emotions. There had been a line crossed last night. If he'd stayed professional, he never would have crawled into that bed with her. Never would have held her. But despite going against his own code, Harry didn't regret it. Not after knowing it had helped Ginny feel better. Feel safe. 

 She had told him that morning after breakfast. Ginny had pulled him aside as he'd been heading to start the car. Her small hand had wrapped around his and dragged him into the foyer. "Harry, I just wanted to say again… Thank you for last night. It really helped… Having you there…Thank you." Her eyes had bored into his, and he hadn't been able to pull himself away from her until Tonks had asked about snacks for the trip. 

 It was like she had magical powers that drew him towards her. He'd wanted to tug her into his arms at that moment and probably would have if Tonks hadn't distracted him. 

 He shook himself out of his reverie. These thoughts needed to stop, especially because, after the next five hours, Harry was unlikely to see Ginny for a long time. He brought his attention back to her, and her smile almost sent him back down the rabbit hole. Try as he may, Harry couldn't resist smiling back at her. He pulled open the passenger door. "Your chariot, my lady."

 Ginny laughed again, sliding into the seat. "Thank you, my good sir!"

 Harry shut the door and gave himself a second to lean against it. He just needed to keep it together for five hours, and then she would be safe, and he could — no, he would — move past this… this little crush he was forming. 

 He got into his seat and started the ignition. They gave the car a moment to warm up, sitting in a comfortable silence until the Bluetooth connected to his phone. Harry hadn't thought to pick a playlist in advance, so the music picked up where he'd left off. He could feel his cheeks heating as Ginny turned to look at him with an assumed look.

 "So you're a Britney boy and listen to Taylor Swift?"

 He shrugged, trying to keep his expression impassive. "She makes me feel things."

 Ginny threw back her head, hitting the headrest. Her laughter echoed in the small space. "God," Ginny said through her chuckles. "You are too good."

 That fluttering started back up in his stomach, and Harry had to force himself to ignore it. Deciding that music was the answer, Harry turned up the song. "If you think I'm good now, just wait until you hear my rendition of All Too Well. There won't be a dry eye in this car."

 Somehow Ginny's laughter became the best music in the car. 

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 Harry didn't expect it. He didn't expect these bastards to track Ginny. It was foolish and naive on his part, but he hadn't expected them to come back for her. But based on the car tailing them down the freeway, they wanted to take her back.

 "Alright, Ginny," Harry kept his tone calm as he looked in the rear mirror. "In the glove compartment, there is a gun —"

 "I'm sorry?" Ginny's head whipped to look at him. "A gun?"

 "It's my service weapon." Harry veered to the right, getting directly in front of another car. Their stalker swerved into the same lane, getting right up behind the other vehicle. "And if that car follows us for any longer, we may need to use it." 

 "Someone has been following us?" Ginny asked, her voice going monotone. Harry glanced over at her. She'd gone starch white against the leather seat; her hands clasped together so tightly Harry thought she must be losing feeling. 

 He reached over and separated her hands, taking one in his own. "I've got you, Gin. I won't let anything happen to you."

 There was a tremble in her hand that relayed her nerves, but her grip was firm as she squeezed his hand. "So, what's the plan?"

 "I'm going to lose them." Harry put his foot down on the pedal, swerving into the right lane of traffic. He checked behind him and saw the black Volkswagen copy his move. 

 "Do you think they've been following me this whole time?" Ginny asked; the tremor in her voice made Harry's heart ache. 

 He brought their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of her freckled one. "Even if they have, they won't get you. I'm going to call Tonks to warn her."

 On the steering wheel, he pressed the voice activation key. The sound dinged, and Harry requested to call Tonks. The ringing phone echoed in the speakers as they waited for Tonks to pick up. After the sixth ring, she answered. 

 "Harry? What happened?"

 "Tonks, we are currently being followed, and we don't know if your house has been compromised." 

 There was a long moment of silence before Tonks let out a deep breath. "Okay. Okay."

 Harry's gut twisted. If something happened to Tonks or Teddy… It would be his fault. He brought Ginny home with him. Instead, he should have found a safe house for her. Really he should have ignored her request for no cops and taken her into the station. But he hadn't been able to betray her like that. There had been such an overwhelming desire to protect her that he'd put his family in danger. He wanted to kick himself. If anything happened…

 "Harry.” Tonks’ sharp tone came through the stereo. "Stop thinking like that. Teddy and I will be fine. You did the right thing."

 He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. She knew him too well. "I —"

 "Stop!" Tonks cut him off. "Teddy and I are gonna be fine. You just focus on you and Ginny. I'm going to take Ted to an old friend of mine. He'll help us. Actually, you should come to him too!"

 "Where is he?" Harry didn't know or care which friend she was referring to, as long as it meant getting them all back together and safe. 

 "I always meet him in Leeds, but knowing him, he'll have some sort of bunker we can hide out in." 

 "Okay." Harry pulled the wheel sharply to the left, heading across two lanes before sailing smoothly down the off-ramp. He merged into the street traffic quickly and headed to the North ramp. "Where in Leeds do you meet?"

 "We always meet in a local coffee house, but I think this time we'll find a more secluded location." Harry could hear Tonks moving around on her end. She told Teddy to pick a few toys for a fun car trip. 

 "Text me the meeting point. I'm going to start heading North," Harry told her while merging back onto the freeway. "I'll hand Ginny my phone, and she'll set up GPS."

 "Sounds good.” Tonks sounded far from the phone as if she'd put it down. "Be safe, and if I call, pick up."

 "Got it." Harry ended the call with his thumb. He looked into his mirror. He couldn't see the Volkswagen, but he doubted they'd given up. If they were willing to follow her from Sheffield, there was no way they'd give up after a few twists and turns.

 Harry glanced at Ginny. Her posture was stiff, but he could see the hard, determined set in her expression. "What can I do?"

 "I want you to keep an eye on our back. Let me know if anyone starts following us again."

 Ginny nodded solemnly. She gave his hand a final squeeze before turning her body to watch out the back window. "How will I know that they're following us and not just driving in the same direction as us?"

 "I'm going to take some detours that most people wouldn't bother with," Harry said, sliding into the middle lane before putting his foot down. 

 Harry had taken a driving class back in his days at the MET. It had been focused on advanced maneuvers for extreme situations, and this was Harry's first time needing to use it. He glided between cars, changing lines with sudden but precise moves. 

 "There is a black Volkswagen that keeps coming into the same line as you," Ginny said, her leg bouncing rapidly. 

 "I figured as much," Harry muttered as he steered sharply into the far left lane right before the exit marked Chesterfield. He followed the roundabout until it took him onto a two-lane road. He got stuck behind a box truck going under the speed limit. Cursing under his breath, Harry veered over into the oncoming lane to try and pass just as Ginny let out a loud cry. 

 "He's coming up fast! I think he's gonna ram us." 

 Harry didn't hesitate. He sharply veered into the opposite lane and floored it. They sped past the truck, narrowly making it back in his proper lane before an oncoming car crashed into them. He kept his foot down, the speedometer going well over one hundred and fifty. He took a right-hand turn, heading down a residential road. 

 "Is it still just one the car?" he asked, not taking his eyes away from the road in front of him.

 "Yes, and they’re gaining on us again."

 Harry cursed and looked in the rearview; they was gaining fast. Their car must have had some improvements made to it because there should be no way it should be keeping up with his car. "Alright, Ginny, it's time for that gun to come out." 

 She spun in her chair to look at him. "Really?" 

 Harry didn't need to look to know she was panicking. He took one hand off the wheel for a moment to squeeze her knee. "It's gonna be alright. You're just going to use it to scare him." 

 "Right." Ginny's breath came out shaky, but her body leaned forward to open the glovebox. 

 "Have you ever shot a gun before?" 

 "Not a gun per se." Ginny's leg started bouncing again. "But my brothers and I used to shoot little toy slingshots at each other."

 "Good enough," Harry said as he swerved around a car turning left. "I want you to aim it out of the window and just shoot towards them. I'm hoping it will scare them off enough to back off."

 "Sure, sounds easy." Ginny let out a nervous laugh. "So, um, it's just pointing and shoot, right?"

 "First, turn off the safety, but after that, you've got it." 

 He could see Ginny opening the compartment before reaching inside. Her hand was trembling so badly he could tell even just out of the corner of his eye. He put a hand on her knee and squeezed. There was nothing he could say to make this situation better, but at least Harry wanted to convey he was there with her. 

 "Got it." Ginny held the weapon with timid fingers. "So I just open the window…"

 "Point and then shoot." 

 She let out a long breath before nodding. "Okay."

 Harry could see a stop sign coming up at an intersection. He didn't let up on the gas; instead he angled the car to perform a tight turn. "Hold on for a second; this might get a little rocky." 

 Ginny's free hand gripped the middle console with a death grip as Harry jerked the wheel to the right, cutting off an oncoming car. Their muffled honking meant nothing to Harry as he picked his speed back up, only to take a sudden left turn. Ginny slid in her seat, but she kept a hold of the gun. 

 "Are they still following us?" Harry asked as he followed the side country road. 

 Ginny spun in her seat. "Yeah, but they are a bit behind now." 

 "Alright." Harry bit his bottom lip as he considered their options. "Alright, Gin, it's time to scare them. Use the gun."

 She wheeled back around to face the front, taking a second to breathe before turning to her right and rolling down the passenger window. "Where do I aim?"

 "Just anywhere near their car should work."

 Wind loudly blew through the open window, deafening the radio and engine. Harry kept his eyes on the road, on the lookout for any other cars or sudden turns. 

 Bang.

 The gun's blast sounded louder than ever before as Ginny fired at the car. Harry listened for the sound of squealing breaks, but there was nothing. He chanced a glance in the mirror. Their stalker hadn't been deterred by the bullet. If anything, they were gaining on them. 

 "Fuck!" Harry's body jerked forward as the bastard rammed into their bumper. "Ginny, can you get another shot —"

 He didn't finish his sentence before another two shots were fired off. Harry heard smashing glass. Another shot, and this time he could hear that tire squeal he'd been looking for. Checking in the mirror, the Volkswagen had a smashed-out windshield and was slowing down. Even in a quick glance he could see the deflating front tire. He looked over at Ginny, who was still leaning out the window, the gun trained on the Volkswagen. 

 "Ginny, you got them!" 

 She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes wide and jaw set. "I was always good at hitting my brothers while they were trying to run away."

 Harry could have sworn his heart stuttered in his chest. With her hair wild from the wind, determined look, and the gun held confidently in her hand… Harry could feel himself getting turned on. He turned away, feeling his cheeks heat.

 He heard Ginny's window closing, and the cab felt silent despite the guitar riff rolling from the radio. Neither of them spoke, both lost in their own thoughts. Harry was trying to calm his racing heart… and racing hormones. He couldn't explain why seeing Ginny look like that had affected him so much, but if he was honest with himself, he had always found her attractive. Even in those first moments, he'd seen her beauty underneath the dirt, but he'd been able to push it away to focus on the situation. But right now… Harry's willpower against her was wilting.

 "Did Tonks ever text you the location?" Ginny asked, startling Harry out of his thoughts.

 "I — um — I didn't feel it vibrate, but how about you check?" He maneuvered a hand into his pocket to pull out his mobile. He passed it over to her without taking his eyes off the road. 

 "What's the passcode?" 

 "Huh? Oh! It's Teddy's birthday. May second."

 He listened to the music as Ginny found her way to his texting app. The sweet melody sounded so out of place after what they'd just been through.

 "She texted, 'The Forge Inn. Aislaby. Rent a room.'"

 Harry let out a long sigh. "Sounds like we've still got a bit of a drive." He chanced a glance over at Ginny. His gun lay on her lap pointed towards the window as she put the address into his maps app. 

 "It says just over two hours." Ginny looked up at him then, her face flushed from the wind. "Sounds like we'll have plenty of time to enjoy your Taylor Swift renditions."

 That made him laugh. "That's a given." He let out a breath. "That was some really impressive shooting, Ginny."

 She shrugged like it was nothing. "As I said, I was the best at hitting moving targets."

 Harry shook his head. "No, that was just incredible. You are incredible." His last sentence came out sounding wistful even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. "I'm gonna stay on back roads. You're in charge of keeping anyone off our tail."

 "Aye Aye, Captain Potter!" Ginny gave his shoulder a little friendly tap. "We make a really good team, don't we?"

 Unable to resist looking at her, Harry was nearly struck dumb by her crooked smile. She was truly gorgeous. A simple beauty that was so rare. She raised a hand up at him, palm facing him. Harry snorted but accepted her high-five. "We make the best team."

 Ginny's smile went wide, showing her teeth. When Harry was about to pull back, Ginny's fingers closed around his. Her small hand fit so perfectly in his large one. Her gentle squeeze made butterflies flutter in his gut, and he had to force himself to turn back to the road. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and this time it had nothing to do with danger. It had all to do with her. 

[accioprozac]

Jealous : Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: You’d known the Weasley twins since 1st year and had been pining after Fred nearly as long. You knew it wasn’t requited, Fred treated you like he treated Ginny, like a little sister. Your crush on him was painfully obvious, almost everyone knew except Fred. Still, you were holding out hope. Then Fred asked Angelina to the Yule Ball and you felt your heart spilt in two. But despite Fred’s apparent disinterest in you romantically, he still attempts to sabatoge all your dates and you’re getting sick of it.

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s note: Please interact! Also, I wrote this on my phone so sorry if the spelling and format is a bit wonky.

“The Yule Ball is coming up,” you mention, trying to keep your voice light, “Are you going to ask anyone?”

George gives you a knowing look and you glare at him. He knew about your not-so-secret crush on Fred. Hell, almost everyone did, except Fred. You weren’t exactly good at hiding your feelings.

“I have someone in mind,” he grins slyly.

“Really? Who?” You ask, a bit too excitedly, and he gives you an amused look. “Come on Fred, tell me!” You wheedle but he puts a finger to his lips, zipping them shut.

“I’ll give you a hint,” he starts, “She’s in Gryffindor.”

Well obviously,” George snorts. Fred gives him a look that says what’s that supposed to mean? “You barely talk to any Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws are too smart to put up with your shit and Slytherins? I’m pretty sure that whole house hates you after the prank we pulled last year.”

Fred’s eyes light up at the mention of the prank and he enthusiastically starts to recount Snape’s reaction to his House’s robes being turned red and gold.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

“He didn’t say much, but do you think he could be talking about me?” you ask Hermione anxiously as you both get ready for bed.

“Well it would make sense. You are the girl he spends the most time with.”

“I hope he asks me,” you say wistfully, “Night Hermione.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The next morning, Hermione’s forehead is wrinkled in thought when you sit down for breakfast, “Y/N,” she starts, “I heard from Lavender Brown who heard from Katie Bell that Fred asked Angelina to the Yule Ball.” Her lips are pursed as she anxiously studies your face for some type of reaction.

“Oh,” you say dejectedly, “Good for him.”

“I’m sorry Y/N,” Ginny says sympathetically, “My brother is an idiot.”

You give her a weak smile back.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

A few days later, Ernie Macmillan comes up to you and nervously asks you to Hogsmead. He’s sweating profusely but you secretly admire his bravery. You accept and the date is fairly uneventful, mostly consisting of playful banter, and he walks you back to the Gryffindor common room, kissing your cheek chastely before departing.

Fred and George caught sight of the kiss and Fred snorts, “A Hufflepuff?”

“What’s wrong with Hufflepuff?” You demand, crossing your arms.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” he mutters before angrily storming off. George mouths “sorry, I’ll talk to him,” before following Fred.

Ernie doesn’t talk to you again after that date. Every time you approach him, he finds some reason to leave quickly. You couldn’t lie, it was hurtful, was the date that bad? He seemed almost scared to be around you.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

A boy from Durmstang ends up asking you to the Yule Ball. His name is Ansen. He’s tall and has nice eyes, so you accept. Maybe you aren’t in love with him, but he’s a nice distraction from Fred. You get along with him well enough, you both like quidditch and chocolate frogs. He’s not a bad dancer either, he twirls you around and that combined with your F/C dress makes you feel like a princess.

When the Yule Ball ends, he walks you back to the Gryffindor tower and wishes you a good night.

When you enter the common room, George and Fred are talking in harsh whispers, heads bowed. Both of them are still in their Yule Ball suit. Fred looks up and seems a bit annoyed, “Who’s that bloke you went to the ball with?”

“His name is Asen, he goes to Durmstang,” you say, shrinking a bit under Fred’s glare. “He’s really nice,” you added, just because you could.

“You went with him??” Fred huffed, sounding a bit disbelieving. “He’s Bulgarian, how do you guys even talk?”

George grinned, “I bet there’s not much talking involved when they get together.” You shoot him a look, not helping George.

Ginny glares at them from a armchair by the fireplace, the splitting image of her mother, and they shrunk under her angry gaze. “Stop being gits,�� she grabs my hand and pulls me to the girls dormitory, “Tell me everything.”

Once you’re done recounting the date, she smiles, “He sounds nice.”

“He is.”

“You don’t sound too happy,” Ginny notes innocently.

“I know,” you sigh. “I just wish I that Fred had asked me.”

Ginny winces, “I know the feeling.” Harry, right.

“I’m sorry Gin.”

“Boys are stupid, who needs them?”

“Here, here,” Hermione agrees from her bed, her voice is thick with tears and muffled slightly by her pillow.

“I’m going to kill Ron.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The next day, Ansen’s hair is bright blue. When you try to talk to him, he seems disgruntled and brushes you aside, muttering something about “stupid Weasley twins” and “she’s not worth the trouble.” You narrow your eyes and put two and two together. Fred and George.

You storm up to them and Fred gives you an annoyed look as you cut of his conversation with Angelina.

“You two are unbelievable! You can’t just prank everyone I try to date,” your voice raises a bit and you know you’re making a scene, but you’re to mad to care. You can feel onlookers burning holes into your back with their curious stares.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fred drawls and George quickly removes himself from the situation, putting his hands up like don’t get me involved.

“You dyed Ansen’s hair blue and now he won’t speak to me,” you shoot a glare at him, “Not to mention whatever you did to poor Ernie.”

“We prank everyone,” he says defensively.

“You scared them away,” your voice is accusatory.

“Well if they’re that easily scared away, they’re not worth your time,” he replies breezily.

“You don’t get to do this,” you repeat. Your voice is quiet but shakes with anger and hurt.

“Why not?” Fred asks, looking a bit sullen.

“Because you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to ruin all my chances of love after you broke my heart,” your eyes widen at your thoughtless confession.

He gaped silently for a moment, “When I broke your heart?”

“You took Angelina to the Yule Ball.” At his blank look, you felt your face grow hot with anger, “You know what? Forget it. Fuck you Fred Weasley. Stay out of my life”

“Wait, Y/N!” He scrabbles up and grabs your wrist. You jerk it away from him, feeling like he burned you, before running into the girls dormitory.

Hermione, who had been silently watching the exchange, set her book down, “Fred Weasley, you are a compete arse,” she hissed before running after you.

She finds you lying face flat on your bed, “Y/N? I’m sorry about Fred, boys are idiots.”

You let out a watery laugh, “I hate him,” you pause, “but I also love him and he doesn’t love me back and it’s hurts, Mione.”

“I know,” she sighed, wrapping you in a hug. You allow yourself to cry on her shoulder and she glares at the wall behind you, thinking of all the things she wanted to do to Fred Weasley for hurting you.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

You avoid the Fred for a whole week and you’re absolutely miserable. You’ve been spending more time with Hermione which is fun and all, but you missed George(and maybe Fred too). It’s not that you were mad at George, but if you spoke to him, Fred would probably be there. You made sure to continue to smile at George in hallways but your face would turn icy at the arrival of Fred.

The next week, you’re walking to potions and Fred grabs you and pulls you into an empty classroom. “I need to talk to you,” he says.

You sigh wearily and avoid his gaze, “What do you want Fred? Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I want you.” His voice is so earnest and when you look up to meet his eyes, he’s smiling nervously, hands wrung together.

You look away, “No, you don’t. You’re just saying that because you can’t stand seeing me with another boy and no longer fawning over you like a lovesick little girl.” Your tone is venomous and you take a step back, preparing to leave but his voice stops you.

“That’s not true,” he says defensively, “I fancy you, I think I always have. It just took seeing you with another bloke for me to realize.”

“What about Angelina?”

“I don’t love her, I love you,” his frank declaration stuns you into silence.

“You love me?” your voice is a hoarse whisper.

His face flushes and you hate that you still find him endearing after everything he’s done, he nods solemnly, “I do. I know I’ve been awful to you these past weeks and I don’t blame you if you don’t want to see me.”

You feel your resolve crumbling, “I’m still mad at you but I do miss being friends.” You don’t address the love confession, you were still too mad and hurt for that.

“I’ll make it up to you Y/N, I promise.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

He stays true to his word. He walks you to every class and even apologizes to Ernie, who is no longer avoiding you. He doesn’t try to demand anything from you or push you, leaving everything up to you. Slowly, you begin to trust him again and can feel your relationship shifting from friends to something else.

Your first kiss is at the end of the school year. You say goodbye to George and turn to Fred, nervously aware of his family standing a few steps away. “Write to me?” you ask and he nods. You stand on your tip toes and peck him on the lips, quickly. He stares at you in shock for a moment before gently grabbing your waist and pulling you in for another a kiss that leaves you both breathless. You can hear his brothers hollering in the distance and Molly scolds them.

When you pull apart, Fred’s face is almost as red as his hair, “Bye Y/N, I’ll uh- see you next year,” he pauses, “Or maybe you could come to the Burrow sometime during the summer? You don’t have to but I reckon Mum would love to have you, and I would too of course-“

You cut off his rambling with a laugh, “I’d love to Freddie.”

[fallin-4-ya]

three rules / f.w.

three rules

fred weasley x reader

summary: being best friends with ginny weasley came with three unbreakable rules, the main focus of them being no dating her brothers. so, naturally it was inevitable that the most infamous rule breaking weasley caught her eyes.

warning: none! (gif not mine credit to owner!)

requested? yes/no

words: 1.9k

By the time y/n was in her fifth year she had caught the attention of not only one redheaded Weasley, but two. Her spritely attitude and fun-loving nature had quickly gained the attention of Ginny Weasley, a Gryffindor two years below her. The girls got on so well, they practically became inseparable. Ginny, never knowing a sister even if one hit her in the face, found solace in y/n because of her warmth and kindness. Y/n loved Ginny as much as she could, and took her on to be the little sister she never had. It was often difficult to find one without the other, or even one not in ten feet of the other. But, there was one tiny problem. Y/n fancied Fred Weasley more than she cared to admit. And there was one thing that was no-no in Ginny and y/n’s friendship, no fancying each other’s siblings.

Ginny had made this abundantly clear the during their first year of friendship. No relationships with her brothers. Not Fred, not George, not Ron, not Percy. (‘Even though I doubt any girl in their right mind would go for Percy.’) They were all off limits; and it seemed her brothers had the same rule applied to them as well, because if one of them were to look at you Ginny would go on a rampage about how ‘she was her best friend and she deserves way more than you lot’. Ginny was so serious in fact, she had a set of three very specific rules to follow:

1.     No going on a date with a Weasley

2.     No kissing a Weasley

3.     You must tell Ginny if you break rule one or two

Y/n couldn’t be totally mad at Ginny, after all she was just trying to look out for a friend. Yet, y/n couldn’t help but to let her eyes wander when Fred walked into a room or snap her head in his direction every time he spoke a word. She had it bad.

1.

It was only a matter of time before y/n found out Fred felt the same way about her, as she did for him. it was the beginning of the school year when he asked her in a quiet hallway after charms class if she would like to be his date to Hogsmeade the following weekend.

‘Are you mental?!’ y/n nearly shouted due to shook, ‘Your sister will kill us both, what about the ru-‘

Fred silenced her, placing a finger over her lips, ‘Ah, y/n, what’s life without a little rule breaking.’ She stared at him intently for a moment before Fred continued, ‘I’m going to take the silence and pensive thinking as a yes. See you on Saturday.’

And how unfortunate it was, how you two had such a wonderful time. Sneaking around Hogsmeade, looking over their shoulder and around corners for the sight of Ginny. The rush of adrenaline was nothing she had felt before.

They drank butterbeer together in the far, far corner of The Three Broomsticks, went to Zonkos in big puffy coast and hats to conceal their identity and took all of the side streets to get where they wanted to go. There was something about trying to keep their date a secret that made it even more fun.

They were two peas in a pod, bouncing of each other’s energy. They both agreed at they would meet the following weekend for a second date. Either one of them could contain their excitement. The feelings they shared were undeniable and the two wanted nothing more to make them work. The only trouble with this, is that they had to find a way to make it work without Ginny finding out, or at least until they were ready to tell her.

2.

They didn’t share their first kiss until after their second date. Fred dropped her off at her common room after their day at Hogsmeade, gazing longingly at one another. Y/n was the first to speak, ‘I had a great time today, Freddie.’

‘I had a great time, too.’ Fred smiled at her. He paused and took a deep breath, ‘I fancy you, y/n. I really do.’

Y/n smiled wide, ‘I fancy you too, Fred Weasley.’

The whole world around them stopped, and for a single moment it was just the two of them. Fred leaned in gently, taking her face in his palm. His eyes flickered down to hers, asking permission. Y/n closed the gap softly, lips dancing on one another. Everything felt right. Until it didn’t anymore.

Y/n pulled away with a gasp, ‘Fred! What are we doing? We just broke rule number two, as if breaking number one wasn’t enough. Which means that we have to follow rule number three and tell Ginny. Or we’re dead for sure, I’m telling you!’

‘You and these bloody rules,’ Fred laughed. ‘Why on earth do you care so much anyway?’

‘Not so sure,’ the girl sighed. ‘I just don’t want to make Ginny upset. She came up with them when she was twelve, you know.’

‘Then,’ Fred said with a devious grin. ‘Let’s not make her upset. After all, you’re only in trouble if you get caught.’

Y/n smiled at Fred widely, before taking his collar and pulling him in for another long kiss. Maybe Fred was right, you are only in trouble if you get caught. So, the start of their very secretive relationship began. They would pull one another into a quiet hallway to steal a kiss, slip into an empty broom closet to snog and only held each other’s hands when the castle got dark.

From sweet nothings, to stolen kisses. Everything was hushed, swept under the rug. Perhaps if they acted as if the silly rules didn’t exist, then they didn’t. Ginny had suspected not a thing coming from the two of them, until one day she didn’t on a fateful spring day.

3.

The flowers had just begun to bloom at Hogwarts. The days got longer and the weather became pleasant and warm once again. It was all Fred’s idea. The two were going for a quiet walk by the black lake, out of sight from wandering eyes; talking about nothing and everything. It wasn’t until, he leaned in for a kiss when the two heard a scream from behind them. The turned simultaneously, becoming face to face with the last person they wanted to catch them.

Ginny.

Her pupils tripled in size and her mouth was shaped into and oh position. Y/n went into panic mode, trying to calm the situation down. ‘Ginny! We can explain!’

Ginny scoffed at the two, ‘Yeah, you think?! What the hell? We’re you two actually snogging.’

‘For your information, Ginny,’ Fred intervened. ‘That was only a peck. We’ve snogged plenty of times before and trust me, it doesn’t look anything like that. Just ask her about that date at Hogsmeade.’ He winked at y/n.

‘Freddie, you’re really not helping.’ Y/n responded in a hushed voice.

‘Right,’ Fred nodded.

‘First of all, gross. Second, you broke the rules!’ Ginny yelled. ‘All of them! One, two and three!’

‘Ginny, look,’ Y/n stuttered, afraid to say the wrong thing. ‘We, well I- We were going to tell you! We just didn’t really know how.’

Ginny huffed, scratching the hair out of her face in frustration. ‘Didn’t know how to tell me what, how you broke the rules? The ones we shook on in second year! If you’re shagging my brother that’s fine, but you didn’t have to keep it a secret!’

She then threw her eyes towards her brother, ‘And you Fred. I’m so telling mum!’

Fred looked down at y/n who looked as if she was going to burst out in tears at any moment. He sighed, ‘Look Gin, don’t be mad.’

‘Mad?’ Ginny questioned, ‘Why on earth would I be mad?’

Fred looked at her like she had ten heads, ‘Not mad? Never would have figured out that.’ Sarcasm drooled from his tongue.

‘I’m not.’ Ginny stated simply. ‘Honest.’

Y/n looked up at her, ‘What? What do you mean you’re not mad, you basically just threw a fit if I’ve ever seen one?’ She looked a mix of relieved and vengeful.

‘Well, yeah, you guys broke the rules. And the initial shock was something. Blah, blah, blah. But, truth be told I’m happy you guys did. You see, I have about a lot of galleons wagered on you two, and if you waited just a few more days, they would have been Ronald’s.’ Ginny said, her arms crossed and shrugging her shoulders.

Fred and y/n looked at each other, mass confusion consumed them both. Fred turned to his sister with the most bewildered expression on his face. ‘Galleons?’ he questioned.

‘Yes galleons, Fredrick. Do I need to clear your ears out?’ Ginny stared blankly at the couple in front of her, who still wore confused expressions in their faces. She huffed, ‘Oh honestly, you two. Don’t act like you don’t know?’

‘Gin,’ y/n started. ‘We really don’t know what all this is about.’

Ginny shared eye contact between them, trying to figure out if they were being serious or not. She shook her head slowly, ‘You guys seriously don’t know, do you?’ Fred and y/n simultaneously shook their heads. Ginny gulped hard, ‘I actually don’t know how to say this. Well you see, me, George and Ron all had bets on when you two would get together and by the looks of it, I just won fifty galleons.’

Y/n looked at her with almost a blank expression, ‘So, you guys knew all along?’

‘Of course not. I will admit, you guys were doing really well with sneaking around. But, have you seen the way you two look at each other? You guys look at each other the way Ron looks at food. Anyone could see it.’

Fred turned to his girlfriend, who was blushing furiously, then back at Ginny. ‘So, you’re happy we broke the rules?’

‘My dear brother, you breaking the rules was inevitable. It was really only a matter of time before y/n cracked. The rules were only there to delay the future.’ Ginny laughed, putting a hand on y/n’s shoulder. ‘My best friend and my brother, doesn’t this practically make us sisters? Besides, it means you can come spend Christmas and summer holiday with us!’

Y/n found herself smiling uncontrollably, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off of her back. Ginny’s lips tugged into a lopsided grin, ‘Y/n, you will come stay with us, won’t you!’

‘Of course, Gin! As long as your brother doesn’t have anything to say about it.’ y/n poked Fred in the ribs with her elbow.

‘How could I possibly say no.’ Fred said, planning a kiss on y/n’s lips.

Ginny began making puking noises, pulling them out of their moment. ‘Just because I said I was happy you guys are dating doesn’t mean you can do all of that in front of me.’ Fred rolled his eyes, giving her a shut it and nudging her shoulder. This wasn’t going to be half as bad as they thought.

(‘I told you she wasn’t going to be mad.’ ‘Oh, shut it.’)

[adorethedistance]

Party Hard - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: drinking, partying, intoxication, non sexual stripping, swearing probably, 

Words: 6343 (which, if you know me, is a FUCK ton)

Summary: Going from tipsy to full on drunk is a terrible idea, but especially when you’ve got a secret to hide that could mean the difference between preserving and ruining your relationship with your best friend.

A/N: A couple items before we get started: I think I’m back on my bullshit? I mean I wrote this fic and it’s three times the length of my normal fics. Also I wrote this headassery as a literal self insert me(ace) x someone and so there are a couple flaws here and there that make this something I’m not 100% proud of. Owen picks the reader up a few times and I’m aware this kind of thing can really effect someone’s experience with this fic so I do apologize for the lack of inclusivity in regards to body type/ableism. I’m falling really behind on school work because I just can’t find the motivation which either means y’all will be seeing a lot more of me soon or absolutely nothing at all. Not sure which yet.

“You’ve got it so bad.” Charlie rests his left arm on his best friend’s shoulder, tipping back the half-full angry orchard bottle he’d been nursing for the better half of an hour. Owen’s stare is immediately broken and he crosses his arms defensively.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Turning to meet his friend’s smug stare, Owen shoots Charlie a glare of annoyance before returning his attention to the girl on the dance floor. Surrounded by a gaggle of her closest friends, Y/n is dancing and singing her heart out to Fergalicious with Chelsea, Leila, Savannah, and Carolynn. The bunch of them share in sporadic laughs as they exchange ridiculous dance moves just to add to the fleeting moment’s laughter. An assortment of screeches and squawks blend together as they all prepare to sing the rap section of the song. Observing the level of excitement the girls have over the verse, Owen can’t help but laugh at the spectacle.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Charlie inquires between sips of his cold drink.

“What?”

“Y/n. Why have you not asked her out.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Yeah. Because you haven’t asked her out.” Owen rolls his eyes before turning 90 degrees to fully face the smug guitarist. He turns about-face to prove a point, but another symphony of squeals at the next song choice drags his attention back to his other best friend on the dance floor. “You’re so whipped.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! Look, if you don’t ask her out tonight, I will.”

“You’re not even into her,” Owen protests unceremoniously. Setting the molasses colored bottle on the counter next to Owen, Charlie steps back and copies his position of crossed arms and a relaxed stance.

“You’re right, I’m not. But you are, and if that’s what it takes to light the fire under your ass then I’ll do it.”

“She wouldn’t say yes.”

“Are you sure? I mean, the only way to know for sure is to ask.” And with that, Charlie is off, speeding toward Y/n at a pace that launches Owen into an impulsive chase. To prevent his friend from doing something stupid, Owen shoves him in the opposite direction from the group of girls on the dance floor. What he hadn’t anticipated was Charlie moving so far so fast. Owen has longer legs, he’s supposed to be the faster one, not Charlie. That’s why he hadn’t anticipated turning away from his musical friend to come face to face with a very flushed Y/n. Her lip-gloss coated lips are parted as she catches her breath from all the dancing. They look so soft and inviting that Owen can’t help but stare, and doesn’t realize the several looks of confusion among the girls around him.

“Everything okay, Owen?” Snapping out of his hyper focused stare, Owen blinks a few times, trying to generate a reason for coming over.

“You’ve been dancing for a while.”

“...Yeah?”

“Let me fix you a drink?” His statement comes out as more of a question but the breathless girl agrees nonetheless. Owen extends his hand to her which she gladly accepts but not without a quick word to her friends.

“I’ll be right back, I’m getting a drink.”

Her friends aren’t stupid, quite the opposite actually. And they see right through Owen’s facade of fixing her a drink because she’d been ‘dancing a while’. Please. As if they didn’t know a desperate attempt at flirting when they saw it.

The pounding music from the backyard begins to fade and muffle once the pair step into the Shada’s beautiful kitchen space. Owen leads her to the kitchen island where he has her take a seat on one of the barstools in front of the high countertop. Stepping around the fixture, Owen busies himself with whipping up a drink for Y/n at the makeshift bar on the island. He doesn’t even have to ask what it is she wants. Ice, pink whitney, club soda, and a splash of lime juice mixed together in a red solo cup Owen had considerately written her name on before going all mixologist-mode.

“Your usual.”

“Thank you, sir. You know, I’ve only had a handful of barbecue chips since I got here, and I’m already tipsy, so this actually might get me completely drunk.” Taking a sip, Y/n hums out of pleasure, “Why do you make my favorite drink better than I make my favorite drink?”

“So you have a reason to keep me around.” At the sound of Y/n’s laugh, Owen cracks a smile in time with his favorite sound in the world. The blonde haired man leans forward to rest his weight on his left forearm. He stares at her with adoration seeping from his gaze, before lifting his own cup to drink with her.

“What is that?” she asks, sitting up taller to try and see into Owen’s cup over the island.

“Jack Daniels.”

“I want some.”

“No,” Owen answers swiftly albeit softly. Y/n, however, is not feeling as conciliatory.

“No?”

“Have you ever tried whiskey before?”

“Well, no-”

“You’re drinking a fruit flavored cocktail that’s like 30% nonalcoholic. A sip of this would knock you off your little ass.” Y/n frowns at his words and employs a fake pout of anger to guilt her now laughing friend. Despite her smile, she whines,

“You suck.” Owen merely shrugs unapologetically before sipping and wincing at his drink of choice. “So… how did your date go- with Amy?” And there it is. The question that’s been at the forefront of Y/n’s mind for the last 24 hours.

Owen met this girl Amy at a more professional house party type of event and they hit it off right away. They spent the night invested in conversation, sharing in a cacophony of laughter. Y/n had no right to be upset, but she was. Amy was drop dead gorgeous in that Mini length red, velvet dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her figure was snatched to the gods, and she was about 5’3”; a seemingly irrelevant thing to notice, but Y/n knew that was the height Owen loved in a partner. At least, based on all his previous flings. And not to mention, her beautiful golden blonde hair that extended all the way down her toned back. Amy was perfect to all standards including that of any straight man with eyes and undoubtedly Owen’s. They spent the entire night together, Y/n long forgotten despite having been Owen’s plus one.

Y/n on the other hand didn’t exactly view herself as the drop-dead gorgeous supermodel type. Seeing how Owen took an interest in her at that event, it was no wonder Y/n was jealous. In fact, she had been so jealous that she allowed their flirting to ruin her entire evening.

She had been invited platonically as Owen’s guest, but Owen didn’t feel guilty about leaving her alone once he saw Charlie was by her side the whole night. Little did he know Charlie was only there for her because Owen wasn’t. It was pity company. Pity company that she was grateful to have as she cried into a few gin and tonics. Y/n avoided telling Charlie about her feelings for the adorable drummer, but with the way events transpired, he had figured out what it was that had upset her.

Charlie so badly wanted to give Owen the guilt trip of a lifetime. And he did once he and Owen were alone, heading home in Charlie’s orange hatchback car. He did so by telling Owen about how his best friend had spent the entire evening crying into gin and tonics. ‘Y/n doesn’t even like gin and tonic’ was all Owen could come up with.

When he inquired about why his best friend was crying, Charlie said he didn’t know, but it may have had something to do with the fact that the person who invited her spent the whole night ignoring her; he left it at that, leaving Owen to connect the dots, sort of. Owen had come to the realization that Y/n must have been crying over him, but why? Unable to comprehend a reason, he pushed the situation to the back of his mind. So far back that when Amy texted him that same night, he immediately responded and eventually set up a date for them to get dinner alone Friday evening.

The date was fine. Objectively there was nothing wrong with it. But every time Amy took a sip of the gin and tonic she had ordered, he couldn’t help being reminded of Y/n that night. It took Owen a solid thirty minutes to finally conclude that maybe Y/n was... jealous? Of what? Of Amy? Quickly reviewing a long list of qualities, identical to the one that Y/n had thoroughly checked through when she first saw the blonde, Owen realized she was indeed jealous of Amy. But why? What did Amy have that Y/n didn’t?

Oh.

His initial conclusion in the car with Charlie had to be right. Y/n was crying over him, and seemingly jealous of Amy, all because Amy had his attention. Why was that a problem?

Oh… no. No, Y/n does not have feelings for him. Y/n is... well, Y/n. His best friend, his partner in crime, his confidant, there’s no way she’s in love with him. There’s a different reason as to why she’d been crying into drinks she didn’t like. And that different reason is why her text replies have been short and cold when he had asked for date night conversation pointers. And that different reason is why her smile kept faltering on FaceTime when he was asking for fashion advice for his date.

Y/n is not in love with her best friend.

Owen had spent the past year pushing down his feelings for the girl that threatened to bubble over the top. If Y/n was truly into him, he would’ve acted on them. But she isn’t, so he didn’t. At least, that’s what Owen told himself…

“It was alright,” he offers lamely as a reply to her inquiry. Y/n simply nods and takes another swig of her drink to dull the ache in the center of her chest.

“Just alright?”

“Okay, it was better than alright. She was great.” There’s a hole burning in the center of her heart, and against her better judgment, she expands the deficit by asking for more information.

“What does that mean- that she was ‘great’?”

“You know…” Owen trails off in search of the right words, some words, any words, but nothing comes to him. To sell her nonchalant demeanor, the hopelessly devoted girl is staring down into her cup as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room. She didn’t expect Owen’s eyes to be boring into hers when she looked back up, so she quickly musters a polite smile. Maybe the average onlooker couldn’t tell it was fake, but Owen knows something is off. He just knows. Because he knows her.

“How did those conversation pointers pan out?” She’s deflecting, he thinks.

“One of them worked.” I’m just feeding into it, he thinks.

“Only one of them?” He’s holding back something, she thinks.

“Well, yeah. We didn’t really do much talking if you get what I mean.” I don’t think I can handle this, she thinks.

“I see…” The pair stands together in a silence so tense they felt like strangers. It’s awful. Y/n and Owen hate every second of it, but what could they do? In a moment blinded by upset, Y/n reaches across the island to grab the newly opened bottle of grey goose and pours what must’ve been no less than three shots of liquid into her cup. No club soda or lemonade this time, she chugs down the rest of her drink in a flash; Owen stares at her in disbelief and shock.

Y/n hates being drunk, she likes being the designated driver, she’s never had straight up liquor in her life, and she’s a lightweight, that’s for damn sure. Owen knows all of these things and is even more surprised to see her reaching for an almost empty bottle of gin.

“Hey. Maybe you should take it easy, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a lightweight and you know it. Put the cup down.” When Y/n shakes her head no, something in Owen snaps and his desire to be gentle is long forgotten. “Y/n. Put the drink down.”

“Why do you care, Owen?” In taking time to respond, Owen sees the opportunity and goes for it, taking the cup from her loose grasp and splashing it down the drain of the vegetable sink. “What the fuck?!”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink. Come on.” It’s only a matter of time until Y/n becomes an incoherent human being that’s impossible to wrangle, so Owen is very aware he’s on the clock. Snagging two Arrowhead water bottles in one hand, he takes Y/n’s hand in the other and brings her into the Shada’s den. There are only a few other people in the room, one is a couple and the other a pair of pining idiots, to which Owen becomes slightly wary. Not that the dynamic would change much. He and Y/n are practically a couple according to everyone around them.

Chelsea and Charlie are sitting fairly close together for just friends, on the chocolate brown loveseat facing the couch that Owen has plopped his increasingly intoxicated friend onto; Leila is sitting in a single armchair that a very tipsy Taylor is hanging over the back of to hug her shoulders. Upon seeing Y/n’s pouting expression Chelsea seeks more information,

“You good, fam?”

“He threw it down the sink!” She’s fading faster than Owen had hoped.

“I did. I poured what would’ve been her fifth and sixth shots down the sink.”

“Jesus, Y/n, are you trying to kill yourself?”

“What are you, a cop?” Even tipsy she’s still sharp as a tack. If Owen wasn’t frustrated with her at the moment, he would’ve probably laughed. But he is, so he didn’t. Slipping back into caretaker mode, he hands her one of the water bottles he snagged from the cooler on the way out. In her typical stubborn and petulant fashion, Y/n weakly throws the unopened bottle onto the couch cushion next to her. All their friends laugh but Owen isn’t having it.

“Y/n.” And it only takes a firm call of her name for the slumped over lightweight to glare at him but oblige. She retrieves the bottle and sticks her arm out straight toward Owen’s still standing figure.

“I can’t open it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucked up,” Leila comments.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you fucked up period,” Chelsea adds on. Charlie laughs lightly before resuming whatever conversation the four of them had going pre-Owen and Y/n’s entrance.

Satisfied with the small sips she’s taking of her water, Owen relaxes and takes a seat next to her on the couch. The temporary break in her temper tantrum allows Owen to save his breath; he opens his own water bottle, taking a few drinks which ended up being half the bottle. He’s given her a good bit of room on the couch but it isn’t good enough for Y/n. It takes her a few failed attempts to screw on the cap of her water but once it’s properly sealed, she moves closer to her best friend. The water has acted like some magical temperament cure as Y/n’s previously permanent pout has disappeared.

Owen knows he and Y/n are close enough to where cuddling wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But the way she’s burrowed into his side, picking up his seemingly ‘heavy’ arm to place it around her own inebriated frame, laying her head high up on his chest, and unintentionally resting her hand on his lower abdomen, something feels off. Her hand isn’t dangerously low, but low enough that the side of her limp palm has met the waistband of his jeans. Owen can’t help but feel his skin tingle and burn under her touch. Why is he so affected by her touch all of a sudden?

Owen is pulled from his snowballing thoughts by the sound of Y/n’s muffled voice against his chest. He leans down as far as he can which places his head on top of hers gently.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry,” he whispers just loud enough for her to hear. A tiny drop of warmth on his shirt under her head triggers Owen’s memory: Y/n’s an emotional drunk. She doesn’t get drunk often but when she does, she goes all in and becomes somewhat manic as a result. That accounts for her previous anger. Now it’s sadness, so in about ten minutes, she’ll be easily excitable and bouncing off the walls.

Y/n had carpooled with Leila and Chelsea to the party, and though Owen was upset about her not picking him up like they’d briefly talked about at first, he’s suddenly thankful for the arrangement.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Unhhh.” The lack of a coherent response is enough for Owen, and after finishing the rest of his water, he sits up on the couch.

“Where’s your house key? Hm?” The prospect of losing her key is absolutely devastating to Y/n as she begins to weep. Her imminent distress in response to Owen’s question has all their friends laughing once more; Leila speaks up,

“Check the left chest pocket of her jacket.”

Owen nods, noting the directions, and gently rolls his friend over on her back. Deciding against using her strength, Y/n flops over onto her other side which still allows Owen access to her pocket. His long fingers dwarf the button fastener on her jacket that she often struggles to open, and sure enough her sky blue house key is in her pocket just as Leila said.

“Thanks,” he acknowledges Leila before taking Y/n’s cold hands in his own larger ones to help her stand. It’s a bit of a struggle to stand and as a result, the fading girl leans a bit of her weight into Owen’s side. “You gonna say bye to our friends?”

Y/n nods a goodbye to each person in the room, moving from left to right naming Leila, Taylor, Chelsea, and then Charlie. Upon saying bye to Charlie the small girl starts to cry again, harder this time, much to everyone’s confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Charlie looked a-at me like he didn’t l-like me.” The entire room bursts out laughing, Owen included this time, but she’s still crying. “It’s no-not funny.”

“I know. You’re right, it’s not funny.” Owen’s exaggerated sympathy goes undetected by the very emotional Y/n as she presses her face into his grey long sleeve shirt. She reaches up to hug her arms around Owen’s neck for stability as she adds more tears to the tiny spot from before. “Can you walk?” He asks genuinely as more of her weight leans into him. The only response Owen gets is a few soft sobs, and in reaction to her messy state, lets out a subtle eye roll. He shakes his head before bending down to place one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulder blades, sweeping her off the ground before she can protest.

“Would you guys tell Jer thanks and that I had to take her home?” A symphony of affirmations and goodbyes usher him out of the house, and once outside Y/n’s crying diminuendos into short sniffles and the occasional sigh.

“Here, be careful,” Owen panics as his friend nearly bangs the front of her head against the roof of his car. Once he cautiously places all her limbs in the passenger side, Owen shuts the door and hurries over to the driver’s side as if Y/n could hurt herself in the next five seconds. He places the key in the ignition but before he even touches the gear shift, he turns and looks quizzically at his best friend. The sniffling and sighs coming from her puffy face have lulled her into an almost unconscious state; Owen puffs out a frustrated sigh as he reaches across the entire car to grab Y/n’s seatbelt for her.

Another thing about drunk Y/n is that her emotional state makes her more likely to give in to physical impulses. So after she registers Owen leaning across her lap for the seatbelt, she grabs his shoulder so he doesn’t move away. The action surprises Owen and he turns his face to look into her half-lidded eyes. He’s trying to make sense of the action but his trailing thoughts are interrupted when the girl in the passenger’s seat leans forward slightly to put her face against Owen’s neck.

“I like your smell.” Owen tries so hard not to laugh in fear of upsetting her again, but he can’t conceal the smile growing on his face. He then gently pulls away from her grasp in order to actually start driving,

“Okay. Thank you.”

The car ride is composed of mostly comfortable silence with the occasional inebriated comment or nonsensical sound from the girl in the passenger seat; Owen had been so captivated by Y/n’s uncharacteristically relaxed state, he’d been driving on autopilot and instead of turning left to get on the highway that runs south to where her apartment is, he’d gone north to go to his own place. No big deal, Owen didn’t plan on leaving her intoxicated and alone, and she’s stayed the night plenty of times before now. What’s one more night? It isn’t until he puts the car in park and helps her out of the vehicle that Y/n clocks her surroundings.

“I don’t live here.”

“You don’t, no, but I do,” Owen replies simply before he slides out of the car. Y/n stays in the car as if Owen told her not to move, and looks up at him confusedly when he opens her door. In her tipsy state, she is able to recognize what Owen is doing and smugly places her hand over the buckle of her seatbelt. With her tiny palm over the red button, she begins giggling maniacally.

“What are you doing?” Owen asks with a frustrated sigh although he can’t help the small smile overtaking his features at the sound of her growing laughter. He doesn’t get a response, just more giggling which lets him know he’s going to have to do things the hard way now that she’s in a lifted mood. “Kid, you have to get out of the car.”

“You can’t make me.”

Owen takes a step back from the open door to reevaluate. Y/n always tells him to work smarter, not harder. Another one of her many bouts of wisdom is that you can keep the attention of children and adults alike with a vastly dynamic change in volume. The question is will she notice Owen using this tactic on her in her drunken state?

“Hey, Y/n/n,” his speech drops to a low whisper. “I’m sad, can you hold my hand?” The change in volume works exactly as described; completely convinced by the sincerity of his whispering, Y/n gives him her right hand. “Can I have the other one?”

When she nods a small ‘yes’ and gives him both of her hands, Owen finds himself fighting the urge to laugh at how easy that was. He takes both of her cool hands in his larger left one to reach across her body and release her seatbelt with a swift CLICK.

Luckily Y/n didn’t tangle herself up in the seatbelt, but she had other ideas for causing trouble. Owen helped her out of the car but once she was standing on her own two feet, she began running away from him. With a slam of the car door and a string of breathy curses later, he chases after his best friend before she can hurt herself on literally anything in the parking garage. The sound of Y/n’s laughter carries through the vacant space, and despite all her best efforts, Owen quickly catches up to her. Her giddy intoxication allowed for the suspension of disbelief that she could outrun the much taller Owen Joyner, but she’s sorely mistaken when his strong arms wrap around her waist and lift her feet off the ground. Y/n’s bouts of laughter are contagious; Owen finds himself laughing alongside his best friend. Setting her feet back on the ground he asks,

“Are you going to run away again if I let go of you?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out through the tail end of her laughing fit. The candidness of her reply prompts Owen to throw his head back, shaking it as if in disagreement with the universe itself,

“I appreciate your honesty.” And with that, Y/n screeches in glee as her best friend maneuvers her body in his grip to lift her over his right shoulder.

“Owen!”

“You did this to yourself, kid.”

The silent elevator ride up to his flat is comfortable relative to the current position they’re in. Y/n’s no longer fighting being carried but instead entertains herself by tapping out an intricate beat on the surface of Owen’s back.

“Guess what song this is.”

The beat she’s playing is close to incoherent and Owen tries to stifle his full laugh in fear of making her cry again. He’s been successful so far, but now having Y/n over his shoulder, she can feel the movement of his abdomen that was unintelligible by sight alone.

“Your favorite song,” he guesses insincerely.

“No, my favorite song doesn’t sound like that. It was sicko mode.”

“That was not sicko mode.”

“Owen, how come you don’t wear a badge?”

“What?”

“Because you’re the song police?” Owen can’t help but snort out a laugh even though the comment was made at his expense. Still sharp as a tack.

Once the pair reach the front door of Owen’s ‘bachelorette pad’ as Y/n liked to call it, he sets her back on the ground albeit reluctantly as he recalls why he was carrying her in the first place. Thinking quickly on his feet, Owen forms a plan that’s more likely than not foolproof.

“Hey, Y/n/n?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is still right behind him thankfully.

“Can I have a hug?” After a few seconds of silence in the hall, Owen begins to doubt his plan until he feels the weight of his best friend leaning on his toned back. With her cheek pressed against the middle of his spine, Y/n brings her arms around his waist, clasping her hands tightly together. Her semi-public display of affection allows Owen some time to unlock his front door. Once he props the door open, Owen realizes that Y/n probably isn’t going to let go any time soon and opts to waddle through the threshold with her still attached to him. He’s able to turn around and lock them back in for the night which makes the girl begin to laugh.

“Was this your plan all along? To get me drunk so you could lock me in your apartment and hold me prisoner for the rest of my life?”

“And I would’ve gotten away with it, too...”

“If it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog.”

True to his imagination that Y/n wasn’t letting go any time soon, Owen swivels her around his torso so that he could hold her to his side rather than support her with his back. He now has his right arm over both of her shoulders as she continues to hug her best friend. The way she leans her head onto his chest makes Owen’s heartbeat the tiniest bit faster. ‘She’s drunk, she doesn’t know what this does to you’ is the mantra blaring through Owen’s subconscious. Shaking any and all sort of romantic thoughts out of his head, he begins to lead her back to his bedroom.

Flicking the lights on proves to be a mistake once Y/n starts groaning miserably, and Owen decides the floor lamp is a better option than the overheads. Much to Owen’s surprise and relief, Y/n moves to sit on the edge of his bed on her own volition. She’s not upright for long as she collapses into the sheets of his unmade bed that contemplated neatening before leaving the house; hindsight is 20/20.

“Hmm. I like your smell,” Y/n parrots despite already bringing up the topic on the ride home.

“This is the same cologne I always use.”

“No. I like your natural smell.”

“What?”

“I was reading up about pheromones the other day. And there was this thing that said when couples like each others’ scent, it’s like a primal way of seeing if you’re immuno-compatible with someone so your offspring have the best chance for survival. It’s an evolutionary thing for the survival of our species. Ants have pheromones, too.”

Sometimes she has trouble remembering to feed herself, but leave it to Y/n to remember extensive information about pheromones whilst intoxicated. The concept is intriguing to Owen, so he proceeds to ask questions, ignoring the tug on his heart he felt after hearing her say the word ‘couples’.

“So, if I like your scent, we’re immuno-?”

“Compatible, yeah. But it’s mostly me because you can sniff out my period.”

“I can what?”

“I read that men can tell when a woman is at her most fertile because that’s when they like her smell the best. They did a study where a bunch of men were introduced to a few different scents, and without fail, the one they liked the most or would describe as ‘sexy’ or ‘attractive’ was the scent they took from the woman who was ovulating.”

Y/n continues talking about what she learned about pheromones as Owen picks up a bit of the mess around his room. She returns to the topic of ant pheromones as he digs through his surprisingly large closet for something for his friend to sleep in. His temporarily bubbly best friend also notes that he should ‘sniff her now because she’s ovulating and he would like that’ which makes him laugh into the drawers of his waist-height dresser. Returning to find her still slumped over on the bed, he pats her leg and beckons her to sit up. After Y/n’s upright again, Owen hands her his classic black ‘BEANS’ t-shirt and a pair of briefs that won’t properly fit her but will fit better than a pair of his actual pants.

“Can you put these on for me?”

“Yeah.” Owen’s conflicted with both wanting to respect Y/n’s privacy by leaving the room, and prioritizing her safety, and not leaving her unattended at any moment. He comes to a compromise which is staying by her side but turning a full 180 to face the wall of his bedroom. A couple of moments pass until Y/n begins whining frustratedly.

“Owen.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t ubns-” her words become incomprehensible as she begins to cry again and Owen turns around to find her struggling with the buttons on her shirt, her jacket long discarded on the bedroom floor. This shirt: her white, cap-sleeve crop top with a peter pan collar that she wore for anything mildly significant, this was her favorite. Owen remembers her fussing about how she ruined it only to find that she just forgot to steam it one day. So with a little heat and water, Owen had fixed the shirt like nothing ever happened, and he’d do it a million times over again if it meant he got to relive seeing the smile that graced her face for the first time again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do the buttons.” She runs the back of her right hand against her tired eyes to wipe away her tears and Owen internally curses himself for the way the small action makes his heart flutter.

“Do you need help?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen to me, you are okay,” he sinks to kneel in front of Y/n as she sits tiredly on the edge of the bed. Owen doesn’t miss the slight tremble of his hands as he reaches up to unbutton her shirt, but he prays that she will. Through tiny sniffles and teary eyes, she watches his hands effortlessly work down the length of her shirt, each button modestly dancing between his fingertips. Once the short top is fully unbuttoned, Owen returns to his normal standing height and Y/n attempts to shrug the fabric off her body. She struggles lightly and knowing her frustration is imminent, Owen reaches down to gingerly push the sleeves off her shoulders. The light graze of his rough, calloused skin against her own skin sends electric-like shocks through the both of them; yet neither of them believed the other felt it too.

Owen hastily withdraws his hands and, without warning, Y/n quickly removes the bralette she was wearing. Owen’s eyes widen slightly at her lack of inhibition. He does his best to be a gentleman and swiftly redirects his gaze to the white ceiling fan that has all of a sudden become the most intriguing object in the universe. His lower peripheral vision indicates that she’s finally slipped the black tee over her head, but she begins sniffling more fiercely as she struggles with taking off her jeans. Owen sighs and drops to his knees once more in spite of himself, and aids his best friend in slipping the material over the length of her calves and off the tips of her toes. Hoping to speed up the process, he grabs the briefs he had brought her and unfolds them in preparation for helping her into them. His efforts are all for naught as Y/n forgoes the need for any more clothing and slides under the covers of his unmade bed. Owen then turns to leave the bedroom, opting to set up on the couch for the night before Y/n’s small voice is cutting through the comfortable silence.

“Where are you going?” He sighs,

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll get you some water and Advil for when you wake up tomorrow.” Y/n then nods acceptingly and allows her eyes to flutter closed as he leaves the room. Despite how tired she feels, Y/n won’t quite yet let herself sleep--not ‘til Owen is beside her. When he returns he sets the ibuprofen bottle on the nightstand before uncapping the Kirkland brand water bottle he had in the fridge. He coaxes her into sitting up just one more time so she can drink some of the water before falling asleep. She sits and rubs her tired eyes as she drinks and Owen has to physically force himself to look away from the adorable sight. He just wants to take care of her forever but things have always been strictly platonic between them.

The risk of making their friendship weird or awkward was just too great.

“Goodnight kid, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Owen leaves without awaiting a response and lets out an annoyed sigh before setting himself up on the couch in his living room. He was so focused on getting Y/n to bed safely that he forgot to grab clothes for himself. Not a big deal. He simply strips down to just his underwear and climbs underneath the thick Pottery Barn throw blanket Y/n had gifted him as a housewarming gift. That and a fire extinguisher because ‘you don’t notice its absence until you need it’ she claimed. The memory makes Owen smile and he allows his eyes to close after a long day.

A long day that was about to get longer. Owen finds himself sinking further and further into sleep until he hears the padding of footsteps that are now in his living room. He’s too tired to open his eyes, and it’s not like he doesn’t already know who it is. What does surprise him, however, is the feeling of the familiar weight squeezing between the couch and his turned back.

“What are you doing?” He half mumbles into the night.

“You’re warm.”

“That was not the question, Y/n/n.” After not receiving a reply, Owen turns as best as he can to look at his friend who’s nestling her way into his sleeping arrangement for the night. “Kid-”

“I just wanna be with you.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out of irritation, exhaustion, and a sliver of adoration before sitting up on the couch, “Come on.”

He stands up, fully expecting to have to drag her back to the bedroom, but finds relief in seeing her struggle her way off the couch. Slipping her tired hand into his unexpecting, larger one, Y/n allows her friend to lead her into the bedroom for the second time that night.

Owen considerately lifts the covers for her to climb back into before getting into the other side of the bed.

“Owen.”

“Hm?”

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, kid.”

“No,” Y/n speaks in a casual tone as if she’s not divulging into her biggest emotional trepidation to date. “I love you, Owen.”

Owen can’t help the way his heart seemingly stops. The way the butterflies in his stomach are going wild. The way he wants to smile like he’s the biggest lovestruck idiot on planet Earth.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She won’t remember this tomorrow.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

She won’t remember that tomorrow.

***

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[horunicorn]

Oya Oya

Hewwo :3 I have written much smut but this is my first time making it public. Sorry it came out so long. Feel free to point out any mistakes.

Warnings: choking, dominance

The fusuma slammed shut behind you, rattling the shōji across the room, after he'd pushed you rather roughly into his room at the Shinsengumi dorm. You were honestly surprised the kumiko didn't fall apart.

"What the hell, Y/N?"

You curled your lip up at him defiantly. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me," he warned, pacing to and fro in front of the door, clearly agitated. Then again, the man did have a short fuse. "Who gave you permission to hang with the Yorozuya bastard? Is that what you do behind my back?"

His accusation flipped your entire mood over. You were cheeky before; now you were pissed. What right did he have to point fingers at you? After all, he was the one who pushed you to do it. For three weeks, you had been patient while he worked. Of course, since he lived where he worked, it seemed like he was never free, always balancing his vice commander duties in and out of the headquarters. He did ask for your permission before going on cases, to make sure that you were okay with him doing overtime on certain days. And you always assured him that you would wait for him, no matter how busy some days could get. You always told him that it was okay to put his job first when he needed to. But that didn't mean he could take advantage of your understanding, did it?

The guy was smarter than most; he picked up on hints and cues effortlessly, especially if they were from you. So why had he been so oblivious to your subtle advances these past weeks?

"Who are you to tell me who I can or cannot be friends with?" you snapped back, temper flaring.

"You know very well who I am and what I can and cannot do," he answered, a little condescendingly.

"Yeah, well, you should also know that Gin-san gives me way more attention than you do," you uttered rashly. It was how you felt on the inside. After so many days of neglect by Hijikata, Gintoki's friendly affection towards you had you hooked in like fish to bait. Every smile and head smack he gave you fed your growing hunger for a man you couldn't get to and yet you still went on with it. You hung around Gintoki, longing for Hijikata, for something physical, just to take away the ache of missing the vice commander.

"What did you say?" Hijikata's tight voice betrayed the anger that was sparking inside him. The thought of you just being in Gintoki's presence was enough to provoke him. Confirmation that you let him touch you - nevermind if it was just playful shoves or shoulder bumping - flooded his vision with red. "You let him touch you?"

You scoffed at his ridiculous jealousy. "I'm not a slut. All Gin-san did was listen to me when I was alone. He kept me company."

True, you worked eight hours a day but the tiredness didn't mean that you didn't want to talk late into the night.

"Company, huh?" Hijikata crossed the room to stand in front of you so fast that you had to double check the spot he was previously at, just to be sure. He was a head taller than you. Now that he was all riled up, his presence was intimidating, especially since you had to look up to meet his eyes. "It just had to be him?"

You knew better. If you let him go on, you would have angry make up sex in seconds. This was a matter that needed talking through, not blind fucking. You pushed him away harshly, much to his surprise.

"We're not in a movie, Hijikata." Ah, using his family name when you were alone was never a good sign. "You can't just fuck me and be done with it."

A thought crossed your mind. Maybe it wasn't that he was busy. Maybe it was you who had done things wrongly. If you hadn't dropped all those stupid hints and just came straight forward with your needs, you needn't have had to feel the pain of ignorance from him. Your low self-esteem came racing back to you.

It was my fault. I didn't talk to him.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, turning away from him. Your sudden change in demeanor startled him but it wasn't something he hadn't experienced before.

Just like that, his anger melted away. He stepped towards you, pulling your reluctant form into his arms.

"You shouldn't have to apologize for anything," Hijikata sighed, one hand carefully cupping the back of your head. When his temper wasn't in the way, he saw things much clearer. "It was wrong of me to accuse you like that, especially since I know how much I've been neglecting you. I just didn't like the fact that of all the people to go to attention for, it was him." Hijikata said him with visible distaste. You relaxed against him, calmer now that he was no longer angry, that he had assured you it was not your fault.

"But I like him," you protested.

"Could you not like anyone else?"

"You hate everyone else, except the gorilla and he's infatuated with Otae-chan."

"Are you saying you'd go to Kondo-san if you could?" Hijikata teased, instantly lightening the atmosphere.

With that you ducked out of his embrace. "Please. I don't do stalkers." Hijikata was quick to catch you again though, this time from behind. He placed a gentle kiss to the shell of your ear.

"If you hadn't gotten caught today," he began, "I would have shown my appreciation for your patience in a different way."

"You have something planned?" you asked excitedly, happy that he had been thinking of you too.

"I did," he confirmed in the past tense. "But I can't get Yorozuya's stupid smug face out of my mind."

You knew all too well why. You knew that hanging out with Gintoki came with a punishment if you were caught. Before you could respond, Hijikata had a hand locked around your neck, with pressure not enough to choke but just enough that made swallowing difficult.

"Sometimes I think you let yourself get caught on purpose," he went on in a low voice, free hand travelling down your left arm and tugging it behind your back. He had you in a hold you didn't have any intention of breaking out of. Indeed, just the feeling of his hand on your throat had you weak at the knees, ready to be ruined by him.

"T - Tōshi," you managed, voice strangled by the hand on your windpipe. "Hard to... breathe."

"But you like this, don't you?" He purred. "You want to be choked like the little slut you are."

Oh, there was no denying how much his words were turning you on. Getting choked with his hand was good. Getting choked on his cock was better and you were more than eager for it.

"Choke... me with... your...cock..." Earlier misgivings forgotten, you wanted nothing more than for him to use you. It was all you had wanted since using Gintoki as a filler. His attention.

"Mm, I don't think so, baby girl," he murmured, finally releasing you from his hold only to take your hand and drag you down onto his futon. "I want to give, not take. And I expect thanks."

Translation: I will fuck you senseless and you will be vocal about it.

"Dont you think you can punish me better if - " Your question was cut short by a gasping inhale. Hijikata had somehow managed to loosen the knots of the date-jime that held your nagajuban and kimono together amidst everything and was now shamelessly pushing his fingers between your damp labia, hand disappearing in the folds of the cloth. Immediately, your hips moved up, asking for more when he'd barely begun. He murmured an amused "oya oya" upon finding the absence of underwear on you.

"I think you've been wetter than this, haven't you?" Deviously, Hijikata poked two fingers into your hole without any warning. There hadn't been much foreplay but could you really complain when you were swallowing his fingers like the greedy whore you were? He pulled his fingers out along with your arousal and spread it over your clit, rubbing in tantalizing circles, like a taunt.

"You're going to tease me," you stated, breathless already.

"Just for now," he promised, the sensitive nub slipping between his pointer finger and middle finger. Your nerve endings fired, sending thick coils of pleasure up your body. Again, your hips moved up.

Hijikata chose that moment to take his hands off of you. He sat back on his heels, hands placed perfectly on his lap. Disheveled and disgruntled, you forced your pleasure-weak body into motion, sitting up with your kimono loose around you, one side sliding down to bare a shoulder.

This was no dream: your body had flaws everywhere. Beauty marks on your skin, scars from being clumsy, skin that wasn't silky smooth or creamy white. You felt very small when you walked past some women on the streets but Hijikata always made you feel perfect. He loved every one of your imperfections, which encouraged you at times like these.

"Frustrated?" he smirked and you wondered just what he was playing at. Unbothered, you knee-walked closer, until you were parked right in front of him. Your hands grasped at the lapels of his uniform jacket. The familiar musk of cigarette smoke wafted up your nostrils, further turning you on. His gaze was hot on you; you could feel it despite not looking at him. Deliberate in your movements, you pushed the jacket off then proceeded to unbutton his vest and undo the knot of the white scarf around his neck. You were busy working on his shirt when he caught your hand, bringing it up to his mouth.

The contact of the softness of his lips against your skin made your thoughts fuzzy. His stare lingered on you and your restraint broke. You crashed your lips into his, claiming your pleasure, trying to pacify your desire for him. He indulged you, using a hand to hold your head steady. You kissed and kissed until there was no more breath to breathe between the both of you.

Hijikata pulled back first, dragging a thumb across your lower lip. It was such an intimate move, hinting at the lust he had for you; that was all it took for you to go into full 'I need you now' mode. Impatient, you shoved him back and shimmied up his body, brazenly rocking your hips, smearing your arousal onto his white shirt. Obviously, he felt your dampness through the material and gripped your hips to stop you from moving. The sight of you grinding above him was too much for his already tortured mind. Everything had to go. Now.

Soon you were balancing above him, the tip of his hard cock pressing at your slick entrance. You braced your hands on his broad chest, breath controlled as you slowly sat down on him, the length of him sliding into you inch by inch until your ass touched his lap. The sensation of him in you never failed to make you moan. His girth, his length, everything was just enough to fill up your tight hole.

"My sweet girl," Hijikata murmured, eyes half lidded. "I'd nearly forgotten how good you feel around me." He held onto your hips. "Move for me."

At his demand, you lifted yourself off and back down again, whimpering at the discomfort. Yeah, he was definitely big. Without your weekly routine, your body needed time to get used to him again. It didn't take long, though. Hijikata's soft encouragement and touch had you thirsting for more in no time. You got used to the stretch, gaining momentum and confidence as you moved. No longer did it sting; there was nothing but pleasure with the way you had him sliding in and out of you. Every time you rose left his cock slicker than before, layer upon layer of your arousal coating him.

When your legs got tired, you resorted to bouncing, biting your lip when your ass slapped against his skin in the sexiest way. Hijikata was in awe beneath you. His blue eyes were dark, lips parted in heavy breaths. First his eyes fixed on the way he was entering you, on the way your sweet pussy just swallowed his cock. His rough hands roved up your stomach, fingers dancing over your jumping breasts. That was the second thing he stared at. The soft mounds of flesh on your chest that bounced along with you made his cock twitch. Then he looked at your face. At the way you bit your lip, the pleasure in your expression. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to dominate you.

The feeling swept over him. Having you on top was incredible, especially since he knew you could control the depth and angle of his entrance. But he needed to have you his way. He couldn't yet explain why.

You cried out in surprise when he sat up abruptly, forcing you to remain still on his lap. You pressed your chest to his, feeling him move along with you, in you. The movement brought on a whole new sensation that made you scratch his chest with a low moan.

"Can he do that?" Hijikata asked, voice thick with lust. And something else. He knew now why he needed dominance over you.

"Who - What?" You couldn't register his words and the meaning behind them at first, not until he flipped you both over in a practiced move and he rolled his hips into you, hitting every unclaimed spot within you. Your legs came around his hips.

"Can that silver haired idiot do this? Make you feel this good?" He pulled back slightly, only to plunge back into you with a jolt that pushed another moan from your mouth.

"N - No. Tōshi..."

Hijikata pulled at your hips, angling your lower body upwards and began thrusting into you, going deep and hard each time. He knew very well that at this angle, each slide of his cock was sure to brush your g-spot. And each time his pelvis met yours, the head of his throbbing cock would carass the tip of your cervix, making you buck your hips even further up.

Seeing you this way only fuelled his unneeded jealousy for a rival that was hardly a threat.

"I bet he can't," he agreed gruffly. "He doesn't know your body, does he? Doesn't know how my baby girl likes it. Tell me." Hijikata drove deep, pushing his own hips up. You choked on a moan, hands tight around his wrists. "Who's making you feel good?"

You were unable to answer, eyes in danger of closing, body on the brink of orgasm. As if fucking him wasn't hot enough. No, jealous Hijikata was even better. His need to hear your verbal confirmation of just how good he could drill you was heightening the entire experience.

Hijikata wrapped a big hand around your throat, forcing you to meet his steely gaze.

"Who?" he demanded.

A lone tear rolled down your cheek and you knew once you opened your mouth, you'd be begging. "Y - You, Tōshi. You're making me feel good. Fucking my pussy so good."

He smirked in satisfaction. There was no need to hold back now. With demonic speed, probably living up to his title, Hijikata slammed into you, hips snapping back and forth furiously. He hadn't even gotten to rub your clit yet and you came undone, pulsing around his cock, sinful moans falling from your mouth along with his name.

"One more time," he urged, tempted to stop and savour the way you were contracting around him. Snug in your warm wetness. He was close. Too close to stop. He spit on your clit and rubbed it in tight circles, coaxing yet another orgasm out of you. This was too much after the first and his name left you in screams, your body spasming, legs jerking. The sight of you being ruined by him did it. A few more thrusts and he fell on top of you, hugging your trembling body close as waves of pleasure crashed over him. He bit your shoulder, hard, enjoying the feeling of his seed leaving him and filling you. The others might not be at the sleeping quarters but you doubted that your screams hadn't reached the main block.

Once you both felt calm enough to move, Hijikata carefully extracted himself from you, using his scarf to wipe off any semen that came leaking out of you. You laid your head on his clammy chest.

"I'd never cheat," you said blatantly.

Hijikata pushed a hand through your messy hair, staring up at the ceiling. "I know. I just... wish I could have been there for you. I know it's not fair, having to always put up with my work."

"You're here now." You turned your head to smile up at him and he returned it with one of his own rare ones. The kind that took your breath away and reminded you of how different he could be around you. "Won't the others be looking for you?"

"Let them," he sighed. "I've been long overdue for a day off anyway." There was a brief pause, as though he were thinking things over. "Can I take you out?"

Your heart skipped a beat, delighted that you both could finally spend quality time together. Not that mindless fucking wasn't fun but normal couple stuff had to come in somewhere.

You smoothed your hand over the skin on his chest, loving how only you were allowed to touch him this way. "Yeah, you can."

[beautifulletdownfics]

Nothing To Him - A Harry Styles One Shot

Harry Styles is a liar.

He lied your whole relationship.

He promised to love you forever and then he walked away.

A lovers to nothing break up fic feat. blisters, heartache & two sides to one story.

Word count: 15k (Sorry! You’re going to want to open this little pal in a browser window probably. Eek)

Story Playlist:

The First Lie: Damn This Love - Thirsty Merc The Second Lie: Do You Remember - Jarryd James The Third Lie: Nebraska - Oh Wonder The Fourth Lie: I Saw You - Jon Bryant The Fifth Lie: Here We Go - Emily Hearn The Sixth Lie: Crying Dancing - Nina Nesbitt , NOTD

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MY MASTERLIST.

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The first lie was that you were different.

Harry felt different with you.

You just slipped into his routine and his life. You didn't buy into the spectacle of it all. You told him on your first date that you didn't play games, and that it wasn't often you connected with someone on an intellectual or emotional level. Harry sat there and listened to the woman across from him say she didn't expect to finish the date still attracted to him.

And he fucking loved it.

The next morning he called you at quarter past eight, because he figured you either started work at eight-thirty or nine o'clock, so he'd catch you on your commute or just before you walked into the office. You answered your phone like you would a business call. He teased you for it, but really he was just glad you answered at all. It felt like getting test results telling Harry he was in the clear.

The truth was when Harry first met you at the birthday party the night before he'd been angling towards you being a hookup. He saw you across the bar as soon as he arrived, gaze zeroing in on your legs in That Dress, his ears leaning to the sound of your laugh pulling eyes from around the room. Harry wanted you, and he'd been through a bit of a dry spell. You radiated the kind of energy Harry could get drunk on, the sort of body he wanted to lose himself in for a night.

It was almost an hour before he managed to edge into the same circle of bodies as you. You knew the birthday girl the same way he did; through work. Harry caught early on that you didn't still work for his record label, but did a few years before and stayed in touch with everyone. You seemed like the kind of person who collected people, who everyone wanted to keep in touch with. Harry just wanted to touch you.

Two tequilas in he got you to himself.

You were good at flirting, which excited Harry initially. You had a quip for everything or an interesting addition to each story he told. You were well-read and well-travelled, and you weren't hesitant in showing Harry that you had opinions and ideas of your own. Over the years he'd become good at getting people to talk, good at asking questions that make someone share themselves because the alternative—Harry sharing himself—wasn't something he could do. But something about you and the way you framed questions made Harry feel like it was safe to share a little more, you'd disarmed him quietly, and by the time he noticed Harry didn't feel the need to protect himself anymore.

"That's bullshit," you'd told him when he said he wasn't all that into contemporary fiction. You hated the artsy elites who listed off the Hemingway's and the Kerouac's and the Vonnegut's as though the only literature worth mentioning came from lifetimes ago. Your hair swished back and forth at your cheeks as you shook your head emphatically, "You're being lazy. Imagine saying the same about modern music."

Harry's lips ticked up into a smile, and he raised his eyebrow in concession, "That would be bullshit," he agreed, thinking of the album he'd just released and how he wanted to know if you'd listened to any of his stuff. (Very quickly he decided he probably didn't want to know because it stuck Harry the answer would be no.) His eyes couldn't pull away from watching your lips as you spoke, admiring the shade of lipstick you wore.

"Right," you continued, "Modern fiction teaches me about myself, about my life. It gives words to what my friends and I are experiencing. The classics are amazing—don't get me wrong—but I don't see myself in them."

"Seems like your criteria stem from narcissism," Harry was sure he had you there. He grinned at you happily.

"Exactly," you agreed without hesitation, "Maybe 'Hills Like White Elephants' is genius, and as a woman, I should be grateful to Hemmingway for horrifying his audience in 1927 with a normalised view of abortion but … I don't think he wrote that for me. He was challenging ideas then. I feel more connection and loyalty to an Instagram poet who's painting the world that actually matters to me, the world I'm trying to survive now."

Harry hums into his drink and says nothing. He expects you to back away a little, or ask him some question that watered-down your view and opened up the table to his. But you don't. You let your view sit on the slice of the bar between you and don't apologise for it.

"There's a reason artists burst out of every generation," you add, sitting forward on your stool. "If the classics were the perfect form, the perfect commentary of humanity, then there'd be no need for anyone after them to bother trying to put the world and life into words, or pictures, or music. You can't just dismiss a generation of voices because some smelly, old, white, university hasn't decided to name a building after them yet. I don't think being published as a little orange Penguin Classic is the singular hallmark to good literature."

He didn't entirely agree with you, (he thought it was vital to learn from the past, thought those great authors you reeled off and dismissed set the benchmark artists today should aspire to) but Harry liked hearing your thoughts and seeing the passion burst out of you. He liked seeing how you didn't second guess yourself or try to soften your opinion by asking for his. You just said what you thought, and that was always one of his favourite characteristics in a person.

That night you met him, you were the designated driver for a few of your friends. He should have noticed the way you switched to pineapple juice after you finished your first drink, but he was too busy trying not to look at the curve of your thigh when you crossed one leg over the other. Trying to ignore the smell of your perfume or how you kept licking your lips and he wanted to taste them, desperately. Harry didn't like to say anything when he offered to buy you another gin and dry. Still, when it eventually came out in conversation—that you were strictly only having one tonight—he felt his excitement deflate. His warm buzz suddenly felt pervy and presumptuous.

"Well, that's bloody annoying, isn't it?"

His response surprised you, "Me getting my friends home alive?"

With his hand comfortably resting over your knee, Harry shook his head, "I was hoping to go home with you."

"Oh."

You blinked at him, not having expected him to be so bold. You didn't hate it though, you felt the twinge of realising you were going to miss something that could have been good. Could have been great, probably. The last time you had sex had been … sad. And disappointing. Still, you hadn't come out to meet anyone tonight, why the sudden rush of despondency? These were old work colleagues you rarely saw, and you figured it would be a night of catching up before six months of not seeing each other because life got in the way.

Then Harry asked for your number. Asked if you'd go out with him the next night. He didn't beat around the bush with it, he wanted to see you again and told you so. The way you said you would filled him with relief but also fear. Harry knew he'd need to really deliver with you, he couldn't half-arse it. He was terrified he'd overshoot it and lose the change to be someone who impressed you.

He settled on a Sunday evening picnic where the two of you ate takeaway on a beach towel at the top of a park halfway between your houses. Something told Harry you would be happier with him underplaying the date than you would be getting taken to an expensive, showy restaurant. You wore jean shorts and a long sleeve jumper which churned his body more deeply than the dress with the split from the night before. He was hooked.

"Do you not like olives?" Harry asked, sucking the oil off his fingers after just depositing one into his mouth. You instantly loved the way the inflection of his words rose at the end of his sentences, and you'd mock him for it your whole relationship.

You looked at the plastic container sitting between you, you'd been picking at the cheese and crackers, the antipasto was not your thing, "They don't seem like something humans should eat … Salty and rubbery with a tiny stone on the inside? No, thanks."

A laugh burst out of Harry's mouth as he picked up another green olive, "More for me then."

"I'm happy about the rosemary in these though," you held up a cracker before digging it into the hummus, a plastic-stemmed wine glass with a dry rose in your free hand, "You got the fancy ones."

"Only the best," Harry returned with a smile and then went on trying to playfully wedge more information from you about the secret poetry Instagram he was convinced you had. He was already feeling buzzed from the wine, but more from the way you kept looking at him and he couldn't catch a hint of you being anything other than yourself.

You didn't go home together that night either, despite The Kiss at the end next to his car. Despite Harry's hands on the back of your thighs as things got heated. The way the tips of his fingers feathered against the elastic of your knickers, just slipping under before pulling away. Your chests heaving together in a rhythm you'd never found with anyone else.

He felt like he had just auditioned for a part he wasn't sure yet that you were going to give him. Wine always heightened his anxiety, so Harry also wanted to appear controlled and measured. He wanted to be as thoughtful as you were. As connected to himself as you were to all your wonderful opinions and facts. There was some part of him that feared taking you home too soon might risk that being the only night Harry got. So he pulled away, kissed your cheek and promised to call you later on.

Somewhere along the line, Harry decided he wanted more than a little bit. He was greedy. Harry wanted the whole pie all to himself.

That was a theme, him wanting more. Even now, months since you've seen or heard from him. Harry always knew how to get you to take that one step out of your comfort zone, take that little bit extra risk. Letting go of him in one way felt like small release valve finally letting go. A tiny bit of your safety net tucking closer around you. A little quiet moment to take stock and check every part of you was still connected, still there. A deep breath in. A short pause of calming silence. Like getting your heart back … But then finding it didn't fit in your chest the same way anymore.

So you found it particularly cruel to have received a follow-up email from his assistant this week, checking to see if you were able to attend his show tonight.

The show that six months ago Harry drew you a mock ticket for and hand-delivered to you sitting outside in his garden with a tea and a biscuit. Even then, even as his girlfriend, you'd feigned not knowing if you could say whether you would attend. Now it felt foreboding, the way you'd pulled your features together thoughtfully and told Harry you'd have to see closer to the date. You waited just long enough for him to switch over into thinking you were serious before you laughed and told him of course and where else would I be?

Where else would I be, was right, in a sense. Because this is still your city, and you're here tonight. It's not his anymore. He moved soon after you broke up … Relocated to one of his—what was it you used to mockingly call them?—" location" homes. Houses you never saw in person. Places he never took you. Either Italy or France. Somewhere he could hide, be creative, recenter himself. All three of those things filled you with dread for different reasons.

Were you really going to go tonight though? Walk in through the front door of the venue with a ticket and barcode on your phone, sit in a crowd and listen to Harry for two hours? Look at him from across the room and just take it on the chin?

It certainly seemed you were dressed for it. And you were out of the house with time to get there. Would you get off the train at the stop though? Would you walk down the street with the bright sign his name lit up? Would Harry even know if you didn't go?

Part of you wonders if his assistant didn't mean to email you. Maybe she forgot you were no longer in Harry's life? Perhaps it was a scheduled email she forgot to stop? Probably it was Harry just being fucking nice, and polite, and worrying about how you'd feel if you were uninvited. Or if he didn't check in on you while he was here.

You accepted the reminder too easily and scolded yourself for it. His team was expecting you. Harry was expecting you. And now, sitting on the train and counting down the stops you felt caught. Felt like he had you again, even if it was just winning whatever tonight was.

Harry did always enjoy the chase. Admitted it himself, admitted to loving the beginning of meeting someone. Loving the audition process, the figuring each other out, the get. The Catch.

You wonder now if it was the chase he liked back then. Was it a thrill having you make him feel as though he had something to prove? Or was it Harry experiencing for the first time not having the upper hand, not having even the tiniest amount of weight around who he was count for anything. Now it felt like Harry was nothing but upper hand.

Whatever it was—the Chase, or your endless facts, pancakes on a Sunday morning—the part of Harry's lie about you being different that hurts the most is the way you bought into it so proudly. Wore it later as his girlfriend like a badge of honour. As though it signalled to others you'd been hard-won, and Harry was lucky to have you.

Different turned out to be such a dirty word.

Different turned out to mean nothing. To get you nowhere.

All different got you was Nothing To Him.

+

The second lie was that he saw a future with you.

Harry didn't shy away from talking about it. He made plans for you both.

Sometimes it was in the moments right before you both fell asleep at night, or in the final seconds before the kettle finished boiling. Always in some small window where his mind drifted and sat comfortably stagnant when all there was to think about was the next holiday you'd take together. Or what breed of dog you might have one day. Whether you wanted your kids to be close together in age or have larger age gaps between them. What you thought about silent retreats in Thailand.

He stored your answers away in the file full of you in his head or added them to the note on his phone with ideas for gifts for people or things going on in their lives he wanted to remember.

"My family have always had cats," he told you one night, fingers drawing circles around your bare kneecap, your naked thigh resting across his stomach, "When I'm settled I'd want to get a few of my own."

It was one of those hot summer nights no position felt comfortable for sleep, you raised your arms up over your head and stretched out further on the mattress, fingers dangling off the edge of the bed to feel the cold stream from the air conditioning unit above, "I don't trust cats. Isn't there something about them being evolutionarily build to hunt their owner?"

Harry turned his head to face you, "A fact for everything," he recited fondly, his common quip for your always having an answer for everything, "I'll let the cats hunt me, you'll be spared."

"As long as I can name them," you murmured, your eyes finally closing.

Close to three months later, an hour into unsuccessfully putting together a flat-pack shelving unit in Harry's garage, you heavily plopped yourself down on the concrete floor and hailed defeat. You tossed the small, silver Allen key onto the floor in Harry's direction and rested your chin in your palm.

A few minutes of watching his embittered attempts passed before he spoke.

"Hey Sulky, I can feel you looking at me," Harry was frowning at the short piece of timber in his hand, he was holding it next to what was supposed to be the base of the structure. This was your second attempt at pulling apart the shelves and starting again while you cursed the entire Swedish furniture empire. You were enjoying seeing Harry's stubborn frustration immensely.

He could be such a man sometimes.

"Yeah, 'cause you're hot," you said, mocking him dreamily.

"Ha ha," he drawled, rolling his shoulders back to try to regain his focus.

When he paused a moment later and looked up at you, his arms dropped as his brow softened and he let out a breath.

You grinned at him, "I'm pretty cute too, right?"

"All this shit is going to end up living on the ground because you're sabotaged the assembly!" He gestured wildly at the tools and spare paint colours for the house lying around you. His bike parts and the weird assortment of garden tools Harry collected were leaning against the wall waiting to be put on their new home as well, the shelf neither you nor Harry were skilled enough to put together.

"Baby," you began, but Harry waved you off, and you saw genuine frustration start to emerge on his face, "Okay! Okay, I'm sorry," you stressed, "Are you sure we're looking at this thing from the right way around? Maybe the designer meant for it to be wonky?"

He rolled his eyes at you. As if the mere thought anyone would design anything to look like the mess currently on the floor was purely preposterous—his temper for small frustrations on full display.

"Don't be rude!" You admonished, "It's a fucking shelf, we can do this, Harry."

It took you another hour and a half, but when it was done, Harry draped his arm around your shoulders, kissed you on the head and told you that you were the person he wanted by his side of all his future crisis. Someone to say to him, whatever the challenge was, it wasn't beyond him, wasn't something he couldn't handle or wasn't capable of.

You felt like you were floating that night.

It was one of those few times you could see your imprint on his life. See some evidence of it. There were shelves in his garage only there because you told him he needed storage there, and then you pushed him to keep trying assembling them. It was some proof you'd been in his life. An impression of your influence. A memory that would hover in his garage forever.

Two days after putting the shelves together, you and Harry had an argument about the plastic tubs he went off on his own to buy for all the loose bits and pieces he wanted to go on the shelves. You were annoyed he didn't purchase wooden ones, and he couldn't understand why it mattered that they were white plastic which would apparently be impossible to keep clean.

It's a garage, he thought, who's cleaning their garage?

And because arguments always dredge up things that they aren't supposed to, you made a jab about your relationship being secret.

You said something like, If I'd been able to come with you, we wouldn't be having this row!

Harry knew what you really meant straight away. You'd been together for more than nine months at that point, and nobody knew about it: nobody but your families and very very closest friends. There were no photos of Harry having lunch with you at a cafe, or of you walking a few steps behind him at the shops. Nobody had snuck a picture of you backstage at a show of his. He'd never appeared on your social media, even by suggestion, and Harry had never taken the risk including you on any private Instagram Stories.

Those photographs didn't exist, because those circumstances never had. There wasn't even a celebrity paper trail linking you to knowing Harry, let alone dating him. Harry didn't dedicate performances to you, or even to an unnamed significant other. You never got a song or an album dedication. Harry was so adamant on nobody getting wind of the relationship that sometimes it felt like … Like he enjoyed the sneaking around. The having a secret. (Later on, when you reflected on the relationship once it was over, you really weren't sure how there'd never been even one instance of you being seen coming or going from Harry's house. Hindsight made that feel suss to you.)

Most of the time you liked it, though, liked not having any fuss or interruption to your life but sometimes—a lot of the time—it felt like something silently eroding you from the inside—a silent acid eating your spirit.

But you'd never tell Harry that. Then anyway. Now … You're not sure what you'd tell him now.

The truth was a lot of the time you weren't sure how you'd managed to keep it going so long. Part of it was obvious, maybe, like not being in public together. But still, surely after being together months and having arguments about shelves you could afford a platonic appearing coffee trip or going for a run at the same time, together?

Instead, you'd gear up and run in opposite directions down his street. Or Harry would stay in the car while you went in for the coffee. You'd sit in a nosebleed seat if you went to a show, sneaking through some fire exit and into the main hallways of a venue with the public to get to it. You looked like a sad woman attending a gig on your own, not the girlfriend of the star.

Nobody would know you even knew the man up on stage. That you had something in the slow cooker at home for you both to eat when you got home, or that he'd stolen a tube of your favourite lip balm and had it in his blazer pocket for his set. Nobody would guess you made him late for the soundcheck with just a smile and the undoing of a zip.

Seeing him tonight would be just like it always was, you and Harry from across the room. But then not like always, because Harry wouldn't see you tonight. You wouldn't have the taste of a good luck kiss on your lips. Or the sound of Harry's warm-up in your ears. Yours was always an invisible connection that was kept invisible by design, and now being broken up, it looked no different than together. Not really.

Tonight though it would only be you seeing Harry. Like you see him on late-night talk show promotions and billboards. Like the times you get into an Uber, and his song is playing. How strange it feels, to have your heart crack in your chest again while also lifting somehow. Singing along with a song about you. Or hearing his laugh or even just Harry speaking, and being able to picture the exact expression that would go along with it.

Every raised inflection. Ever breathy giggle. Every brow crease at a thought that Harry was chasing or somehow unable to articulate. All of those turning into you picturing what he looked like every time he knew he was disappointing you. Every whined sorry and all the instances of him loving on you to move your mind away from his deficiencies.

"What's the plan for Y/N?"

If your relationship with Harry was a t-shirt, that would be the slogan across the chest. Those would be the words under the cartoon impression of you banging your head against a wall Harry's standing on the other side of.

How will Y/N get in? Who's staying behind with Y/N? Where will I meet up with Y/N?

There was always a question. Always a plan for you and it was decidedly separate to the plan for Harry. His team organised a second car or an earlier flight for you. A back entrance or some other smokescreen to keep you concealed. In the beginning, it felt like a kindness, but in the end, you were embarrassed by it. The bother, the way what started as a careful consideration for your wellbeing turned into something rotten that painted you a different colour to Harry and his public inner circle, the circle you were never invited or initiated into.

It was exhausting. But Harry assured you it was for the best.

You wonder what the future he saw for you really was though. How much further did Harry see a life like that going? A life with you perpetually operating under cover of darkness. A life of you decidedly not existing. Not really.

So when he said he saw a future with you, you're really not sure what Harry meant.

Did he mean one day he saw himself lifting the veil and telling the world he had a Someone? Or did he mean that he saw himself forever hiding you, forever living that lie?

Maybe he actually saw nothing.

Sometimes you could be convinced the fact Harry hid you was an action pointing to a more profound truth.

That the future he saw was an imagined indulgence; a convenience, and a comfortable lie. Comforting on a temporary level, like bowling alley bumper rails or the plastic covering on a new watch face. The fake sense of security—of protection, of immaculacy—was just that, artificial and temporary. It ceased to exist the minute you plucked the corner and pulled back the protective layer. Crashed as soon as the bumpers were flipped down.

You were a secret only Harry had any power over. He led from the front because you didn't know there was any other option. And in letting yourself be that, you made yourself easily dispensable.

Disposable. Replaceable. Erasable.

Which is precisely what happened when he left.

Harry left, and the You of the two of you ended. But more than any other relationship ever could, the silence that followed felt deadly. It wasn't just a relationship that once was, it was a relationship that never was. A year of your life made no imprint on his. Nobody looking at him could know there was anything—anybody—missing, and maybe that was the whole point.

Maybe that was the design of it.

+

The third lie was that you could tell him anything.

Harry's golden rule always was honest communication.

There's no such thing as an overshare, he'd say when you naturally hesitated.

He was all about that. All about hearing what was worrying you, or the mundane things that were going on in your world. Sometimes you felt like maybe it was an act because nobody had ever found your family, or your friends, or your life in general as interesting as Harry seemed to. He was always telling you he loved hearing the funny text conversations going on, or who was having a row and why, or what each of your friends was stressed about in their jobs or relationships or themselves. And Harry always said he loved hearing it from you the most.

(Now, that struck you as a strange thing to say. Where else would he hear anything about you? Harry was the only line connecting you back to him. You didn't have mutual friends or people who'd known you both before you dated each other. There was nobody for Harry to hear anything from. It's not like your friends were going to reach out to him with gossip about you. Not like how you could sneak a look at update accounts or read about his performance online while he was away.)

Still, you loved the stories he told from the road, ate them up. The missing coffee mugs where everyone got their caffeine fix served in wine glasses and lemonade tumblers for almost two whole weeks. And then the tour t-shirts accidentally ordered in bulk in children's sizes that Harry hand-delivered them to a local children's charity. The crumbs of gossip Harry picked up about who in his team was sweet on who (he loved a setup, loved watching crushes silently and awkwardly orbit around each other).

Your secrets were safe with him, he promised. He wouldn't ever judge you. Wouldn't dismiss your feelings or what kept you awake at night next to him. So you did it. You believed him. And you slowly drained everything inside of you into him. Harry got all your stories, even the ones you vowed to leave exactly where they sat in your past. Even the ones you felt like might kill you to dredge back up. The ones that made you look like a shitty friend or sister or daughter. He got them all.

And even now, he's still got them.

"What's the biggest lie you ever told?" He asked you one night in his kitchen, both of you elbow deep in making dinner. Harry rolled out the lines of gnocchi and cut the inch long pieces while you pressed them over a fork to decoratively indent them. (Although Harry likes to tell you how when he was in Italy he learned in patterns weren't just aesthetic—it was all about soaking up more of the sauce, For the sauce, of course! He'd sing out in an Italian accent, proud of himself.) "Like, a proper lie," he clarified, "Not like how you told my mum you didn't take sugar in your tea when you first met her."

You hinged your knee out to attack his calf for the teasing comment but then rolled your lips together in thought, "I lied to my parents a lot growing up," you told him honestly. "I think about eighty per cent of the time I wasn't where I told them I was. Definitely wasn't with who I said I was with."

Harry shook his head as he rolled out the next lump of dough, "No, I mean like … Like a lie."

A moment passed as you thought more deeply about the question, travelled around your memories until you landed somewhere suitable, "I lied to my boyfriend at university," you begin. "A pretty bad one, I guess."

"And the lie was …" Harry prompts.

"I told him I was a virgin before him."

Harry eyes raised, and then he nodded, accepting it, "I think that's probably a common one, really."

"I thought he'd like me more if I said it," I admitted quietly, pausing the work with your hands. "Wasn't too proud of losing my virginity in a tent in the sixth form … And I mean, at that age you just so desperately want to be the version of you that you think the people around you will like the most. A whole group of us went camping at someone's grandparent's farm during the summer holidays. Not sure how our parents let us, to be honest. Anyway, I had awful, painful, embarrassing sex in a tent with a guy named … Dylan Fraiser."

You were surprised by how long the name took to come to you. Years ago, that was such a defining event in your life. Now it hardly mattered at all anymore.

Progress, you thought.

"A tent," Harry winced.

"Really came back to bite me in the arse when my uni boyfriend went on to tell a group of his mates he was my first and—

—Tent Guy was one of them?" Harry guessed. Correctly.

"Yep. Small towns are a curse."

"I promise never to have sex with you in a tent," Harry teased, grinning at you over his wine glass and then leaning over to kiss your temple. He looked down at the line of gnocchi pieces you'd made together proudly, "We're alright at this."

"Hmmm," you hummed, now lost in the past, "I told that uni boyfriend him I loved him … I didn't though," you say without thinking, shrugging as the words came out, "I thought he was boring. But it was cool to have a boyfriend, so I didn't break up with him … Guess I've told more whoppers than I thought."

Harry gives you an understanding look, "I've said I love you to protect someone's feelings too. Thought it might come a little later, that I was just not feeling it as quickly as them."

It should have made you question whether Harry meant I love you with you. But it didn't. He was speaking in the past tense, and you were imaging that version of him being younger than the almost thirty-year-old you were dating. Now though … You wonder what love meant to Harry when you were together. Whether your wires were crossed by different definitions. Even now, you couldn't vilify him. Not completely. He was too thoughtful in general, there'd be a reason for it. There always was with Harry.

"What's your biggest lie?" You turned the exercise back on him, smiling as he refilled your wine glass and skipped a few songs on the playlist. These were your favourite moments with Harry. The end of the day, where you were the only thing on his to-do list. There wasn't a lingering work call, or a meeting to prepare for, an email to reply to. Harry was just finishing his day with dinner and some time at home. With you.

Harry gave you a withering look, "I think you know already."

"I don't," you said because you really didn't, "What was it?"

"There's no way I'll ever do anything else with The Band," he said tonelessly as he turned to rinse his hands in the sink, unable to look at you while he said it. And even then, Harry didn't admit to the lie. Didn't name it. He just said what the truth was instead.

"Why wouldn't you?" You asked, instead of what you were sure Harry thought you'd ask.

You weren't interested in why he told that particular lie though, the answer to that was pretty apparent to you: he cared about his fans—they all did—and didn't want to disappoint them. And they probably hadn't been able to deal with thinking about the ripples ending it completely, right off the bat, would have caused. Saying you were taking a break was a much nicer way to let a world of fans down. An easier pill to swallow than 'We're done' straight off the bat.

You gave Harry time to respond. He fiddled with the gnocchi pieces in front of him, waiting for the water to boil in the pot behind you both, "Not sure, really."

He was lying now, and you could tell. He was ashamed of the truth.

"You're not sure?"

"I just wouldn't, there's no one reason. No big thing. It's not like I hate them all or anything, I just …"

There was one big thing, though. And it was typical Harry to not be able to name it. He was always so in denial about his own arrogance, about what it was that drove him. Harry thought he was above them. His success since The Band far outweighed anything any of the others had done. Going back to that would be diminishing for Harry's career. Wouldn't help him any. He was stronger on his own, more successful. More widely appreciated. That chapter of his life was done, it had been a stepping stone—yes, a life-defining one—but Harry had moved to bigger and brighter stages on his own.

"It's not what you think," he told you lowly when you didn't ask anything further.

It was so typical of Harry to not see the forest for the trees. To not see how he, yet again, was blurring and confusing the lines between a business decision and an emotional, personal one. He was speaking about The Band emotionally, but his reason for distancing himself from it was all to do with business.

"It's not?" You asked plainly.

"I don't think I'm better than them or some shit," Harry said, "I just … That part of me is done. I'm not who I was back then, and I don't want to go back to that person."

"You also wouldn't get anything out of it," you prod, knowing that you shouldn't have. But it was true. So much of Harry's life was a business decision. Everything was so carefully done, so deliberately set into place by him and his team that results and his successes were almost guaranteed.

At the time, you didn't understand how he couldn't see it. Or you couldn't believe that he didn't. He was so calculating, and he hated you telling him so. But he was. He liked to say he wasn't defined by his job, but Harry's whole life was defined by his career, by the who he was.

He loved to spout off his public shit about staying grounded and having a life away from being Harry Styles ™, but he didn't let anyone see even a skerrick that life. The only thing Harry ever let be projected about him was his job, that was all was ever on the table for discussion. And so it was hardly surprising that became who he was away from the cameras and lights as well.

Hiding you was a business decision, you figured out in the aftermath of The End. It was his way of keeping the narrative about his music and career on track. As soon as there was a You, Harry's private life would distract from his real focus and goal, his career. And you mean, it's not like it didn't work for him. Because here you were, standing outside in the chilly night looking at his name up in lights.

Harry's name always looked so good up on billboards and the fronts of stadiums. You always used to tell him even the letters of his name were visually pleasing, they looked good together, like they fit. So you stand on the street across the road from tonight's venue and take it in—HARRY STYLES, SOLD OUT—for several minutes.

You don't know that you're ready for this. Seeing him. You've so perfectly avoided it until now. Until you felt like there was a promise you made lifetimes ago you now can't break. Even if you felt like he'd broken a thousand promises between the two points in time.

Where else would I be? you'd said when he first drew that stupid mock ticket.

Where else, indeed.

You scuttle across the street and sneak between people to get yourself in through the doors. Dodging lenders selling merchandise and ticket holders excitedly covering their painstakingly planned outfits with t-shirts Harry—aided by his perfectionism, you were sure— probably spent months deciding on.

The barcode won't scan though. And the usher at the door doesn't appreciate you pulling your phone back and trying to adjust the backlight, as though that will help the loud, angry sound his scanner is making each time he aims it at the email on your screen. He eventually reads part of your email and then tells you that you need to stand off to the side, barks something gruffly into his walkie talkie and dismisses you in favour of getting through the backlog of people behind you. You're filled with a white-hot embarrassment as you shuffle over and stand under a neon EXIT sign. A moment later you step forward and ask him to try again, but that doesn't get you anywhere different, and you think you're going to get in some kind of trouble when he insists Just stand back over there for a moment.

Your feet have already started hurting in your too-tight boots when finally the wall behind you opens up, and you very quickly come face to face with Harry's assistant.

"Y/N," she smiles, "I thought I said in the email to call me when you got here?"

You're dumbstruck, you didn't read the email, not properly. "I … I …"

"It's good to see you again," her smile hasn't moved, and it's genuine. She reaches one hand out towards you and deposits a VIP lanyard around your neck, "Follow me."

You get halfway down the emergency exit, and she sidesteps a security guard through a doorway, leading you into the veins of the backstage area where there's a familiar buzz of busy people you'd not realised you missed being around until now. Your heart is racing because you weren't prepared for this. You'd been deliberately dragging your feet getting here, and you've arrived barely fifteen minutes before Harry's due to go on stage. She's walked you right to the side of the stage where there's a curtain just to your left and scaffolding all around. You can hear the audience, and you know that one step through that curtain will take you to the pit side of the stage, where you'd seen Harry's family stand during shows before.

"He wanted to say hi beforehand but," his assistant looks at her watch, "But it's a touch too close now so are you okay if I leave you here for just a second? I'll be back in …" her eyes go back to her wrist, "Probably about twenty-five?"

"That's fine," you nod dumbly. "Are you sure this okay?"

You're looking around wondering if this is where Harry meant you to be. Really, you're sure this isn't where he intended you to watch his show at all. A few people are milling around but nobody you recognise, and you figure the majority of them are probably venue employees. Harry and his band would only walk through here at the very last second. He didn't like standing around beforehand with anyone who wouldn't be on stage with him. Harry got in his zone and needed to stay there.

When you look back at his assistant she's giving you a look you don't want to read too deeply, but it almost looks like pity, "Of course," she tells you, "I'll be back by the end of the first song."

"I might go stand through here now," you point to the curtain, preferring the thought of standing in the dark by yourself than waiting for Harry to walk straight past you during his thirty-second countdown. "Is that okay?"

You get a nod, and she tells you to grab a drink off the table behind you. Leaving you with your heart rattling and the heaviest lanyard you've ever worn burning through your shirt to your chest.

Finding a spot to watch the show was easy. You picked the furthest side of the pit, under the concrete overhand of the seats above, and stand in the shadows, only half the stage in your line of sight. It felt like a little cave almost, and you lean your back against the cold concrete and tap your boots together on the ground below you.

The area starts filling around you as members of Harry's team finish their part in preparing him for the show. There are a few women wearing belts with makeup brushes and combs peaking out of them, and two familiar faces from Harry's executive team. They don't see you, though, and you're glad. You watch the roadies' torches flash on the dark stage as they neaten up leads and manoeuvre over amp boxes double-checking the guitars are in the right order for the sets.

There's a movement in your periphery that draws your attention back, the group of people who joined you in the pit all gravitating towards something back at the curtain. And it's not until one of them steps to the side that you see the floating head that's poking through the dark material.

Harry.

He's staring right at you: no expression on his face, just his searching, green eyes that stop when they see you standing in the dark as far from him as you can possibly be. He takes half a step forward, and the shoulder of an expensive suit peeks out. You hear in your head echos of a moment in Harry's living room unpacking a delivery from Gucci, the way you nearly choked on your tea at the cost of a tailored trouser and his half frustrated dismissal, 'It's nothing, that's standard for me.' You felt small at that moment, thinking about how one of Harry's suits could pay for your education for a year, and that would be nothing for him.

You feel small now too. This isn't the space you're supposed to occupy.

The shadow of a frown barely cross his features, but then Harry tries to pull his dimples up to give you a small smile. But it's testing, it's not a confident smile or one he looks sure he's giving. Like he's smiling at someone he's not sure will smile back.

There's no way I'll ever do anything else with the band, he'd said.

But that wasn't the biggest lie he'd told, just the most public, the widest.

His deepest, biggest lie was you.

+

The fourth lie was that he loved you.

Harry was the one to say it first.

It came out like a compliment. A response to a fact of yours he'd particularly liked. A sort of well done, that was a good one.

It was nearly two months since you'd met, and what started as three or four dates a week morphed into you staying at Harry's house most nights. You spending your weekends off work trailing around after him on his errands or to work things, or hanging out alone at his place until he returned from them. A couple of times, you went to the same exercise class, which involved the two of you going separately and not interacting at all. Still, you'd peek at him from across the room and have to hold your giggles for later when Harry spent the hour concentrating beyond anything you'd ever seen just to stay in the seat of the spin bike.

Saturdays and Sundays he started taking off too though, around a month into dating you. No more 6am weekend PT sessions or midday conference calls with creative teams. The only work Harry allowed himself to do on weekends was housework. Laundry. Food prep. Touching base with his mum.

"Did you know blueberries are actually false berries?"

"No, I did not know blueberries are actually false berries," Harry parroted back to you. You catch the half rolling of his eyes at you where you're sitting up in your favourite spot on the bench next to the hob, peering at him keeping careful watch over breakfast: blueberry pancakes. He was wearing just his pants, chest bare and cool in the autumn morning air. You were rugged up in leggings and a sweater, unsure how he could stand being in such a state of undress.

"It's true," you reaffirmed your tidbit, popping a false berry into your mouth while Harry—with far too much concentration for the job at hand—dropped the small round berries on top of the batter sizzling in the pan. "Berries by definition are fleshy, pulpy ovary fruits that have their seeds embedded on the outside. Blueberry seeds are on the inside. So they aren't really berries."

"Ovary fruits?" He questioned, with a look of mild distaste.

Your shoulders dropped as you realised Harry knew less than you thought he did, "All fruit are ovaries, Harry. Think about it."

He does for a moment, and you can practically see the cogs turning. Harry thinking about how fruit grows on their plants and bushes and shrubs. The fact of what an ovary is when it comes to basic anatomy. And when he comes to the full circle of it, he groans, "That is so weird."

"I think it's cool," you grinned. "Like a little bit cannibalistic in a way."

He barked out a laugh at that, "I don't think that's what it is."

"Well, maybe not technically," you conceded, "But it's something … Really makes you rethink eating eggs."

"Oh my god," Harry was truly laughing then, "Stop, please."

"Sorry," you peeped with a cringed look, tossing back half a handful of the small, round fruit in front of you.

He was shaking his head at you, laughter bubbling out between his perfectly straight teeth, and then it just slipped out, "Fuck, I love you."

The words didn't bump over any hesitation. I love you, Harry said.

Your stomach dropped instantly, but the fond happiness dancing across Harry's face didn't go anywhere. He didn't look back at the pancakes or to where your hands were wringing together on your lap. Harry held your gaze and didn't dodge away from what he said at all. Like he knew you'd need a moment with it, that you weren't expecting him to just come out with that.

"I love you," he repeated after a moment, smiling when he saw your lips start to turn up, "I mean it."

Hearing him yell the same words through the microphone from stage sizzles your heart a little, like the pancakes that day crackled in the pan as Harry pushed himself into you on the kitchen floor. You remember the feeling of his hands under your clothes, your leggings barely halfway down your thighs before he was claiming you in a wave of lust, pushed by the new, invisible force in your relationship—love.

The floor under you now vibrates as everyone gets to their feet to join Harry dancing through his first song. You stare at him, daring him to look over at you but knowing he won't. The longer you stand there, the more you thaw out to it, the more you find yourself with a smile on your face and a slight sway to your hips. His music is fun and familiar and feels like clicking into place.

It's mesmerising. He's mesmerising.

You don't like admitting you'd forgotten how good at this he was. He has the whole crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. Even his crew around you are grinning ear to ear and singing along. Sharing private jokes between them and cutting dance moves in small groups as they watch the show. It's fun. And it reminds you that so much of your relationship with Harry was like that. That there were countless nights spent dancing in the living room or screaming at laptop screens doing board game nights with his family.

You'd forgotten that you could laugh so hard your belly hurt and that Harry was one of the few people who'd ever been able to get you to that point of joy. Watching him throw joy off the stage now at thousands of people was reminding you how very good Harry was—used to be—at making you feel like the only person in the world to him.

"Babe," his giggles filtered down the hallway and into the bathroom where you were plucking your eyebrows, "Babe! Come … Come see this."

You rolled your eyes as you put the tweezers down and padded into his living room, not at all surprised to see Harry pretzeled on his yoga mat in a fit of laughter. He did this a lot, called you away from a task or from work for something hilarious that ninety-nine per cent of the time wasn't hilarious at all. You'd end up snorting out laughter of your own though, at him.

Now, Harry had one of his feet hooked behind his neck while the other was prostrate on the floor behind him.

"You're doing great, baby," you condescended lightly, tilting your head to the side and frowning at his position. It looked awful and not at all calming, let alone comfortable. He wasn't a very good advertisement for yoga at all.

"They say this one's great for—great for," he giggled too much to get the words out, his arms holding his torso back so his legs would do what he wanted them to, he took a deep breath, "It's meant to be the yoga colonic."

Harry was heaving with laughter as he finally got it out, his position faltered, and you watched as his limbs all fell back to the mat as he leant forward cackling. You were grinning too, amused by how amused he was.

"Been feeling backed up, have you?" You asked him, crossing your arms as you hitch one hip out.

He rolled over on his back and wheezed out the final string of laughter, one hand holding his lower tummy as if it ached from the whole spectacle, as his other hand reached out for your ankle, "Come down here with me."

"Hmm," you hummed, pretending to be unhappy to be dragged down on top of him, your hips resting on his thighs as your chin propped up on your hands at his chest, "It's very entertaining how entertaining you find yourself," you mused.

Harry rubbed the tears from his eyes and then settled his hands on your back, breathing in the pleasant weight of you there, "I just���I was thinking about what they think the yoga colonic is going to do." His giggles started again, "Imagine being in a class and it literally working? Everyone just—everyone just shits themselves!"

You can feel his laugher, his bones pushing yours up as his whole body fills with his happiness. The stream of tears coming from the corners of his eyes start again as he squeezed his eyes shut while the sound of Harry's deep, uninhibited laughter filled the whole house again.

The memory brings back a smile, like so many with Harry do.

But there's still the Too Fresh Sting of your final moments with him, your last moments with him. You've not seen him since that evening months ago where you both yapped at each other things that couldn't be unsaid, unhappinesses that couldn't be reverted or unadmitted. It wasn't like the fights you had about Harry's casualised view of money and how he'd drop thousands of pounds on seemingly nothing without thinking how small it could make you feel. Or the times you'd snap in frustration when Harry tuned out of you complaining about an issue with your friends he deemed as superfluous or rooted in something silly or not as essential as the Important Thing He Was Planning. He could be so dismissive when he didn't think something mattered highly enough on his scale of measuring things.

The Harry dancing around on stage in front of you wasn't the man who said you were independent like it was a dirty word. Yelled across the kitchen that it was too easy for the two of you to be apart, you didn't miss him enough. The man who told you he didn't feel like you needed him, thought you were always standing with one foot out the door the whole time you were together. And you can remember being flabbergasted (still are, really) by what he was saying because it just wasn't true at all. You? Too independent? You spent every night at his house, and were at Harry's beck and call the whole relationship. And you can hear all the times you said 'what would I do without you?' when he talked you off a ledge or had answers to questions you believed to be unanswerable.

You can see how it was another classic example of Harry telling a non-truth to cover up what was really there. To distract from his own shortcomings. He accused you of what he was feeling, of his flaws. Making them your problem meant he didn't have to be vulnerable. Didn't have to take a risk his business manager hadn't guaranteed. Didn't have to gamble on your future together.

In the relationship, he always had the upper hand. And maybe you did have one foot out the door emotionally, but that was only because you had to. Harry never invited you in with him completely. You were always on the outer. After nearly a year of dating you were still The Girlfriend He Didn't Have.

But I fucking love you, he'd said when he sensed where that night was going. Like Harry had a list of grievances, and it wasn't until he got to the end of reading them out to you that he realised where it landed him. He told you he loved you as though it would erase all the things about you he seemed to dislike so much. Things about yourself you apparently couldn't see.

Hindsight has taught you that if anyone was too independent, or hesitant to commit fully in that relationship, it was Harry.

Halfway through his set, Harry's assistant comes over to check on you, and you end up chatting for a few minutes about how you've been. She speaks to you like there was some club you were a member of and she missed your meetings. Although neither of you references the breakup, or acknowledge in another life you had a lot more to do with each other, the unspoken things weigh on your chest. You find yourself wiping away a quiet tear when she walks back over to the main group watching Harry.

Of course, that's when he teeters over to your side of the stage and looks straight at you. His expression falls instantly, and you're sure that he only meant to glance at you in passing, but what he sees has him doing a double-take and fixing his gaze on you for two lines of the song he's midway through. He tugs on the collar of his shirt and Harry's eyes are desperately trying to read what you're thinking, just like that day he told you he loved you at the end of the breakup, as though you'd forget everything that came before it.

You stick your thumb out to him and give him your best fake smile. Like he might be led to believe you were crying about something else. As if you hadn't just pulled his attention from a room full of people who'd paid for his attention tonight. At that moment you think the fact there's a secret love and life between you must be too obvious to everyone else. There's a connection, something whirls around the room between you and it feels threatening and perilous to how you've been trained to think things have to be.

You wait until Harry turns and goes the other way across the stage before you push off from the wall and walk out.

At first, love was an encouragement between you. It was approval, a showing of appreciation. Love was a promise that was just for the two of you. A declaration that validated everything you were doing together. Love was a feeling that proved what every action meant.

Then, love was a bandaid, was a line used in desperation to fix something unfixable, and you walk the world with skun knees now because of it. Love was never just love. It was used to fix the wrong things.

And in the end, nothing healed at all.

+

The fifth lie was that he'd always fight for you.

Harry promised you that the two of you would make it work.

You'd make up after every argument, big or small. The little ones that were those tiny bickerings in the car which somehow roared into yelling matches. Or when one person's grumpiness from the day leaked into your evening together. You always expected his call or the long sigh that would precede his apology. You never got halfway home to your house if you left his after a row. He'd call and beg for you to come back, that nothing was worth you physically leaving being near him. You left knowing before the night was done the two of you would reconcile.

Until it was That Fight you were leaving after. The one that began The End.

It started because Harry was overseas for a few weeks. While he was away, you suggested the two of you going on a holiday together during the summer. An anniversary trip. From the other side of the world, it was easy enough for Harry to worm his way of out of it. He went off on a tangent about there being no holidays (rest) for the wicked and then got you talking about something else until you forgot how you'd been sold on the idea of lying on a beach with him for a week.

When Harry got home, you had it stored in an unhappy little pocket in your mind. Top of the agenda for when he returned.

"Can we talk about the holiday thing again?" You asked his first night home.

He sighed against you, his body gearing up for a reunion that didn't involve speaking, lips attached to your neck while his hands danced around the band of your bra, "Do we have to right now?"

"Well," your instinct was to back away from the tension rising between you, "I'd like to."

Harry pushed his hair up off his face and briefly looked at the ceiling, "I don't see how we can, babe. It's too hard, logistically. Just take a week off work and stay with me here."

"I already stay here," you counter, "I'm talking about a holiday somewhere. A beach. Or a ski resort. Something fun and different."

"Those places are all busy," Harry complained, his hands off you. He started to pack the dishwasher from dinner.

"I just want to go away with you, do something normal, you know?"

He clipped the side of the sink with a dinner plate and swore angrily under his breath, "Fuck."

"Don't get angry."

"I'm not fucking angry," he growled, tossing your forks into the plastic crate, "I just fucking got home, and you're straight into this. No 'I missed you so much' or 'It's so great to see you'… Just straight into going on a holiday as if I have endless time to mess about."

"What do you mean? We've just eaten dinner together, you told me all about your trip. I said I was happy to have you home!"

"Yeah, well, feels like you just don't give a fuck that I'm back."

You frowned at him starting to get annoyed yourself, "I cried on our FaceTime call on the weekend because I missed you! You have a lobotomy since then?"

"Don't yell," Harry instructed quietly like he was chastising a child for not controlling themselves.

"What's this about, Harry?" You asked. "Why is it such a crime for me to want to go away with my boyfriend?"

He sighed again, "It's not."

"Right," you crossed your arms over your chest and wondered how many times he could wipe down the chopping board.

Probably one more time.

"So …"

"So what?" Harry repeated, "What do you want from me?"

His words and their harshness shocked you, and that was the exact moment you started worrying this was going to turn into Something Else. Not just a Normal Fight.

"I want you to tell me why you're so annoyed by this?"

It would have been so easy for you to break down and scream about how insane it was that you were talking about celebrating your first anniversary with him and the relationship was still a secret. How badly you wanted to throw that out there, but there was a wise fear in you which said that would be a death wish. (That fact haunts you today, how you knew he'd never step out with you. There wasn't any hope in you or promise from him it wouldn't always be that way. You knew your place and where the boundary line was, don't push past this point. And you always behaved. Never peeped out of your box.)

"It's like you don't even need me," Harry said bitterly, "You're so fucking independent. What's the point?"

"What are you talking about?" You gushed, nearly swallowing your tongue when he turned back to look at you for the first time.

"You don't need me," he accused, "You've always got one foot out the door."

"I don't," came your defence, but you both knew it was the truth. You were halfway out the door because you hadn't been invited all the way in yet.

"You don't want this life with me," Harry shook his head, "You've never been happy where we are. Relationships don't work that way, you can't just keep demanding the same thing hoping you'll wear me down. That's not fair."

Tears shake out of your eyes slowly as your body catches up with what he's saying, "Harry."

"It's not fair!" He repeated loudly. "You can't keep on about it."

About what? You want to ask him because you hadn't mentioned a holiday until the week before. That's not what he was really angry about. He was talking about The Secret. And his guilt was showing. His anger was misdirected, aimed at the wrong thing. He muttered something to himself you didn't hear.

"I didn't hear that."

"I said," Harry looked up at you, and when your eyes clicked together you saw surprise rise and then quickly disappear as if he hadn't expected to see you there. "I said, I don't think we can keep doing this."

"You don't think we can keep doing this?" You repeated it because the words hardly sounded like English the first time you heard them.

I don't think we can keep doing this.

Harry stood across from you with no expression on his face. And it took a few moments for him to own up to what he said, but he does. He nods his head once, awkwardly, and then nods again.

"We can't keep doing this," he tells you, sounding defeated, and then his voice rises again—in pitch, not in volume—"But I fucking love you!"

But I fucking love you.

As if that was enough.

It was days of you expecting a call, and a make up that never came. Expecting the fight for your relationship Harry promised you he'd always put up. You wanted him to prove that you were someone he couldn't do without. You hated the thought of him walking around his house and not feeling the absence of you as some impossible weight he couldn't bear.

"Y/N!" Your name sounds out behind you, but you keep walking, an instantaneous decision that pretending not to hear her might work.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.

Harry's assistant keeps chasing you down the hall she initially led you through, calling your name and eventually getting you to stop and turn around because, well, you can't keep pretending she's not there forever.

"I'm just finding a loo," you lie.

"There's one this way," she points over her shoulder, in the direction you both came from, "Harry said if you tried to leave I had to go with you, which, for my own dignity I'd really prefer not to have to do."

You find yourself scoffing, "Who said he's in charge of how long I stay?"

Her expression softens somewhat, "He just wants to see you after."

How dare he think he can control this still, you think.

You know she's not the person to be frustrated with. You should be frustrated with yourself first, for coming, and then with Harry for deciding he could orchestrate this … This whatever it was. Still, you find yourself biting out your reply, "He saw me from stage," you tell her bitterly.

"And he'll have seen that you're not there anymore," she replies patiently,, "It'll throw off his focus if he's worried you've gone home halfway through."

You fall into step beside her but can't give him the win, "Quite frankly, it's not my concern or responsibility anymore if his focus is thrown or not."

She wordlessly points out where the bathrooms are just in front of you. You're trying not to make eye contact with anyone who's in these backstage hallways. They feel like ghosts from a life that's not yours anymore.

The first time you met any of Harry's People you'd felt absolutely mortified. The whole thing felt awkward to you, meeting assistants and managers and creative directors. Putting faces and humans to jobs done for Harry. He was a lot of people's boss, and it made you uncomfortable because you'd not seen that side to him before. You knew things like how hot he liked his showers and what yogurt he liked on his muesli in the morning.

That first—and only—step into his professional world, was in a venue just like this one where Harry was filming a music video for a few days. The stage was set up like it was for live a show, and you overheard someone saying setting up for a shoot was more involved than for an actual performance. Harry wanted you to see what this part of his world looked like and despite them not fitting in either of the Friends or Family categories you'd laid out for People Allowed To Know About You, his "Team" were people Harry felt safe introducing to you. (NDAs were a powerful thing) He led you through the hallways by the hand and stuck his head into every room with a cheery, 'Hullo, just bringing Y/N around to meet everyone.'

You remember one person declaring they were happy to be meeting you. Harry was too young to be married to his job, they said with a relieved tone, That it was good he'd found his Someone. Harry beamed at that, looking down at you as if thinking, Yeah, I have found my Someone.

Now you stand back in the pit side of stage, and Harry looks down at you with a hesitation that makes you more uncomfortable than when you were watching him film that music video. His assistant has brought you back to where his team are standing, and you feel more than one set of eyes take stock of you returning, a shared glance between a manager and the girl shadowing you. A wide-eyed exchange that says, That was the last thing we needed. When Harry comes to the side of stage between songs, he's hunting for a bottle of water, but you can see he's come to that side because his eyes are focused on hunting for you.

When he sees you've returned, he slowly takes a sip of water, eyes not leaving yours. You feel like he's admonishing you in his head, seeing how weak you were, that you ran away after a little eye contact. There's a distaste there, you think, and as he's putting the cap back on the bottle, Harry opens his mouth like he's going to try to say something to you, but he stops. He frowns at his hands as he puts the bottle down and then turns away, bringing the microphone back up to his lips and slipping back into entertainer mode.

"In a lot of ways, I hate this next song," he starts slowly, speaking over the band as they begin to slow down the tempo of the night. A smoke machine whirls to life and pumps out a few big clouds, shrouding the stage behind Harry. "I really hate it."

He pauses. And your insides freeze in your chest. You're hanging off his every word, just like every other body in the room. Harry stands right on the front of the stage, toes almost touching the drop off. He's looking out at the audience and lets the microphone hang at his side. Makes no move to keep talking. Was he looking for someone out there, or was he running over what he was about to say in his head? Rehearsing it, making sure it was exactly what needed to be said.

Where you used to see thoughtfulness you now see calculation.

Give nothing away. Sell only the product. Push the song. Let people come to their own conclusions.

"This is a song about," he says carefully, a crack to his voice that sends adrenaline shooting straight down your legs, "About regretting that you've hurt someone. And about the helplessness of wishing you could make them forget what you said, but … Knowing you can't take it back."

You watched Harry trail around to the upright piano on stage and sit himself down on the stool. He stares at his hands hovering over the keys for a moment too long, but you're sure Harry's audience would let him take a hundred more. You see what perhaps they don't—the hesitation. You'd witnessed it enough to spot it, even across the stage in the dark from thirty feet away.

He's not sure about playing the song.

You think about contacting him by telepathy. Saying, I'll leave so you can go back to your show. You don't have to pretend I'm not here, I'll just go. Like I wanted to. Like I tried to.

But he plays it.

You've not heard it before, but the rest of the room has, and they sing along with him. You hear a couple of thousand people sing with your ex-boyfriend about him regretting the way he treated you. And you're almost able to talk yourself out of believing it's about you, you can nearly reason with yourself that it's kind of vague. Other than naming the cafe he'd sat in the car park of a hundred times waiting for you to return with a takeaway, it could be about anyone, really.

But he sings out a line and looks straight at you, and his eyes say it's yours. The song. The apology that's not been said yet.

I get the feeling that you'll never need me again.

His voice cracks again as he sings it. And the hurt part of you says it's just a vocal technique Harry's trained to call on at any time. It doesn't speak to anything other than a creative choice on his part. But the vulnerability is hard to ignore, the low hanging, remorseful unease in the room. He fumbles a string of notes on the piano as he sings and you're hit by the overwhelming need to make him stop.

Witnessing whatever he's currently feeling with this song is more uncomfortable than you've ever been, and a switch in you to protect him flicks on. You look around at his assistant, his manager, trying to see if there's even a hint of anyone else feeling like this moment needs an intervention, needs to be stopped.

The song ends. And you're glad.

Harry takes a few moments on stage to get ready with a guitar for the next song. He doesn't come over to your side of the stage for a drink, or to ask the roadies for anything. Instead, he flies straight into the next section of the set. Seemingly recovered from the heavy moment you felt as though you nearly drowned in. He'd never sung about you before.

Nothing remotely personal about your relationship ever left Harry's house.

And you find yourself wishing it would all just go back there.

+

The sixth lie was that he wouldn't break your heart.

Harry did though.

He broke your whole life.

So when he comes off stage at the end of his gig, there's little in you that wants to hang around. As soon as the lights go down and you see Harry's silhouette cross the back of the stage and hop down the stairs to the floor, your gut churns, and you wish you were one of the people in the rest of the venue. The ones now turning and slowly filing out of the building. Going back to their lives peacefully.

Instead, you're ushered behind the curtain again, into the small area that's immediately buzzing with life. You watch Harry as if he's moving in slow motion though. As soon as his boots hit the concrete floor somebody is tugging the suit jacket from his shoulders and swapping it for a grey hand towel that he uses to wipe down his face. His hand pushes his hair up over his head as he smiles at a handful of people, and then his eyes find yours. The smile drops, and he takes a steadying breath in.

"Y/N," he says loudly. Straight. Without expression. It's a statement, but also you sense a question there too. As if you might not turn out to be the person who was standing there. He holds your gaze over and through the people walking around and in front of him. He's handed a bottle of water and offered a second one which he takes, "Y/N," he says again, pulling his head back to beckon you over.

You roll your lips together when you've made it to the vacant space in front of him. Harry passes you the extra water bottle and cracks the lid off the one he keeps for himself. You grip yours with both hands but don't make any move to open it. Standing in front of him didn’t feel like you thought it would. It’s less of a kick I in the gut, and more a reinforcing of things that you’d figured out since being without him.

"Hi," he says hesitantly, briefly looking at someone behind your left shoulder. Then, you feel his eyes back on your face.

You speak to his forehead, not ready to have things inside you unlocked by eye contact, "Hello."

"This way," Harry says after a moment, running the towel down his sweaty face again.

He leads you down a hallway, wiping his face on the towel two more times as he walks. Harry continuously looks over his shoulder at you to make sure you're still following him, as if there was somewhere for you to hide in the concrete hallway. When he gets to his dressing room door, he kicks it open and holds his arm out to let you in first. The room smells like his cologne, a whiff of his final moments before going out on stage and a time portal back to mornings you'd spritz it on yourself before leaving the house, it was your scent then too. There was a small sofa and table, a long mirrored table with his laptop open next to a stack of papers, his screen saver bouncing back and white photos across the locked screen. His overnight bag and its contents were sprawled out over the floor in the corner next to where you can see his phone charging.

"You look good," is the first thing he says to you. Trying to pull your attention probably. Maybe hoping to get on the front foot charming you. You could tell him he looked good as well, particularly in the cream suit they had him in tonight, but you were sure there were no shortage of people who already had.

"Your show was good," you deflect away from the personal, eyes tracing the bottles in the corner of the table, "Great setlist."

"Needs a shakeup, if we're honest. Getting stale," Harry shrugs, and you see it in the mirrored wall. He's still standing by the closed door, watching you walk into the centre of the room and take stock of what's around you. "How have you been?"

"Fine."

Harry coughs uncomfortably, "Thanks for coming, wasn't sure you would."

"I wasn't sure either."

You sense Harry realising this conversation was going to be exactly as difficult as feared it might be, he nods his head and moves over to the sofa but doesn't sit down, "Did you want a seat?"

"I'll sit here," you perch yourself on the chair in front of his laptop, crossing one leg over the other and hitching your elbow at the back so you're facing Harry. Keeping the room between you.

Harry sits on the arm of the small, burgundy sofa, and tosses the towel onto the seat next to him, "Looked like you were a little upset there for a moment."

"My boots are new," you quip, kicking your top foot out towards him, "Blisters."

He sighs again, and you start to feel chastised, but there's a more substantial part of you that stubbornly bunkers on down to playing this role, taking power when you'd never had it with Harry before. He knew it wasn’t blisters that had emotion welling up in you during his set. But just the same it wasn’t his place anymore to be privy to your feelings. And you weren’t going to let him gallantly try to take it. You weren’t old friends who could pick up where you left off. You were broken lovers.

"I just thought we could do with talking," Harry says finally.

"You could have uninvited me, you know, I assumed—Well, it's not like I've been expecting to still attend any of your shows the last six months. This one didn't have to be different."

He almost looks hurt, "You live here."

"How was Italy, Harry?” you turn the conversation around abruptly because you didn't like where it was going, and he was starting to frustrate you. You didn’t need him pointing out you lived in this city alone now since he left. As if you didn’t know.

Where watching him on stage hit you with longing and heartbreak, memories you found yourself irrevocably attached to, being in the same room as him now is only making you see the real Harry. The one who's so good at rearranging the energy in the room to make you feel you need to give more of yourself. The one who's an expert at asking a leading question and relying on the other person to be vulnerable first, lead the charge out the gates.

The man who lied to hide you every day for nearly a year, even when it was hurting you more than protecting you. The hurt from him was worse than the invasion of your privacy would have be. The distrust you felt didn't counteract the security you were still afforded by anonymity. The way you felt you still had something to prove—something to earn from him—and that you just needed to earn the right to your place in Harry's life.

"I've missed you," he said finally, "Just …"

"You've been lonely?" You raise your eyebrows at him.

"What?" Harry's defences click into place, "No, it's not that—obviously yes, I've been lonely—but also I just—I miss you."

You start nodding, and your gaze drifts around the room, "Yeah, I … What exactly do you miss, Harry? Because—I mean, it was kind of shit, don't you think?"

"Shit?" he looks horrified, "What was shit?"

"Harry," you say simply, telling him to cut the bullshit with your expression. "Come on."

"I loved you," he declares loudly, proudly, “We had a great time together. I don't think it was kind of shit at all."

That's when you feel tears come to your eyes. Of course he didn't think it was shit. He still didn't see where the problem was. Couldn't see it. He would go right back to That Fight and keep going the way you had been if he could. Harry would keep living that life with you, he would have kept on going the same way. You'd still be the secret. A fight about a holiday would have resolved itself with compromise and make-up sex, and you would have gone right back to sneaking out of venues and pretending not to know him in crowded rooms.

Your lips turn up in a smile of sorts as your tears beg to fall but don't, "You haven't changed," you state with a small, incredulous laugh, "You've not figured it out. Nothing's changed," you repeat, shaking your head.

Harry's confusion is plain, and if he thought your tears were because you miss him there's something like a flicker of doubt, as if he's reading what's in front of him again and maybe getting a different story.

"You can't have a life with someone who doesn't want anyone to know you're in their life," you state simply.

And that was it, really. That was the nuts and bolts of it.

The secrecy eroded any meaning your relationship with Harry had. The doubt that cast. The burden on you to continually prove yourself, to audition for the role every day only to never graduate from understudy.

You watch Harry's throat constrict tightly as he thinks about the words that come from his mouth, "I loved you," he repeats, "I didn't want anything outside of us to fuck us up."

"You can't control the world that way, Harry," you're observing him carefully, "You definitely can't control people that way. I get why we started that way, but a year in, Harry? A year."

He looks at his feet, and it's the first bit of remorse you've ever seen him show over it.

"I know you loved me," you keep going, "But you can't use that as some bandaid for the lying, for the hurt that was. You can't erase the consequences because you thought you were protecting me or us or yourself. The truth doesn't cancel out the hurt of the lie."

Harry's still starring at his boots, "You could have said something."

You blink once.

"Fuck you," bursts out before you can stop it, and Harry's eyes snap up to yours, you laugh at his nerve and rise to your feet, "Fuck you, Harry. I couldn't have. I felt like I had to earn it. Like maybe I was one gold star away from getting there. And then when I did push it, you ended it."

"That's not—

"—It is," you insist, shaking your head at him, "You put all your insecurities and shortcomings on me and then had the nerve to tell me you loved me as if I was the defective cog in the wheel. As if you saying you loved me put all the onus on me spoiling it."

"I'm a private person—

You put your hand up to silence him, turning on your heel to face Harry as your pacing halts, "Stop. I don't … I don't care," you breathe out simply, "I really don't. Our relationship wasn't The One. It's one we'll both learn from for the ones that are coming. I hope you learn from it," you add quietly, "Because I have."

"Y/N," Harry says your name like it's an idea he's unsure of.

"That song wasn't about me, was it?" You ask because on stage he said it was about regretting hurting someone and there's been no hint of a 'sorry' from Harry since.

His brow creased, "It is. I am. I wanted you to hear me play it tonight. It's for you."

You smile, the idea that you've grown beyond this situation blooming inside you, "You've not said it."

"What?"

"You haven't said you're sorry," your head shakes again, a fresh wave of your new perfume—the one that's just yours—filling your nose, "You've said you missed me. And that I look good, but you've not said you're sorry. You can put an apology into the song on stage, but you can't admit you were wrong to the person you wrote the song about."

His shoulders sink, just the slightest amount, and you know that you've seen enough. You've said enough. He's not going to have an epiphany on this, not in this conversation with you. You've gone as far as you can with this. As far as you're willing to.

"I'm going to go," you take a step forward, "Thanks for the song, your voice sounded really nice on it."

And you walk passed him with just a final wave and the slightest touch to his shoulder. He doesn't move from his seated position, but his neck cranes and he watches you leave. Eyes hunting your back for answers, like the manuscript for what just happened might show up there. But it doesn't, and you slip out the door, the clip from your shoes fading from his hearing quicker than he wanted it to.

Your insides are shaking by the time you make it out onto the street. No part of you wants to turn back and look up at his name in lights again. You're done with seeing the best of everything in him. Harry's one of the shitty boyfriends you'll tell someone about one day in the future, and they'll call him a dickhead with anger dripping from their tongue, promising to never treat you the same way.

And they won't.

You'll both have bumped and bruised your way into each other's lives, and there'll be a satisfying click with them there wasn't with anyone else. You'll have journeyed through all the maybes and not-quites, and you'll land in that forever place with the person who wears the badge of Yours with a fervour nobody before them has.

And Harry … You'll go and be Nothing to Him.

+

My inbox is here

[wlntrsldler]

“You’re in love” (song) x Fred Weasley

PROMPT: based on you are in love by taylor swift (an installment of my taylor swift x harry potter series. to read more about it, click here) The three times Fred knew he loved you and the one time he said it. 

A/N: i did NOT come up with this prompt but i really loved this idea so i wrote my own version of it!! credit to whoever started it first ❤️

WC: 3K+

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

-

you are in love (f.w one shot)

The first time Fred realized he loved you was in his 5th year, right before everyone said their farewells for the holiday season. It was the last Hogsmeade trip of the year, snow falling softly around everyone’s body, and a chill in the air that made everyone want to snuggle up beside the fireplace in their house common rooms. George and Lee left the two of you alone, hoping that the romantic ambiance of the holiday season would finally give Fred the confidence to tell you how he felt. 

And Fred tried, Merlin, did Fred try. He spent the whole afternoon talking to himself in the mirror, practicing his lines so he wouldn’t stumble on his words. He didn’t have a problem talking to you as he normally does; you were his best friend after all, like George and Lee, but once he tries to tell you that you make his heart beat faster, make butterflies flood his stomach, and makes him lose all his senses. George had to drag him out of the room, complaining about waiting in the common room for “fifteen bloody minutes” already. 

Eventually, he met you and Lee at the front gates of Hogwarts and walked with you to Hogsmeade. The entire day, he felt so jittery, like he couldn’t stay still. You remained oblivious to the fact that Fred was about ready to burst from the inside from how nervous he was. Lee and George, on the other hand, couldn’t contain their laughter. By the time the sky began to fade into the night sky, George and Lee decided that now was as good of a time than ever and made up an excuse to leave the two of you alone. 

Now here you were, walking beside Fred, bundled up in your house scarf, and the cutest red blush on the tip of your nose. You readjusted your beanie, looking up at him to start conversation. Fred felt his words get stuck in his throat, unable to remember how to speak with you staring up at him with the twinkle of oblivion in your eye. 

“Freddie?” you giggled, bumping shoulders with him. You wrapped an arm around yourself, the chills from the Winter air growing harsher as you walked closer to the castle. “Am I that boring that you can’t even pay attention to my blabbering?” 

“Godric, no,” he blushed, finally able to string words together. Without thought, he wrapped an arm around your body, shielding you from the cold. You melted into him, sighing in content. Fred swore his heart swelled three times its size. 

The snow crunched under your boots as you walked up the path. The lights lining the cobblestone street gave a yellow tint to the sight. He walked with you in silence but in his head, he was going over exactly what he wanted to say. This was the perfect time. The snow falling slowly from the sky, little snowflakes tangled in the strands of your hair. You were pressed up against his chest, so close to him that he could smell your perfume, sweet and addicting. There were no other students around, all too eager to find sanctuary in warmth that the castle brought. It was the perfect time. 

He stopped walking, halting you with him. He let you go for a moment, taking a deep breath in and slowly let it out. You watched as the cloud of fog escaped his lips and dispersed into the air. His red hair poked out from under his hoodie, matted on his forehead. Fred looked down at his wet boots, kicking around snow that pooled around the soles. Finally, he looked up, taking your two hands into his palms in the process. 

You smiled at the gesture, your heart fluttering in your chest. You looked at him, offering a comforting look as you raised your eyebrows up in suspicion, “What’s up, Freddie?”

And just like that, all of the words he worked so hard to conjure up, slipped right out of his mind. When he saw you looking up at him, eyebrows raised, cheeks and nose tinted with a light shade of pink, and your lips plump and red, he realized that there were no words to describe what it was he felt about you. You watched him in silence, studying the way he gave you a lopsided smile when you tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear. He leaned into your touch, letting out another sigh of relief. 

“Nothing,” he finally spoke, letting go of your hands. He wrapped his arm around you again, hoping you won’t hear the marching of his heart in his chest. “You’re my best friend.” 

-

The second time he realized he loved you was when you spent the summer at the Burrow with him and his family. You were outside the house with Ginny and Hermione, talking about who knows what, and you threw your head back in laughter. The sound of your voice was the only thing he could hear, despite the bustling noise of the other inhabitants of the Burrow.

He stood beside his mother, washing the dishes, as he looked out the window, a smile playing on his lips. Molly watched in adoration as her son stared at the woman he loved, gently nudging Fred with his elbow as she dried the plates. 

Fred snapped out of his thought, blinking rapidly before taking the dried plate from his mother’s hand. “Huh?”

“Truly, Fred, when will you just tell Y/N how you feel?”

He ducked his head, blushing furiously that another one of his family members caught onto his affections, “What are you talking about, mother?” 

“I gave birth to you, boy,” Molly scolded, picking up another wet plate to dry. “I know you.” 

“I’ll tell her soon.” 

“Blimey, Fred,” a voice whistled from behind them. Molly and Fred turned around, seeing Ron munching on a biscuit as he leaned on the door. “You’ve been saying that for like a year now. How soon can soon be?” 

Fred walked over to Ron, hitting him with the rolled up towel he was using to dry. “Shut it, you git. I’ll tell Y/N when you have the guts to tell Moine how you feel.” 

The younger boy’s eyes widened, immediately growing flustered at the mention of Hermione. Molly stood by the sink, arms crossed as she watched the two boys argue and fight. She cleared her throat, “Both of you need to tell them how you feel.”  

As the two boys continued to bicker, the three girls made their way inside, Ginny smirking to herself as she knew exactly what was going on. She’s been around her brothers long enough to know that Ron was head over heels for Hermione and Fred could never shut up about you. Wanting to embarrass them, she spoke up, “Tell who?”

Fred froze in the spot, hearing the smug tone dripping from his sister’s words. He looked at her, sending a glare her way, before giving you a kind smile. He scoffed, “Mind your business, Gin.” 

Your heart sunk in your chest, thinking about Fred having feelings for someone. It wasn’t hard to notice that you had fallen in love with the older twin. Your touch on his arm lingered a bit too long, you stared at him in pure adoration, and you always looked for him everywhere you went. It was a shock that he never caught on. Unbeknownst to you, he was too busy trying to conceal his own feelings to even notice yours. 

You sent him a tight-lipped smile, unable to stop thinking about the possibility that Fred is in love with someone else. Truth be told, she would probably be smitten with him too. Who wouldn’t be? Fred is amazing and everyone was able to see that. He could make you laugh more than anyone else could. He’s so caring and careful with you, like one wrong move and he’d break you like you were made of fine china. He was adventurous, a contrast to your more reserved personality. Fred was amazing. Any girl would be lucky to have him. 

You didn’t realize that you stood in the middle of the kitchen as everyone else excused themselves or made themselves busy. Ginny and Ron already walked out, muttering something about bothering Harry. Hermione struck up a conversation with Molly, now taking Fred’s place in helping with the dishes. Fred stood in front of you, arm reaching out to touch you. He cocked his head to the side as if asking you what’s on your mind. 

Fred grabbed a hold of your hand, pulling you into his chest. He felt your uneasiness, and although he didn’t know what caused it, he knew it was up to him to make you feel better. So without saying anything else, he wrapped both of his arms around you, letting you rest your cheek on his chest. He kissed your temple and rocked you back and forth, not even caring that Molly and Hermione were staring at the both of you. 

As he looked down at the girl on his chest, he realized this is what he wanted for the rest of his life. He loved you. 

-

The third time he realized he loved you was after the war. After all of the casualties and his accident, that almost cost him his life, his life was turned upside down. He woke up the next morning only to find out that you skipped town the night before. You left with no note, no notice, no anything. He just woke up to an empty spot next to him on the makeshift bed they had to make on Hogwarts’ concrete floors. 

It took them two months to start the store up again. When they reopened, the line was out the door, circling around the block. People wanted some happiness after everything that happened. Fred would be lying if he said he didn’t want that either. 

George patted his brother’s back, watching from the staircase as parents bought their children anything they wanted, just happy that they survived the war. Nobody has heard from you in months. All everyone could do was hope and pray that you were safe and doing okay. Not even Hermione heard from you. She probably took it the hardest after Fred. She considered you one of her best friends and it hurt her that you left without saying goodbye, but a part of her also knew that it was probably too much for you. 

Fred knew you were probably out travelling the world, just as you told him many times before. It was your dream, he knew that, but a part of him always thought that he’d be right beside you. Everyday that passed, he cursed himself for not telling you how he felt before you left. Would it have made a difference? He’d like to think so. Even if it didn’t, he, at least, wouldn’t have to live every single day thinking: “What if?” 

The sight was pitiful. George would see him in his office, staring blankly at the picture of the two of you that he framed. He had it perched up on his desk, reminding him of what he could’ve had. George tried to get him to move on, but even he knew Fred was in love with you, and you were someone special to the both of them. Nobody could compare to you and nobody would ever dare try. 

It wasn’t until six months later when you stumbled into their shop, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. A part of you knew you didn’t have the right to be there because you left them with no warning. You wouldn’t blame them if they asked you to leave the premises the minute their eyes landed on you. You knew you deserved the cold shoulder. Merlin, if they were the ones who did that to you, you knew you wouldn’t be so forgiving. 

The shop was fairly busy, kids running around trying to get their hands on everything they wanted before the school year. You saw the displays of the love potion, smiling sadly as you remembered your lonely months alone. Fred consumed your thoughts. He was the only one you could think of when you left. Every little thing reminded you of him. 

You spent a few weeks in Paris, living amongst the Muggles, and watched the sun set behind the Eiffel tower. You would turn to your left, half-expecting Fred to be there, only to be met by an empty space. You went to Greece and ran into the water, laughing freely at your found spirit. You began to search for his laugh behind you, waiting for his arms to pick you up and spin you around in the light of the moon. But then you remembered what you did and you felt sick to your stomach. 

That’s why you came back. You couldn’t take it anymore, not after 6 months of being alone. You knew you needed time but now you needed your friends, your family, your Fred. You wanted nothing else but to bury yourself in his warm embrace and feel his lips kiss the skin of your forehead. You yearned for nothing else. 

Your eyes locked with a pair so familiar. He dropped the vials in his hand, not even caring that the contents spilled down the steps. His jaw was hanging wide, eyes blinking rapidly as if they were playing a trick on him. You smiled at him, unsure of his reaction. 

Fred watched you for a moment before a grin broke out on his face, running and shoving paying customers out the way to pick you up. All the feelings he still had for you, tripled. His heart rumbled in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Even after all this time, he was still so in love with you. 

He began bumping into displays, dropping some of his own merchandise. You squealed when he reached you, his head sitting comfortably in the crook of your neck. His laugh carried throughout the store, disrupting everyone in the vicinity. But he didn’t care. You were home. 

-

It didn’t take long for Fred to tell you how he felt after you came back. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Every moment that he didn’t get to call you his, chipped his heart. His brothers and his sister were growing tired of it, encouraging him to just say it because they were certain you felt the same. Fred tried to ignore them, not wanting to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help but think about how amazing it would feel if you told him you loved him back. 

You just came over to have dinner with the Weasley family, Molly and Arthur insisting that they missed you too much to go out to a restaurant and cut the celebration short. After a hefty meal, you and Fred excused yourselves and walked out into the garden. His hands were in his pockets, unable to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. He’s been practicing what to say to you since Hogwarts and yet, he still felt unprepared. 

You were walking silently beside him, taking in the silence and calmness of the life you’re living now. You no longer had to worry about anything, just the day to day necessities, and your feelings for Fred. Subconsciously, you intertwined your fingers with Fred’s snuggling up to his side for some warmth. 

Fred froze for a moment. This is it, he thought, this is the perfect moment. 

Before he lost his confidence, he spoke, “Y/N, I have something to tell you.”

“Yes, Freddie?” you asked, rubbing your thumb over the top of his hand. “What is it?” 

He held you in your place, stopping in the middle of a field of flowers. The moon illuminated one side of your face, showing off your perfect features. Fred smiled, reaching over to caress your cheekbone. With tears in his eyes, he said, brokenly, “I’m so bloody in love with you.” 

You gasped softly, looking up at him, “What?” 

“I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Fred sighed, connecting his forehead with yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a breathy laugh, “I’ve been in love with you for so long.” 

In a small whisper, you asked, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I’ve been so afraid of what you’d say.” 

“I love you, too, Freddie.” 

At first he thought his ears were deceiving him. You loved him back? His eyes shot open, pulling away from you as he stared at you in disbelief. “Y-you love me?”

“Yes, you silly boy,” you chuckled, pulling him closer to you. Your lips ghosted over his, causing him to shiver. With your lips dangerously close to his, you continued, “I’ve been in love with you for so long.” 

“I’ve been a down right idiot, haven’t I?” 

“Yeah.” 

And with that, he kissed you. All those years where he hid his feelings came pouring out in this one kiss. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his like there was any more space between the two of you to close. Your arms looped around his neck, allowing him to dip you once one hand snaked down to your waist to steady you. He kissed you, pouring in all his regrets, mistakes, apprehensions, into his love, no longer wanting to pass up an opportunity to love you for the rest of his life. You giggled against his lips as he peppered you with kisses, unable to stop himself. 

Once he stopped, his chest rumbling with laughter like you, he beamed at you. He pecked your lips, one more time, his kiss feather light, “I’m the luckiest man in the world.” 

On your way back to the house, you felt it in the air. The love. It lingered between the two of you, surrounded you and suffocated you, but it was the best feeling in the world. Fred Weasley was in love with you. You are in love.

-

TAGS:

@rexorangecouny

[dembenchboys]

Don’t - Tyson Jost

AN: this has been in my notes for like 6-7 months now I hope you enjoy! It’s based if the song don’t by Ed Sheeran.

Warnings: cheating and a mention of sex nothing detailed at all.

Word count: 1.9k

I met this girl late last year

She said, “Don’t you worry if I disappear”

“Yes.” That's the response Layla whispered in Tyson’s ear after he asked her to spend the night with him. As he planted more open mouth kisses to her neck, Tyson could feel her breath quicken and her plus racing up.

Tyson wasn't expecting to be taken back by the stunning brunette with green eyes who he locked eye contact with as she was busy dancing in the corner with her girlfriends when he went to the local bar Monday night with the boys for a simple night of relaxing. When they bumped into one other at the counter and she introduced herself to him while grabbing a drink, he wasn't expecting his heart to race a little quicker. He hadn't expected to be bringing her home at the end of the night, yet here he was, holding her hand as they climbed into the car he had booked for them.

What Tyson really wasn't prepared for was the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he woke up to an empty bed and a piece of paper on his nightstand with only 11 numbers scribbled on it.

I told her I’m not really looking for another mistake

I called an old friend thinking that the trouble would wait.

Tyson realized he should've tossed the little letter away as soon as he got off the phone with JT who reminded him to think with his head and recommend throwing it away. But Tyson, on the other hand, was always one to follow his emotions rather than his mind or gut instincts. After all, he was known as a softy for a reason. His head was telling him that he should simply toss the paper away since it was just going to cause him misery. His emotions, on the other hand, were reminding him of how he felt last night when he made eye contact with her. They were reminding him of how his heart raced and how he felt a nervous pulse in his stomach for the first time in a long time.

So, four mornings after waking up to an empty bed, he decided to take the plunge and message her. He realized that texting her at 11:00 a.m. would not lead her to believe it was a booty call. Tyson opted to keep it short and sweet, only saying, "Hey, how are you?" And before he could back out, he sent the message, not realizing how drastically those four words would impact his year.

It was 10:45 p.m., according to the clock. Tyson had become increasingly nervous as Layla had yet to reply. He was thinking to himself, what if he had waited too long, what if she had just left the note out of kindness and didn't mean it? But his phone vibrated in his hand just as he was about to turn it off and put it away for the night. And there was a text message from Layla on his phone screen, saying, "I'm okay, what's up?" “Have you finally missed me enough to send a text?” Tyson felt the blood rush to his checks at that moment, as he hoped she didn't realize how long he had been waiting, but she did. Tyson decided to make up for the fact that he hadn't spoken to her in four days, so he spent the rest of the night getting to know the lovely woman he thought had a good heart.

But then I jumped right in a week later, returned

I reckon she was only looking for a lover to burn

Tyson decided to invite Layla over after about a week of talking with her through his phone and tossing the idea around in his head. He had all of the spare time in the world before heading to Alberta since the Avs season had just ended.

Tyson had discovered recently she was a CU Denver student. So when they agreed on a Saturday, Tyson realized she wouldn't have classes, so he wouldn't have to worry about her cancelling, but he was still worried that she wouldn't actually show up. When a soft knock came to his door around 1:00 p.m., those nerves faded.

When Tyson awoke to an empty bed on the Tuesday morning he was supposed to leave for home, he wasn't surprised. Tyson found himself going to bed with someone and waking up alone more often after that Saturday afternoon spent with Layla at his place.

Then I put it on pause until the moment was right

I went away for months until our paths crossed again

After waking up alone on that Tuesday morning when he had to leave, Tyson wanted to put some space between himself and the situation. Tyson knew that if he went down that particular road with Layla, his heart wouldn't be able to heal if anything bad happened. Tyson tried not to think about her during his time in Alberta, but it became more difficult with each passing day. Tyson found his feelings growing towards her each day. He found himself thinking about her at odd times throughout the day, hanging with his family? Layla. Sitting around the fire pit? Layla. in bed right before he closed his eyes? Layla. She was an addiction, the kind you get when you try a new treat and can't stop thinking about it.

Tyson promised himself he wouldn't message her again until he returned to Colorado, and he kept his word. He'd been back in the city for about three weeks before he decided to pick up where they'd left off.

She told me, "I was never looking for a friend

Maybe you could swing by my room around ten

Baby, bring the lemon and a bottle of gin

We'll be in between the sheets 'til the late AM"

After several late-night phone calls to catch up, Layla eventually told Tyson what this meant to her after he invited her to dinner. “Around 1:00 a.m. on a Monday morning, she muttered to him, "I'm more into the friends with benefits situation right now." Tyson was definitely devastated but he was willing to take whatever Layla had to offer.

Tyson was unprepared for the feeling he got when he glanced down at his phone after leaving JT’s apartment to see a text that said, "baby, I'm swinging by your place with a bottle." Tyson knew that meant he'd wake up alone in the morning, yet he didn't care at the time.

Tyson and Layla had been seeing each other more and more in recent weeks. Tyson’s feelings for Layla became stronger over time, but he never expressed them. He just loved her company, and if that meant getting lost in the sheets more often than not, so be it.

And for a couple weeks I only wanna see her

We drink away the days with a takeaway pizza

Tyson was in a slump, he wasn't producing on the ice as he wanted to, and the media was branding him a draft bust because of it. As a result, he found himself blocking others out, with the exception of one individual. Tyson discovered that Layla was the only one he truly wished to be with. She didn't mention hockey at all, because they could easily lose themselves in each other and block out the rest of the world. They'd eat as much takeout pizza as Tyson's diet permitted.

Yet something changed between them in those few weeks. Layla confessed to developing feelings for the curly-haired boy. As a result, they opted not to label what they were doing, but they did promise not to see other people. Not that Tyson was doing so before.

Wish I'd have written it down, the way that things played out

When she was kissing him, how I was confused about

Now she should figure it out.

Tyson should have known something was wrong when Layla started staying at school longer than usual, but he didn't think much of it, assuming it was just finals. Tyson should have known something was wrong because she took longer to respond to his text messages and began avoiding his phone calls, but he was so wrapped up in the feeling she gave him that he didn't notice. When Layla failed to pick him up from the airport on Sunday morning, Tyson should have known something was wrong, but he just convinced himself she slept in.

But two things happened when the car he ordered from the airport arrived in front of Layla's apartment and he saw her kissing the kid from her biology class: one, Tyson's heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach, and two, something clicked and everything made sense to him.

That afternoon, at Tysons' place, he had to have a conversation he would never forget .Layla explained that she genuinely wanted to be with him and that she was just messing around with Tyler, the name of the kid from biology, because she wanted to be official with Tyson. And in a relationship, she puts a significant importance on trust and respect.

So they agreed to become an official couple that day, and the eight weeks that followed were some of the happiest memories Tyson had managed to make.Tyson grew more and more in love with Layla with each passing day, and he indulged in it. He treasured the cuddles and long conversations late at night. Tyson was certain he was in love with Layla, or Ly as he began to refer to her. He was about to reveal her to the group of people in his life that he held in high regard: his teammates.

She was crying on my shoulder, I already told ya

Trust and respect is what we do this for

I never intended to be next

But you didn't need to take him to bed, that's all

And I never saw him as a threat

Until you disappeared with him to have sex, of course

Tyson wasn't expecting to see Layla on the sofa on top of Tyler from biology when he stepped into Layla's apartment on the morning of the 23rd, three days before their three-month anniversary, ready to celebrate because he'd be on the road. But that is precisely what he saw.

Layla didn't know she'd been caught until the beautiful white roses fell to the ground and the door slammed shut  from behind her.

As the knock on Tyson's door rang through the silent apartment, Tyson knew that all that had occurred in the previous year, his best days, and the one person  he could turn too would all be gone in less than 20 minutes.

Tyson had never expected to have a conversation like this one in his dark, relatively clean apartment. When Layla cried on his shoulder, he reminded her of their compromise on trust and respect, telling her, "If you were unhappy, you should have left, I never saw him as a threat, well, before you slept with him of course."

But after all of the screaming and pleading, Layla gathered her belongings and closed the door to Tyson's apartment; the sound that echoed in the house was almost close to Tyson's heart beating in his chest.

As Tyson came into the dressing room the next morning, feeling dishevelled, he grumbled to JT that he should have just thrown it out.

[prostarplanet]

The Ghost of Ida Williams in Joppa Alabama

The Ghost of Ida Williams in downtown Joppa Alabama Ghost of Ida Haunted House

This property was originally bequeathed to the Williams in 1822, in the hope that the children would continue the Cotton Gin business. Working as a family, this business grew until the 1940's, when the great depression hit. David Williams had a garden on the property, and with the passing of his wife, left only him and his children to tend to it.

The small community of Joppa Alabama got together to help out Mr. Williams. The church, school and other businesses in the area offered a share-crop idea. If they worked on it, they could eat from it. This made David a local hero of sorts, as he helped the community by feeding those families in need during times when all Americans struggled.

Mr. Williams’s daughter was set to be married to a local dairy farmer named Patterson with lots of potential. But Ida wasn’t interested in this man. He was too old, too grumpy, and, in her words, had a backward way of thinking.

If Ida were to marry this man, their two families would share in the property, the cattle, and the financing. This would have made the Williams worth more than they had ever been. But even with all of that wealth, she had it in her mind that she wasn’t having anything to do with it.

Ida was bound and determined to get married to her best friend and longtime love, Bill Knight.

Bill was an eager young man and didn’t have that much to offer in the way of money. But offered her attention, and that was more than most of the cohorts her father was introducing her to.

Legend has it that Ida met-up with Bill one evening in the apple orchard, where the two of them were caught by the local dairy farmer. The two lovers never saw Patterson walk up on them. With one shot, he killed Ida instantly, and Bill Knight soon fell dead next to her. The spot where she fell has never been able to grow anything since, and locals say that you can still see her walking around.

This property has been home to many businesses since then, all of which have described strange occurrences almost daily.

Eventually, this property would be used for businesses such as Minor Nursery, Landscaping, and many more, but none seemed to want to stay. During its time as a nursery, people would often see plants and trees moved overnight or see a woman crossing the field of greens and disappearing. One area in particular, and we know what area that is, the dirt, would never be fertile enough to grow plants. Workers tried digging the area out and dumping fresh dirt, but to no avail. Nothing they did seemed to help. This area would eventually be made part of a parking lot.

Later, this property would be sold to a building contractor, and he would shrink the parking lot by erecting a building over the place. Not knowing the history of the property, he simply continued as if nothing was wrong. But the lore continued as strange happenings caused concern for him and his employees, and seemed even worse at night.

Leaving at sundown, these strange events never bothered him much. Although on crunch jobs where long hours were required, he would eventually learn that no one was ever safe in the building at night.

Everything from random falling planks to strange appearances that looked like a young woman have been seen.

What better way to show reverence to Mr. Williams’s daughter, Ida, than to let the public come and witness her disturbances.

May she rest in Peace…Or not!

[sirensmojo]

"KINDRED",3 - Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, drugs, romance, drama & cheating.

Word Count: 5K

❰ ​Previous Chapter

*Shelby Brother Company Limited, Birmingham*

“Michael’s a pain in the ass.”

You and Tommy were seated one in front of the other in Tommy’s office, it was almost midnight.

You both stared at each other after your affirmation, the need to formulate words obsolete, when all of a sudden, a hiccup hit your throat.

“Wow.” Your brows raised, along with your free hand, patting over your chest.

Only the booze could bring them to talk, but they would forget everything the next morning, or that, they pretended so. Everything the other would say was rooted in the other’s heart, as a prize.

“I could maybe try something.” You calmly spoke, as if a flash of thunder lightning struck some idea into you.

You two had dirty hands and were capable of taking care of yourselves, but those past three, you got each other’s back.

Without knowing it, you were keeping a close eye on the business of the other just in case.

If the Peaky Blinder found something wrong concerning your business, he would take care of it, in the shadows of course.

No need to tell you he quite cared when he wasn't sure himself.

It was also working the other way, you had ears at each side of the continent, you what had happened to the Shelby politician without him telling you, and straightened back up every shaky thing.

“ ‘Bout what?” Tommy asked, pouring some more whiskey in the cup resting in your other hand.

‘The two partners trying to get rid of Mosley’ had become an excuse. The silence each brought to the other was addictive, and the days between each meeting only amplified that obsession.

“Speak sense to his wife. Given the situation, I think both the weak and tuff points of Michael’s scheme are her.”

Tommy frowned, thinking deeper about what you told. You weren’t entirely wrong, he doubted Michael would’ve betrayed him without the support of somebody.

“He was pushed to one side, a little push to the other one will make him think right.” Y/L/N got further.

An evening meeting was programmed weekly.

You started meeting at the library during the first week. Then, the Shelby Brother Company Limited’s office, catching the attention of another member of the Shelby family.

“You think it’ll be this easy?” The peaky blinder asked, sprinkling ash onto the ashtray that was on the table that separated you two.

“It’ll have to.” You responded.

Polly was the first one to confront Tommy directly about the presence of a very well dressed woman far too often in the offices.

“Her hair is nice.” She added, smoking on her cig looking intently at Tommy's gleaming eyes at the mention of the so-called “librarian”.

Because that was how he presented Y/N. A girl from an aristocratic family searching for exoticism and bought a library.

He and you were to work together solely due to his status at the House of Commons, none more none less.

But the Gray woman knew better, even if she refused to push the matter further.

“May God keep Arthur away from her, he’ll eat her for his lunch.” Pol’ tease before she shook her head at her own statement as Tommy coughed away this whole discussion.

(...)

Three knocks could be heard on the Gray’s room door in the Midland hotel.

The entrance opens, “Told you I’ll join you in a minute, Gin--” Michael’s voice stopped as soon as his wife abruptly pushed her shoulders to his to enter the room.

“What are you doing?” One of his hands was in his suit pocket, the other one grabbing the door handle.

She hassled to the phone, dialling a number without even glancing at the Gray.

“Gina?” Asked the man, looking intently at the movements of the woman, blinking slowly.

She refused to address him, waiting patiently until the person she was calling responded.

“What is going on? What do you mean our contacts were offered another deal?”

Michael went closer, and as he was sitting on the desk chair, leaning backwards on it, he started to understand what was going on.

“Anyway, we can still offer them to prosper durably, that man can’t say the same, right?”

She rolled her eyes at herself after remaining silent for some minutes, she was listening to the individual at the end of the line.

It was more than clear she was done with everything.

She wasn’t even slightly “happy” to be in the shit hole that was Birmingham as she, herself, qualified multiple times. The only reason she was here was that Michael didn’t want to properly betray his cousin.

He convinced her to come here and resonate with Tommy about a “normal succession”, but she knew damn well it wouldn’t work. Why would he give everything he spent so much time to gather under the pretext of succession?

Tommy wasn’t the type to give up things, for any reason.

And now that they were away from New York, their allies already started to forget about their promises…

Why did she even agree to let Tommy a chance?

“He didn’t fall for Michael’s plan. We will have to do it our way.” She seemed happy at least, to finally be able to handle the matter how she wanted to, which was the only good news about this call.

When the receptionist asked for her at the restaurant, she’d expected to be told all was ready there and that Michael would only have to give the order for the plan to begin. But no.

Gina hung up the phone before she lifted her eyes to her husband that was staring at her, patiently waiting.

“It was my uncle, some man going by the name of Haynes met with all of our contacts, offering them a greater alliance directly with the Chinese, without needing us as intermediaries.” She finally spoke.

The younger Gray looked away, clenching his jaw as a hand came over his face. He let out a long sigh, his body voicing his displeasure. But his wife’s hand came on his shoulder as she leaned on his back, and murmured near his ear:

“But. He says it’s looking like the perfect time to launch plan B, baby.” She grabbed his chin as she turned around to stand in front of him.

“He says it’ll show them we can also ‘bang’ if it’s needed. It’ll be like showing our hand, and in this case, this is the thing to do.”

One of her hands was on Michael’s thigh as the other was still holding his face so he was looking at her. It was a way to say “focus on me” without actually saying it.

As the man was diving into her brown eyes, it seemed she succeeded at keeping him from thinking too much. She gave answers before he could even formulate questions.

By his silence, Gina surmised Michael still wasn’t sure about the plan.

“We did it your way Michael, coming all the way up here to your cousin’s chaotic decisions. Things need to get in order, baby. And it seems like you’re the one that cares enough to do so.” The words left her mouth so lightly as she straightened up and turned her back to her husband.

“We need to go back to America as soon as possible. You promised our child will be born there.” She added, glancing at him above her shoulder.

(...)

Arthur and the boys had convinced Tommy to relax at the Garrison after a long day. Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he slammed the doors open to a packed place.

Ahead of them were approximately twenty women, all dolled up as if coming from the Eden club in London. Very short hair with the golden headband with feathers, embroidered pearls on their cotton dresses made it known they were from high society.

Some of them were dancing in the middle of the room, while others were singing on the counter zigzagging between glasses and bottles.

It was the first time Tommy had seen most of those people.

He was actively searching their faces trying to locate the reason for their presence when his eyes confirmed his thought. You were dancing, turning on yourself holding the hand of a taller woman.

You had on a black & red dress going down to your knees with a black and gold headband that flattened your hair, forcing your finger waves to frame your face. Your slow and haunting movements were wrinkling the fabrics, complementing your silhouette.

As you were spinning around, the fringes of your dress were flying in the air as well as your hair, adding to your alluring dance.

Your cheeks, certainly reddened by the alcohol and your half-opened eyes due to you boozing with the huge grin that illuminated your face, made Tommy’s eyes twinkle. As if it was a beautiful night sky full with stars he was looking at.

“Who’s that Tommy?” Arthur questioned entering right after the Shelbys head.

“Get in the room, I’ll bring the bottles.” Tom’s low voice ordered as he motioned to the little room near the counter.

Finn and Isaiah hassled to the room without wasting any more minutes, too appealed by the idea of getting drunk while Arthur leaned to his brother’s ear.

“Look at that butterfly Tommy, isn’t she lovely?” He asked after he caught the reason for Tommy's order.

The latter dismissed the discomfort with a rough cough, turning to his brother.

“What about you fetch the bottles, eh?” He simply put, and that was enough for Arthur to leave it there.

“Whiskey for the peaky boys!” He exclaimed as he patted Tommy’s shoulder. He managed his way behind the counter, after which, he took what he was searching for and disappeared behind the large doors of the little room he closed behind himself.

Tom stayed there, looking at you for some time trying to understand which one of the facades he had seen was the real you.

You were now sitting on your friend's lap, legs crossed, your lips were alternating between a long cigarette holder and a glass of what Tommy surmised to be whiskey knowing the character.

Giving up on searching for an answer, he turned his heels and joined his brothers as if nothing had happened.

(...)

Coming out of the car, you looked both ways before crossing the street and joining the large wooden door, a hand in your suit’s pocket, the other leading a cigarette to your lips.

You pushed in the door and were met by two pairs of eyes. A tall young white man, with a dark-skinned one, wearing berets.

Without second glancing at them, you confidently walked to the stairs at the end of the large room, making this place your own.

Your heels resonated on the cold hard ground, and as they did, each man in the building turned to you, staring in both awe and confusion.

Coming down the stairs, you passed by the three little training rings before you sat down at a little table in front of one of them. It was two men fighting, one who had a luxuriant moustache hiding his upper lips, freckles sprinkling his face.

He was screaming at the other one with a thick Birmingham accent, “Come ‘ere, boy.”

“Hit me! Hit me!” His tone was louder each time.

The poor man ahead of him didn’t dare to punch, which he certainly regretted after he received a strong right fist in the jaw.

Only a couple punches later the loud man succeeded at putting down the other that was wincing in pain.

“Yeaa” The moustache man exclaimed before being interrupted by one of the two boys you saw earlier.

“Arthur! There’s a--” He stopped dead at the sight of you, and you put your cig in between your lips as you got up, beginning to applause.

The sound resonated against the walls as no one was making any noise. You grabbed back the cigarette with your fingers and moved closer.

“Do you fight? I know great opponents,” you paused, feigning to think. “not so sure they will stand even for a round with you.” You clicked your tongue, tilting your head.

They both looked at you up and down for a whole minute before the named Arthur opened his mouth, even if still struggling to properly breathe, he smacked his lips as his hands went flattening his hair.

“Searching for exotism, love?” He grabbed the towel he was handed by a small chubby man with a hat. “Bet you liked what ya see.” Arthur decided to make it normal for a woman to come to sit and watch men fight.

“Indeed.” You let out, a curious gleam in your eyes.

He turned to the man on his side that leaned in his ear, murmuring something.

Arthur let out a deep “Hmm” before he got out of the ring.

He glanced at you and decided to keep up the talk.

“I don’t fight like this, it’s just for---”

“Fun?” You interrupted him, your eyes still fixed on his figure. His stare encountered yours before he put on a shirt. He grabbed the filled cup off the table.

“Curly, Tommy needs you in Charlie’s yard. Finn, you go with them.” He was pointing at the men and to the door up the stairs as if dismissing them.

So the man handed him things was going by “Curly” and the boy, Finn.

“What you doing here? It’s not some place for you.” He buttoned up his pants.

You scoffed at his affirmation, leading him to look up at you.

“I like some good fights, is that forbidden, Mr Shelby?” You came nearer, throwing the rest of your cig in his cup.

You were standing right in front of him, taking the bow tie hanging on the half wall of the ring and slowly led it to his neck. He took a step back, but you stepped forward, blocking him against the ring sides.

“You know Tommy?” Arthur felt the need to say something, the situation being extremely odd to him.

You gently put in place the bow and looked up to Arthur’s face, from his pale skin to his eyes. You stayed there a whole minute, analyzing his soul throughout the blue spring sky of his glassy eyes.

“I’d like to see you fight more. In real rings, Arthur. Why don’t you use the boxing place, it’s not far from here.” You turned your heels, walking back to the chair.

He looked at your figure, his eyes blankly fluttering for a moment. Needless to say, the minute you stared at him was displeasing, he was feeling as if he was robbed of something.

He ignored the warning and grabbed his boots, before he installed himself on the other chair around the little table, wanting to hear more about your offer.

“You fight good, but with some real training you could be something else.” You offered him a cigarette that he refused.

You were testing him from the very moment you put your feet in this cave, from checking how to open his mind was to his relation with poison such as cigarettes.

And now that you know everything you need to know, you could offer something.

“You’re some sort of agent?” He asked, intrigued.

You shook your head “Did you ever imagine women fighting? Just like you did, perhaps slightly better” You questioned, teasing him on the end.

His only response was to look at you in disbelief, and you bet he didn’t even understand what you told him.

“There is a world that exists, right here in Birmingham. Wanna go out and see?” You motioned your head toward the door, inviting him to agree with you.

It wasn’t that hard to convince the elder Shelby brother, he was always open to seeing more of life. Even if that meant to beat the shit outta people, get drunk, fuck the whole city or drowning in drugs.

The thing with Arthur was that he wasn’t careful enough, what told him it wasn’t a trap and that he will not get kidnapped or even killed if he followed you? Nothing. Nothing was ever sure with him, but leaving on the edges was something like his daily prayer, so of course he said yes.

Why in the hell would he say no? Tommy could do without him today.

(...)

Tommy had an unexpected visit from Churchill himself. It seemed like the latter had taken a liking to the head of the Shelbys.

“Do what you have to do, Mr Shelby.” Were Churchill’s words toward the reason for his visit, Mosley.

Indeed, he had thought out a concrete plan. And surprisingly, it was thanks to the books you sent him over the weeks, it was almost worth getting harassed by her over the primar book.

The plan was simple, Mosley will make a speech a week and a half from now, the 6th, in Bingley hall. Taking advantage of an anti-fascist demonstration during the rally, an old war comrade named Barney will shoot, and to be cleared of any suspicion, Thomas will be standing right next to Mosley at the time of his death, making sure he’ll take the head of the fascist union.

Today’s meeting was to explain details of the plan and what needed to be done before the d-day, but Tom didn’t see his brother during the entire day and when he’d asked the boys he was responded that Arthur stayed training some more.

It was hard at times, even for him to understand his older brother.

Not that he wanted to, but normally Arthur would never miss a meeting. The only times he didn’t show up were when he was overwhelmed with dark thoughts, and it wasn’t the right time for something like that to occur.

He decided to come to the pub, hoping to see his brother there, drunk, but not in a random cave trying to end his life.

Tom opened the Garrison’s doors, coughing at the amount of smoke coming in his face. He squinted his eyes, at first searching for a fire, but the more smoke entered his nostrils, the more he recognized the smell of apples and red fruits.

“Arthur, what the hell?” he called.

The place was crowded but Tommy’s eyes were focused on his brother, installed at the table near the windows.

He walked to the table and motioned to the windows. “Open one of these.” He ordered, but his brother didn’t see nor hear him. He was too occupied smoking on what seemed like a pipe with a long tube from where came the smoke.

“Oi!” Tommy yelled.

As everyone around the table turned to him, his eyes met with someone he would’ve never expected to be here.

Y/N was previously actively discussing with some girls when someone shouted into her ear.

You stared at Tommy for what seemed an eternity, he doing the same, both asking themselves what the other was doing here.

“Tommy!” His brother exclaimed, louder than he needed to. But this one was too occupied looking at you to even glance toward his brother, that well noticed the stare between you two.

Arthur managed to get up and pat his brother’s shoulder, welcoming him properly.

That’s when he turned to him, incredulous. His icy blue eyes were piercing his brothers, relentlessly.

“Welcome to the new Birmingham, brother!” Arthur seemed ecstatic. “Did you fucking know there were women fighting too, Tommy?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Arthur.” His brother shook his head, still looking at him.

“Boxing, he saw women boxing for the first time.” You entered the conversation to Tommy's displeasure. He looked over you blankly.

“What the fuck is this?” He pointed to the thing Arthur was smoking from previously.

“It’s called a hookah. Or a shisha in percian.” You responded even though he decided to ignore you for who knows what reason.

“Come on, brother, it’s the good life, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, seeing the face of Tommy next to him.

He ultimately pointed back to the windows, “Open those.” Was all he said before turning back and leaving the pub.

“Sergent Major!” You authoritatively called, the heavy Garrison’s doors making a thud as they closed behind you.

The stars were twinkling dimly in the bright sky, cleared of any cloud. It added phlegm to the frenzied atmosphere between the two individuals.

He was already walking in the opposite direction but immediately stopped at the mention of his Small Heath Rifles’ rank.

Thomas turned back. “What did you say?”

You decide to ignore him and start walking to him.

Each of your steps snapped with the fortitude of an army. And the fineness with which you balance your weight from one foot to the other could bewilder the fiercest individuals, that, he knew.

Not a single ounce of hesitation nor apprehension in your movements.

But the most unsettling thing Tommy found about you was your facial expression. It wasn’t closed off or concentrated, quite the reverse, the spark settling behind your iris could light up any type of darkness and you were undoubtedly giving slices of life to each person you would smile to.

The addition of your features creating a delicate dimension where it was possible to believe the best things could happen.

At that moment, Tom wished he hadn’t seen you at that library. You were something he couldn’t overfly even if he dared to. But for some reasons he wasn’t able to move on, swayings seizing his entire being, physically as well as mentally.

There was just something about this, him and you.

“What the hell did you think, you that act like the most intelligent of all fucking Birmingham and beyond. My fucking brother doesn’t need none of that!” Tommy wasn’t screaming, but you could hear in his deep tone the anger rooted in his throat.

“He doesn’t need it or you don’t want him to have it, Thomas?” You calmly stated, which made him turn his back at you, passing a hand over his face.

You were pushing him to the edge and that made you laugh, which you didn’t even try to muffle.

He turned back to you, eyebrows raised.

“You wanted this.” He pointed you with his index.

He was accusing you of wittingly driving him crazy and you couldn’t even deny it.

You grabbed his finger with your own hand and pushed it down without releasing it.

“No, I counted on it.” You started, your lips curling into a smile that didn’t escape Tommy’s gaze.

“Life’s a succession of wars, Tom. But soldiers too need to relax.”

No one had ever put a finger on that nerve, but here he was, gazing longingly into your orbs, your words resonating within him.

You wasn’t only talking about Arthur and the fact he needed to be distracted to stay away from dark thoughts. You were also talking about him, that didn’t have to take care of everything as you were there now to handle some of it.

“I promise you I know what I’m doing.”

He leaned backwards, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

Why were you promising things now? The last time you two were that close, it was you that ran away, and now you were the one initiating things to drift from professional to personal.

You sighed and looked down. That’s when you realized both your hands were locked together.

You frowned, remaining silent. You were shocked, but not as much as you should. You weren’t totally stupid, the feelings settling in you were pretty clear once you stopped pushing them aside.

Soon enough he followed your stare, noticing the thing as well.

Both of you released at the same time, looking at everything but the other.

Tommy coughed, fighting the will to be the one saying something in this situation. But he didn’t want you to escape him again this time.

“I’m dealing with Arthur, you don’t have to put your nose in my affairs. It’s not part of the deal.”

You’d preferred he hadn’t spoken. You rolled your eyes at yourself before throwing him the “really?” look.

“You can’t even deal with Michael and you’re telling me you’re dealing with Arthur.” You scoffed, putting a hand on your lips to muffle the sound of your laugh.

His body relaxes at your gigglings.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re foolin’?” You couldn’t hold the laugh back any more.

He didn’t respond, nor act on what you just said. He just stares at you, filled with joy at the simple sight of you being vulnerable.

A smile drew at the corner of your lips when you stopped mocking him.

Your eyes fluttered of wellness, as he was just standing close, doing nothing else than breathing.

Tommy grabbed a cig and put it in between his lips, but you hassled to steal it and lock it between yours.

He glanced at you, raising his brows. He was done with you that was for sure. But not in a bad way. You were playing a game and you won the match.

He came lightening up your cig as watching you take a deep and slow puff on it.

You started to walk, going deeper into the street and he started to do the same.

(...)

Michael and Gina were coming back from the restaurant. It was the first time the husband took his wife out to eat in Birmingham as she, obviously, wasn’t a fan of the city.

They didn’t see the time’s flying and it was already ten when they reached the wide glass doors of the hotel.

As they entered it, they noticed it was almost pinched black inside, the only source of brightness emanating from little orangish lights hanging on the walls behind the counter.

Michael glanced left to right at the place, no one to be seen, or so he thought. It was only when Gina stepped foot in, that he glimpsed figures coming out of the dark spots.

They were moving fast, getting nearer the American woman before his husband could do anything to protect her.

“Gina!” Was all he said before she disappeared outside the front doors of the hotel along with the individuals.

(...)

Tommy stops the engine looking straight ahead.

You were looking outside the window, to your large mansion. You managed to glance at the man before opening the door. You were gauging his reaction, almost testing the water all while maintaining the silence.

As the tension couldn’t get higher, you stepped out. You began to move away from the car when you heard its door open, followed by the clearing of a throat you knew too well.

Tommy’s steps on the gravel came nearer and nearer. When you turned the keys in the lock they were right behind. You opened the heavy wooden entry and got in, letting the door open.

The man entered behind your and turned his back at you, closing the door. When he turned back at the entrance, Y/N had disappeared.

He stepped deeper in the house, and joined the living room, where he glimpsed at your figure, your air resting at your back, your fingers over a note on the table.

Tom got closer to you, grabbing your elbow with the tip of his fingers, looking at the paper you seemed focused on.

Done.

You quickly glanced around, as if making sure you were alone. You then turned to him, raising your palm to his cheek, a gentle touch that he didn’t expect, making his lids slowly fluttering.

You took a step forward, leaned towards him and fondled his nose with the end of your own before leading your fingers to his lips.

You closed your eyes, rooting yourself at this moment and forgetting about the library, high society, Mosley, Michael and everything that stood between you.

He was the one to initiate the kiss, the call for you being louder than any other things at the moment. One of his hands slid to the hollow of your back as the other was grabbed by hers.

Fingers intertwined together, breath mixed, lips pressed against one another, heartbeats speeding and a thousand seconds later, you pulled away, slowly raising your gaze to Tommy’s.

The weight this kiss meant dropped on Tom’s shoulder as he, without hesitation, came to taste again the sweet flavour of your lips. You gasped at the connection, the eagerness of the feeling inside your stomach being fed.

You were breathing loudly in his mouth, your hands now grabbing Tommy’s clothes shamelessly.

They both knew there was no turning back and that things got more complicated than they needed to be, but none of them pulled away nor hesitated for even a slight second.

Following Chapter ❱

[yniswaifu]

The bet - 4

F/n couldn't believe her ears when Suna apologised to her. In fact, Suna seemed like the last person to even bother with apologies. Maybe not all hope is lost, there are some people who care.

She stands there awkwardly, while Suna, even though has a poker face, was nervous as well. He himself never thought he would be apologising.

"I...hope you can forgive me one day. You didn't deserve any of that." he says after some time.

F/n, who thought everything was a dream, finally snapped back to reality. "I hope so too. I–I am extremely hurt by all of your actions. But I'm glad you realized how wrong this is. Playing with other's emotions."

Suna nods. If he hadn't noticed her not paying attention to Atsumu, if he hadn't been so bored that led him to instigate the blonde twin, then maybe if wouldn't have come to this. Maybe Osamu and y/n would still be together.

He inwardly smiles thinking about you. You were strong enough to go through with this. To confess about your misdeeds. You almost looked like a warrior princess to Suna.

He looks at f/n, who looked pretty hurt.

"I know. It's my fault. I'm sorry." he says softly.

F/n doesn't say anything, just looks at the floor. She couldn't deny her feelings for Atsumu had faded or vanished. It was still as strong as it was when they were together. But she also couldn't just succumb to the feelings.

"yes. I get it." she replies with wobbly lips. She wanted to cry as the memories of everything comes crashing back.

Suna knew she was not in the best state of mind at the moment. And as much as he wanted to give her emotional support, he felt he's the last person she will need it from. So he pats her shoulder once before leaving her alone to her demise.

As soon as she hears fading footsteps, f/n lets her tears flow freely. She had been holding it all in for the couple past days, but when she heard the apology, she couldn't control herself. Maybe a part of her was relieved to hear someone being apologetic, even though y/n was the first one to do it. But she felt the boys were more responsible than you were, and that made her more mad at the group. How dare they play with her and then act like it's a normal thing.

So when Suna calls her out near the empty staircase and apologizes first thing in the morning, she felt relief.

But then again, a part of her was also frustrated because of the lingering feelings for the boy who played her. Deep down she knows it's not worth it, but if, if only Atsumu himself falls on his knees and beg for forgiveness – she will in a heartbeat.

I don't know if I'm being pathetic or not, she thinks.

***

While walking back to class after making sure she doesn't look like she cried a river in the bathroom, f/n spots two familiar figures in the almost empty corridor. They were talking among themselves and one hit the other on the shoulder, while the other just shrugged.

At that time f/n wished the hallway was crowded so she could blend easily and reach her class. But alas, fate wasn't supposed to be by her side. Y/n spots her, and so does Ginjima – the familiar figures in question.

"f/n, hey!" Ginjima goes.

Y/n side eyes him, noticing the pink tint on his cheeks. She was the only one who knew about his crush on f/n, that had developed long before the bet took place. And because of that, he was the only one in the gang who was unaware of the situation.

F/n frowns at the bright smile. Why is he acting like he has done nothing?

Ignoring the two, she walks past them and enters her class. Y/n sighs, expecting such reaction, but Ginjima was beyond confused.

"did she just ignore us?" he asks you, bewildered.

"she got a good reason for that." you reply, looking at the direction f/n went.

"huh?"

Patting him on the shoulder, you point your head towards the stairs. It was the quietest place in the school, specially the one leading to the terrace. So you two head there, and stop at the base of the staircase leading to the top.

Leaning against the wall, you start telling him everything from the start.

"and that's why she ignored us. She doesn't know that you weren't part of all this." you say in the end.

Your cousin is in shock. He was kept in the dark because if he knew something like this was going to happen, he will try to stop it.

"how could you all do this to her?" he asks you. Then after a second he continues. "I never thought you'd participate too."

Wow, to think he will sound so disappointed.

You rub your face and sighed. "I know, I know. It's sick. And I realized that a little too late. That's why to atone for my actions I told her everything."

Your guilt hadn't left you completely. But a certain amount of burden did.

Ginjima looks at the ceiling, trying to take everything in. His crush was played by one of his closest friend, his cousin was a part of it too but she was also the one who revealed everything, and he didn't know any of it. Great.

"you should tell her you didn't know anything." you tell him. He was a nice guy, and maybe f/n would be better off with him than Atsumu.

"I don't think she will believe me." he replies, giving you a sad smile.

"then I'll talk to her."

Before he could say anything, the bell rang, signalling for the first period. You lightly punch your cousin on his arm and give me a reassuring smile. "leave it to me brother!"

With that, you turn and leave Ginjima alone looking at you wide eyed. If by clearing misunderstandings is what you're supposed to do, then that's exactly what you'll do. And maybe do some matchmaking.

***

The final bell of the day rings. F/n packs her bag and exits the class, when she sees you standing there. You looked serious and nervous.

Tired from the day and wanting to go home as soon as possible, f/n tries to walk past you when you hold her hand, stopping her. "hear me out the last time."

She doesn't look back at you, but after some time retreats her steps and stands in front of you. Crossing her hands, f/n stares at you with a straight face that said hurry up because I don't have all day.

Ouch. To get such a reaction from a junior felt insulting.

"Ginjima wasn't part of the scheme. Don't treat him otherwise." you get straight to the point.

Raising an eyebrow, she kept staring at you. You knew she didn't believe you. "trust me. Gin has had a crush on you before Atsumu even approached you. Because of that, he was kept in the dark. If he knew he would have not let this happen." you continue.

It almost looked like Ginjima was a saint among you all.

F/n's expression changed a little. She knew Ginjima was a sweet guy, and that he was always upfront about his thoughts and feelings. Now that she thinks about it, she felt a little bad for ignoring him at that time.

This is getting tiring, she thinks.

"okay." she says, and walks away. If Ginjima wasn't part of all this then he doesn't deserve the cold treatment. She looks back to where you were standing, and see your shoulders slumped.

To defend her cousin, you made it seem like you're guilty of everything, f/n thinks. I don't know if it's admirable or stupid.

As f/n walked home, everything that happened today played in her mind. First, Suna apologised. Then y/n confesses that Ginjima wasn't part of the scheme and that he liked her.

Her face heats up at the thought of Ginjima liking her. She always thought of him as a friend, but to think someone liked her with pure intentions and not as part of some dare.

"f/n!" someone calls her from behind.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she sees the silver haired boy running towards her.

"f/n..." Ginjima says, stopping in front of her and tries to catch his breath.

F/n smiled. If he was innocent, then there's no reason to not continue being friends.

"hey Ginjima." she greets him.

Ginjima looks at her wide eyed before they returned to normal. "y/n spoke to you huh."

F/n nods. "I'm sorry for ignoring you at that time." she looks at him with a sheepish expression.

Shaking his head, he eyebrows turn into a frown. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I...if I had known..."

F/n smiles and places her hands on his arm. "it's okay. You didn't know. So I'm not mad at you."

"but–"

"but it's fine." she contemplated whether she should confront him about his crush or let it be. She decided to just let it be.

"okay. If you say so." Ginjima replies, looking a little guilty.

She giggles at his expression. "don't look so sad. We're still friends."

That made him smile. Maybe he does have a chance...

"wanna walk me home?" she asks him. He nods, and they walk together, chatting about their day.

***

It was the weekend. the weekend before the national tournament. F/n was at her part time job, trying to focus on her work. But it wasn't possible. All she could think about a certain Miya. Whenever Inarizaki had matches, she would try her best to cheer for him. He would always point to her before his serves, something he hadn't ever done before. It would always make her feel so special.

It was all a lie though.

Sighing, she gets back to work when the door chimes and she says 'welcome' without looking up.

"hey."

Upon hearing a familiar voice, she looks up to see Ginjima standing there with a smile. He was in his volleyball team uniform. So they had a practice in the weekend as well.

F/n smiles and greets him back. "returning from practice?"

He nods, and places a couple of snacks on the counter. The two of them fall into a casual conversation while f/n scans the items.

"I'm kinda nervous for the game, not gonna lie." Ginjima tells you.

You smile and assure him. "you'll do well. Just give your best. After all, you all are practicing so much."

"we gotta win."

"and you will."

"what if we don't."

F/n looks at her friend. He had an anxious look on his face. "if you don't win, then work harder next time."

That makes Ginjima laugh. "aren't you an honest one."

At that f/n too giggles and the both of them are now giggling and laughing. Maybe the tension was being transferred from Ginjima to f/n since both of them seem to have lost it.

"what's taking you so lo–" a voice interrupts the two.

F/n and Ginjima both turn towards the door and sees a familiar person standing. It was Atsumu, the last person f/n wanted to see.

Her face falls in the blink of an eye. She stares at him with wide eyes, as Atsumu does the same. Shit shit shit.

"I'll...be right there." Ginjima finally says, breaking the tension.

Giving her one last look, a look filled with sorrow, Atsumu nods and exits the place. He couldn't bring himself to speak, or he would start crying.

The same went for f/n to be honest. Thankfully she was done scanning the items. Any minute longer and she would have burst into tears. Putting the things in a carry bag, she hands it to Ginjima.

He doesn't move from his place though, after receiving the bag. It was like he was hesitant about something.

"Ginjima?" f/n asks.

Sighing, he looks at her. "will I see you at the game next week?"

It was like he was expecting a negative answer. That's why his face didn't change when she replied–

"no, I'm sorry. I don't think I'll be able to come to tokyo for the game."

He nodded, clearly knowing why she couldn't attend the game. He knew the moment he saw f/n's face change when she saw Atsumu. She was still not over him.

"I see. Very well." he says, a tight smile spreading on his lips.

F/n felt bad for him. She truly did. But she also knew she won't be able to bear seeing Atsumu at the moment. Moreover he still hasn't apologized and she still hasn't forgiven him.

Ginjima exits the store to see Atsumu gone. Suna and Osamu were talking among themselves and the silver haired boy thought about the complicated mess.

"Where's Atsumu?" he asks.

"he said he'll go ahead." Osamu replies.

Nodding, they start walking back home.

Will this ever be resolved?

Poor Ginjima. I'll try to make up for his unrequited love in another fanfic, if I ever get an idea. But it seems things are going to come to a closure, finally.

Oh. Just so you know, chap 3 and 4 are set in different days. So you could say the prev chap was like a filler that takes place after this chap. I hope that clears any confusion you had :).