#no matter what i say harry beat up a drunk person in one of his old cases. no matter what i say

[mihotose]

wait. harry can be racist to kim for not wanting to dance in any playthrough. for real? i only failed that check in my fascist run which made sense but harry. come on

[freedomfireflies]

Insufferable You*

Summary: The third part to Infinite You*

The one where Harry is still in an open relationship with your best friend, so maybe it's time to remind him what he's missing.

Word Count: 7.3k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, edging, spanking, brief exhibitionism, sir kink, masturbation, brief choking

“Kitten…what are you doing?”

Your whimpers are airy. Light. A string of breathless pleas woven between the soft sounds of your fingers fucking into your cunt. And you can’t answer his question. Can’t find the strength to pull yourself away from the pleasure between your thighs.

“Kitten,” he asks again and it’s firm. “Talk to me.”

He’s panting through his request and the sound—the image in your head of the way he must look, fucking his fist to the melody of your voice almost hurts you.

“I’m…I’m playing with my clit,” you answer. He groans. “Just like you do.”

“Just like me, hm?” He curses on his end of the phone and your legs shake. “How?”

“M’pinching it,” you tell him. “And pulling it. The way you like.”

His noises are louder. Needier. He must like the image in his head, too. “God, I’d give anything to see it, baby. Give fucking anything to watch you touch yourself for me.”

Anything. Anything. You shiver. “Yeah? You’d watch me?”

“Mhm.” He’s getting closer and you don’t want this to end. “Sit there on my knees and take every drop in my mouth when you’re done.”

Your hips buck up and your fingers sink deeper. He ruins you even when he’s not here. “I know,” you whisper. Your eyes squeeze shut. “And I’d let you.”

He makes a sound that might be a laugh but could be a strained moan. You aren’t sure. But you don’t really care because it’s beautiful, no matter what it is. “Kitten,” he exhales and your insides twist. “I need you to cum for me, okay? I need to hear you. God, I need to fucking hear you, baby, let me. Come on—”

There’s something in the way he speaks. Like he’s just woken up. Rough and low and thick. He sounds like sex and you miss hearing it in person. But you were desperate—you had to call him. You had to hear him talk you through this moment and you’re so glad you did.

When you cum, it’s everything. Perhaps not as satisfying as when it’s with him, but still euphoric. And your whimpers of pleasure are what send him over the edge.

The phone fills with the sounds of your ecstasy and you wish you could record the way he moans your name. You wish you could bottle this feeling and get drunk on the way he adores you. 

Instead, you indulge in the few moments you have with him. Because you know they won’t last much longer.

“That was good,” you tell him breathlessly and he chuckles. “How are you so good at that? Even over the phone?”

“Could ask you the same thing. Now I’ve got a sticky hand and nobody to clean it up.”

You pout. “Stop, don’t tell me that. It’s not fair.”

He laughs again. “Sorry, Kitten. Couldn’t help it. You all right? You feel better?”

“I do. Thank you for letting me call you.”

“Always.”

Your heart skips. “So…what are you up to today?”

There’s a pause. A long pause and you know what he’s going to say even before he says it. “Rebecca and I are running some errands.”

“Oh.” Oh. Your throat goes dry. “Right…sorry, I’m…you probably need to go, don’t you?”

Another pause. “In a bit,” he says. “After I make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you say far too quickly. And far too obviously forced. “Yeah, no, I’m…duh. Obviously I’m okay now. After…yeah. Okay, sorry. You can…I’ll talk to you later—"

“Kitten.”

You stop. “What? I’m…I’m letting you go—”

“Don’t. I want to talk to you a little longer.”

“But you’re busy—”

“It can wait.”

Swallowing, you whisper, “Harry, I’m…I’m just saying—”

“So am I.” He’s firm again. “Don’t do that. Don’t send me away because of her. We can talk. I promise.”

Your eyes squeeze shut. You force the tears back. Why does orgasming make you so emotional? “I know, I just…she’s there, isn’t she?”

Another beat. “Not in the room.”

“But she’s there. In the apartment. Near you.”

“Yes.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “See, that’s…that’s why I’m letting you go. So you can be with her. Okay? I’ll talk to you later—”

“Kitten.”

“Harry.” You huff if only to make yourself sound stronger than you feel. “I’m okay. You can go.”

“You’re not okay. You’re sad.”

“I’m…no, I’m not sad, I’m just…I’m tired. I came really hard.”

“I know you.”

“Well…you don’t know me that well. Cause I’m fine.”

“Baby—”

“Just go,” you insist. “I promise I’m okay as long as you are. I shouldn’t have called so early anyway, that was…I’m sorry. That was my mistake—”

“You can call when she’s here, you know that—”

“But I don’t want to.”

Another long pause that feels like an eternity. “Okay,” he finally murmurs and you pull the phone away to take in a shaky breath. “But I want your honesty. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“Are you really okay?”

Truthfully, you don’t know. “Yeah, I’m fine. Swear. Thanks for helping me. I’ll talk to you later?”

“You will,” he agrees. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Rebecca’s dinner.”

Fuck. You forgot. “Oh…right—”

“You’ll be there. Right?”

It doesn’t really feel like you have a choice. “I…I don’t know yet, I might be busy—”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t know that. I could have plans.”

“You do. With us.”

Us. Your nose scrunches. “I mean other plans—”

“You don’t.”

“I might—”

“You don’t. If you did, I’d know.”

“Well, that’s presumptuous.”

“Maybe, but it’s true. Because you talk to me. When I ask you a question, you answer honestly. You’re a good girl. I know you.”

Your chest feels tight again. “Well, I don’t tell you everything.”

“You should.”

“You don’t tell me.”

“Because you don’t ask.”

He’s right. You never ask him anything personal because honestly, you’re afraid of what he’ll say.

“Fine,” you agree. “I’ll be there. Are we done?”

He waits a moment before saying, “We’re not done. We’ll discuss this later. But for right now, yes.”

And even if he sounds a bit strict, you can’t help smiling. “Yes, Sir.”

“Mm. That’s my girl. Take it easy today, all right?”

“I will.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, Kitten.”

“Goodbye, Sir.”

He chuckles and you hang up and even despite everything else…you can’t help but grin.

“Oh, my god. He does. Every time. He’s got such a weird thing with feet.”

You laugh. “It wasn’t so bad at first. But then he got a little too comfortable—”

“No, he does that. He really does.” Rebecca smirks as she throws the freshly chopped carrots into her pot. “And it started out cute, but now…”

You both glance into the living room where Harry is relaxing on the sofa. He’s smiling as he watches the two of you work on the food and even if he can’t hear you, he must know you’re talking about him.

“It’s still cute,” you argue in his defense. “Gross…but cute.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I guess he can be cute when he wants to be.”

You grin together and this feels good. You’ve missed your friend. You’ve missed having someone to laugh with, gossip with. And maybe it was strange at first, to come into their apartment and talk to your best friend about sleeping with her boyfriend.

But after a minute or two, you settled right back into the familiar rhythm of your friendship. And it almost felt…normal. 

“Has he done the thing where his left leg starts to shake when he gets overstimulated?” she asks and you nearly snort. 

“Oh, my god. Yes. The other day. I thought he was having a heart attack.”

“It’s the funniest thing. It just started, too. Couple years ago. He swears it doesn’t but like…I can see it.”

“It’s quite the tell,” you agree and you can’t help the way your eyes drift back to where he’s lounging on the sofa.

He notices and smirks at you.

“What?” you call.

He shrugs. “Nothing. You girls are cute, that’s all.”

“Bite me,” Rebecca says and he chuckles. “We’re not cute. We’re hot.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees. He leans forward. “Let me guess. You’re telling her about the leg thing?”

“Yup. And I was right,” she says smugly. “She sees it, too.”

His eyes roll but he smiles at you. “It’s not that bad—”

“No, it is,” she argues. “You look like a dog. A very cute dog, but still.”

He laughs a little louder and you’re almost jealous of their dynamic. A dynamic you’ve been witness to for almost five years. And it’s never made you jealous before.

But now…

She puts the soup on simmer and grabs your hand to lead you to the living room. “I told you we were gonna gossip about you,” she reminds him. “All good things, don’t worry.”

“I’m sure.” He smiles at you both as you take a seat on the sofa. She flops down right beside him while you cautiously sit on the other end. Exactly where you’d been that first day you agreed to this arrangement. “This is nice,” he says.

She hums. “Yeah, it feels like old times.” She glances toward you. “And it’s not weird…is it? I mean, you feel okay?”

Feeling a little hot under the spotlight, you swallow and force a quick shake of your head. “No, this is…it’s good. This is fun.”

However, she knows you better than anyone and her brows pull together as she studies you. “Do you have any questions? Or anything we can clear up?”

“Uh…I don’t know.” Truthfully, you don’t want to ask. “Is it…is it weird for you guys?”

They both shake their heads, almost as if in sync, and you resist the urge to scrunch your nose.

“Do you…have any regrets?”

“No,” she says and Harry agrees. “None. Do you?”

“No,” you echo. “No, I just…I don’t know. This still kind of feels like cheating.”

They exchange a glance and your heart skips. You’re even jealous of the way they look at each other.

“Rebecca and I have always agreed that whatever the other decides to do is their business,” Harry says. “As long as we communicate, there's freedom there. No judgment, no expectations, no regret.”

“And no jealousy,” she adds, offering you a soft smile. “Or shame. Or anything like that.”

You nod and pick at a loose string on your jeans. “And are you two…I mean do you still…”

“No,” she assures you and you’re thankful she figured out what you meant. “No, we haven’t in a few weeks.”

“Oh…because of me?”

She shakes her head while Harry says, “Not entirely. Most of it is for safety reasons. Keeping things clean and respectful. But it’s also one of our rules.”

“Rules?”

“We have a few rules we like to follow,” she explains. “It just makes it easier. Sometimes it can be tricky and this helps keep us on the same page.”

“And no sex is one of them?”

“Kind of. We don’t sleep together if one of us is seeing someone else. Well, no penetration, anyway.”

You hate the way your stomach sinks. “Oh. And…do you date other people…a lot?”

He looks over at her and she thinks. “Not…really?” she says. “I don’t think, anyway.”

“Jack was the last guy you were with, right?” Harry asks and she snaps her fingers.

“Jack. Right. Yeah. He was cute. And then yours was…Angie? I think?”

He nods. “Last year.”

“She was nice.”

“She was…sure. Yeah. She was nice.”

Rebecca laughs and he grins proudly, happy to have made her laugh. Your nose scrunches.

“She wasn’t that bad,” Rebecca argues. “She was just put in a weird position.”

“Literally and figuratively.”

She smacks his arm playfully and he pinches her thigh. You want to look away. 

“Either way,” she finally says, “we don’t very often. And I don’t think of it as cheating. Especially not with you. Because I know he’s a good partner and I know that you deserve someone as kind as he is.” 

He gives her a grateful grin before returning his attention to you. “We can stop if you want. Because I agree with Bex. I wouldn’t want to lose you as my friend and if you feel pressured or unsure—”

“I don’t,” you nearly rush to argue. “No, I don’t, I…I’m just really struggling with the dynamics of it. I guess.”

“Trust me, I get it,” she says gently. “It was a bit of a learning curve for us, too. Harry can get incredibly jealous.”

You’re tempted to tell her that you already know but you watch his reaction instead.

His eyes roll but then his stare returns to you and he winks, as though he’s recalling the same memory you are. 

It makes your skin feel warm.

“Oop, hold on. I gotta check the soup,” Rebecca suddenly exclaims before jumping off the sofa to rush back to the kitchen.

And now left alone together, your attention is drawn back to the tall, handsome man you can already feel staring at you.

“Any more questions?” he asks softly. He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees and somehow, even that makes you feel safer. 

“Just one,” you murmur and he nods. “Does this mean you and I are…dating? Or are we just fucking until I can find somebody else?”

There’s a slight edge in your voice that you hadn’t meant to be there, but he picks up on it instantly.

“Are you looking for somebody else?” he asks.

“Not really. But this whole thing started because you both felt bad for me,” you remind him. “And it’s been a lot of fun. Honestly. But you are kind of on loan. I just…I’m not sure what this makes our situation. If we’re just fucking…or more.”

He takes a moment to think about his answer, eyes flicking between yours almost as though studying you. “Would you like there to be more?”

You bite back huff. He’s very good at redirecting. “I don’t know. Would you?”

“I think more can get complicated.”

Your feel your expression fall. “Right.”

“And I don’t want to lose you from my life for good,” he continues. “You know that. Neither of us want to lose you—”

“Right, yeah. It’s fine. Forget I asked.”

He’s frowning now. “Kitten, don’t do that—”

“No, really,” you argue. “It’s fine. You’re right. Let’s just keep it like this until I can find somebody else.”

The frown turns into a glare. “Kitten—”

“Okay, soup is almost done,” Rebecca announces as she returns. This time she sits next to you and throws an arm around your shoulder. “What did I miss?”

The tension is palpable. You speak first. “I was just telling Harry that I might not need his services much longer.”

Rebecca’s eyebrows raise while Harry’s scowl deepens.

“Oh?” she asks.

You nod. “Well, seeing as we don’t want to do anything to ruin the friendship…I thought I’d give Ethan a call.”

It’s mean and perhaps a bit cruel, but you can’t help yourself. You aren’t trying to hurt him. Because he is right. And don’t want to lose him for good, either, and all this evening has truly done is prove how close he and Rebecca actually are.

You’ll never be able to compete with five years of love and affection. And maybe you don’t want to.

Maybe it’s time to move on.

“Ethan?” Harry repeats while Rebecca perks up.

“Yes,” she squeals excitedly. “Oh, I was hoping you would. He’s so nice, I think you guys would be perfect together.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a pointed look at Harry. “I think so, too.”

He knows what you’re doing. You can tell. And he’s oddly calm as he leans against the cushions and tosses his arms over the back of the couch. “And who the fuck is this Ethan?”

“Guy from my work,” you answer, equally as calm. “Nice. He’s been asking me out for a while.”

“A while.”

“Yeah, a while.”

His brows furrow. “So why do you want to go out with him now?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “He was never really my type before but we’ve gotten closer recently. I think it’s only fair I give him a real chance.”

“Really?” He’s curious. Maybe skeptical. “Now?”

You nod. “That way the three of us can preserve our friendship. Since that is the most important thing.”

“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” Rebecca tells you and hugs you to her side. “You’ll have to let us know how it goes.”

You grin and it’s all teeth. “I will.”

Dinner is nice. Tense but nice. You and Harry spend a majority of the meal exchanging icy glances and keeping to yourselves, leaving Rebecca to do most of the conversing.

And she doesn’t seem to notice. That or she merely pretends not to. She catches you up on some drama at work. Teases Harry about his sleep talking. Says she’s planning to visit her parents in a few weeks and then gives you the recipe for the soup.

And you and Harry nod politely, despite the unspoken rage from your ends of the table.

When dinner is finished, Harry offers to clean up and do the dishes. She kisses him on the cheek gratefully and says she’s gonna go take a quick shower since she’s got an early day tomorrow. She tells you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like and then she hugs you tightly and whispers, “I’m so glad we’re still friends.”

You hug her back and agree.

The moment she’s gone, Harry sets down his sponge and turns to you. “Come here.”

You hesitate by the front door, itching to escape. But he’s firm as he watches you from the sink, eyebrow raised and jaw clenched, leaving you no choice but to listen.

“Kitten,” he repeats. Lower. Sterner. “Come. Here.”

You take a tentative step toward him. “What?”

“We need to talk.”

“Do we?”

“Kitten.”

You huff and throw your purse back down. “I really don’t think we need to—”

“I don’t care what you think. I’m telling you that we’re gonna have a chat and you’re gonna come in here like a good fucking girl and talk to me.”

This is how he gets you. This is how he pulls your strings and turns you around until you obediently join him in the kitchen. Like a good fucking girl.

Satisfied, he leans back against the counter. “Now. What’s this Ethan shit you pulled?”

“It’s not shit, it’s real,” you huff. “He really did ask me out and I really am going to say yes.”

“But you haven’t yet.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I told you. He wasn’t my type—”

“No, I want the real answer.”

You frown. “That is the real answer—”

“No,” he repeats. “It’s not. And you know it.”

You cross your arms and look down at your shoes. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. He wasn’t my type but now he is.”

The argument lulls and the small kitchen falls silent. You hear him sigh and it almost hurts to hear how heavy his disappointment hangs.

But a moment later, he’s slipping his fingers beneath your chin and raising your eyes to his. They’re soft. Serene. Filled with everything he can’t seem to find the words to say and you hate how quickly your body begins to crave him.

“You aren’t being honest with me, baby,” he murmurs. Your lashes flutter. “You aren’t communicating with me. And I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say and he sighs like he knows this is a lie. “Really, I just…I know myself. If I don’t put a bit of distance between us…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe on my own.”

This makes him sad and it hurts you to know you’ve made him sad. “Kitten,” he whispers. He steps closer until his chest is brushing against yours. “If I’m doing something wrong—”

“You’re not. That’s the problem.” You swallow and he brushes his thumb along your jaw. “You’re doing everything right and I’m worried I’m gonna want you in ways that I shouldn’t.”

“Do you not want to want me?”

“Not…like that,” you admit. “Not when you’re still hers.”

He frowns. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about anyone else—”

“But I do. Because at the end of the day, you’re still her Harry. You’re on loan to me until one of you decides you shouldn’t be anymore—”

“Kitten—”

“And I can’t be with you in any way but physically. You said so yourself. More would get complicated and even if you wanted to be with me…I don’t think I could share you.”

 He considers this. A long moment passes. “So you’re punishing me,” he says. “You’re going out with this Ethan guy to prove that you don’t need me.”

“What? No.” You lean back but he doesn’t let go of your chin. “I mean…okay, maybe I wanted to piss you off a little but I really do think I need to be with someone else in order to truly move on. I’m not punishing you. I’m…obeying you. If anything.”

He scoffs. “If you really wanted to obey me, you would have talked to me about what you were feeling.”

“I tried. You said more would get complicated.”

“It could. There’s always that risk. But I never said it wouldn’t be worth it.”

“So…what? You’d date me?”

“Of course.”

The answer is quick and it surprises you but it doesn’t seem to surprise him.

You blink. “You…really? You would date me? Like…officially?”

“I would.”

“And…what about Rebecca?”

“What about her?”

“You’d…you’d still be with her? Right? Even if we were together?”

He seems to know what you’re implying and sighs quietly. “Yes. I would.”

“And even if you weren’t…I’m assuming you would still want to be in an open relationship with me?”

Another pause. “Probably,” he admits, and even if you knew it was coming, you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes. “That’s just the agreement I’ve always felt most comfortable with—”

“And that’s fine. I get it,” you assure him. You sniffle and he seems to wilt. “Really. I just…like I said, I don’t do well with sharing and if…if all we’re doing is fucking, I might as well just find somebody else, right? So that way the three of us can stay friends. And it doesn’t have to get weird.”

“I understand,” he says and you know he does. “I do, Kitten. And I would never keep you in a relationship you’re not comfortable in.” A beat. “But I can’t say that I like the idea of you going out with this guy.”

You smile. Gently. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

He looks down at you and takes your cheek in his hand. “You’re my girl,” he says. “No matter what. If you’re with me or not with me. You’re my fucking girl. And he doesn’t deserve even a second of your time.”

You fight a large grin and cling to his shirt. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because.” You play with his buttons. “You don’t get to be jealous when you’re still with her.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna like seeing you with someone else.”

You pout. “That’s not fair, Harry.”

“I know.” He brings his lips to yours. They hover—close—but never make contact. “I can’t help it. Can’t ever seem to help it when it comes to you.”

You want to push up and take his kiss, but he teases you just a little longer. “Harry—”

“Do you know that, Kitten?” His hands drop to your waist and he squeezes. Even though Rebecca is only two rooms away. Even though you can hear her humming in the bath. Even though he can never be yours. “Do you know how much I think about you?”

You swallow. Thick.

“How I think about the way you asked me to take care of you…” He ghosts his mouth down your neck. “The way you begged me to be rough….to spank you. Choke you. Degrade you.”

His voice is a sin and your eyes fall shut.

“Do you want me to degrade you, baby?” His fingers slip beneath your shirt. “Do you want me to pull you on my lap and spank you until you’re crying?”

The image in your head is somehow even better than his taunting. Your knees about buckle. “Harry…”

“You can find somebody else if you want to,” he whispers. “But do you really think they’ll be able to care of you the way I do? The way you want? The way you deserve?” 

His kisses find your chest while his knee slots between your thighs.

“I know how naughty you really are, baby girl,” he says and it’s over. “He will never know.” 

You grab his hair and he grabs your hips and you’re on the counter before you can even whisper his name. He pushes the hem of your dress up and guides your legs apart. He makes a home there, finger curling around the crotch of your panties in order to get a taste and it’s magic. Always.

And he does this to you only a few hundred feet away from where his girlfriend is innocently taking a shower. He does this, knowing she could walk out and see. He does this and you let him do this because there is no world in which you stop him.

“Harry,” you say—whimper—and he hums. His tongue licks up your cunt and your head drops back. “Har—wait—”

He doesn’t. He holds your thighs beside his cheeks and he sucks on your clit until you begin to squirm. “You promised to stay for dessert,” he says. “This is my dessert.”

The sounds are loud and beautiful and his curls feel good in your hands. You feel good in his.

Things fall to the ground. Bowls, pots, containers. He grins. He likes this, the danger. And he knows you like it, too. Because if you really wanted him to stop, he would. 

But you don’t. And you yank him closer to your pussy as though this will be the last time he ever gets a taste.

And deep down, you wonder if it is.

Either way, you enjoy his tongue and his lips and the tip of his nose that nudges your clit so expertly. You wonder how it’s possible to be so addicted to a man you’re not even with. A man that only recently started fucking you and a man that you’ve only ever considered a friend.

Part of you wants to get caught. Part of you wants things to implode. To believe that he’s doing this because he wants her to find out. Because what would happen if she saw? What would happen if he realized he wanted to end things? Would he be yours? Would he decide that your time and your heart and your pussy were infinitely more important than his sexual prowess?

You scrunch your nose. These are all the wrong questions. Harry doesn’t work like that. He never has and you can’t expect something from him that he won’t ever give you.

You return your focus to him. To the way his large hands are curling around your thighs and hoisting them up on the counter. You love his hands. You think they might be your favorite hands in the world.

They’re so gentle but strong. Practiced. You know they’d look good anywhere on your body. Your thighs, your chest, your throat…

You whimper at the thought and he glances up. He’s proud again. Drenched in your arousal and the evidence of your lust for him.

He moves his mouth to the inside of your leg and nips. He leaves marks and memories along the soft skin and you can’t wait to stare at them whenever he’s not around. The way he makes you his in the only way he can.

And you’re so close. You aren’t even sure how he got you here so quickly but he always seems to. And you don’t mind. Instead, you fist his hair and you buck against his tongue and he’s going to make you cum all over his girlfriend’s kitchen counter.

And then he stops.

He stops, he lets you go, and he pulls away.

Your heart drops to your toes as the orgasm fizzles down to nothing. “What…what are you—"

“Get down,” he says curtly. He slaps your outer thigh. “We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t tell you where you’re going. And you don’t ask. Instead, you watch as he wipes his mouth and disappears from the kitchen to wait by the front door.

After straightening your dress and readjusting your underwear, you scurry to his side with a fretful glance toward the bathroom. “Shouldn’t you tell her you’re going?”

He smiles. “She’ll figure it out.”

With that, you leave their apartment so he can take you back to your place and he keeps his hand on your thigh the whole drive. You wonder if he merely wants to keep some sort of claim on you or if it’s habit. 

Either way, his thumb rubs circles into your skin, right over the dark spots made by his lips and you smile. You want to lace your fingers with his. Want to hold his hand and pretend like the two of you are on your way home from a date. To pretend like this is normal—an everyday occurrence.

But you lose your nerve and soon, he’s pulling into the parking lot.  

“I want you upstairs,” he says and gives you a pointed look. “On the bed. Naked. And waiting for me by the time I come up.”

You nod quickly. “Okay. Are…am I in trouble—”

“That depends on if you obey.” He unlocks the door. “So let’s hope you do.”

Swallowing a giddy grin, you scurry from the vehicle and into your building. You don’t bother with tidying up or adjusting your appearance. You run straight into your bedroom, rip off your clothes, and spread out into a starfish position on the bed.

You hear him follow not much later. Slow, deliberate steps. Meant to taunt you, tease you. Make your stomach flip. And it works.

When you see his tall, muscular figure in the doorway, your pulse skips.

Smiling, you call, “Hi, Sir—”

“No speaking,” he says shortly. “Unless I say otherwise. Is that understood?”

“Yes—no—sorry, I’m…” You stop. Nod. 

He frowns but you know it’s only to hide a smirk. “Don’t test me, Kitten. You’ve already done that enough this evening, have you not?”

Another nod.

“And you knew better, didn’t you?” He walks into the room and begins to unzip his jeans. “Knew better than to dangle fucking Ethan in my face.”

You nod again but your eyes are trained on his hands. On the fingers that pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head.

“And you fucking knew…that if I got a taste of such a sweet pussy…I’d never stop,” he murmurs. He crawls onto the bed, wearing nothing more than his briefs. “That I’d forgive you. And let you off the hook.”

You don’t nod this time. You can’t. You’re too far gone in the lust in his eyes. The gentle green that’s now dangerous and luring you in.

“Well,” he whispers and then he smiles. “You thought wrong.”

He grabs your thighs and flips you over. Before you know it, you’re on your stomach, head spinning, while a large palm comes down in a sharp smack to your ass.

You jolt. Shriek. 

“Easy,” he says and he’s kinder now. “You’re gonna take your punishment like a good little whore, aren’t you?”

Now you understand. You see. And you settle onto the bed as he smooths the stinging print with the soft of his hand. 

You nod.

“Good.” He spanks you again. “I think we should do one for every time you lied to me. For every time I asked for the truth…and you refused to give it to me.”

Your lashes flutter. You suppose that’s only fair, although in your defense, the truth would have only hurt him.

“Let’s see…we’ll start with five,” he says and you exhale a sigh of relief. “Because I know you don’t mean to be a bad girl, do you?”

You whimper.

“You want to be good. Want to behave for me.” He spanks you. Number three. “You want a lot of things from me, don’t you? And maybe I’m bad, too. For not being able to give them to you.”

The air in the room shifts and you attempt to glance back.

However, he lays another firm smack to your ass before you can and then squeezes your hip. “Come on, you’re almost done,” he coos. A beat passes. “Do you remember me mentioning the traffic light system?”

You nod.

“Red for stop, yellow for pause, green for good, keep going?”

Nod.

“Good. Then I want you to use your words and tell me what color you are right now. Honestly.”

“Green,” you whisper, then clear your throat and speak louder. “I’m green. Honestly.”

He hums. “And you’re gonna take your last strike, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you’re gonna thank me for being so generous to such a selfish fucking whore?”

Your cheeks flush. Oh, he’s very good. “Yes, Sir.”

You still can’t see him but you can imagine his grin.

The last spank of his hand lands against your tender skin and somehow…it feels good. There’s something delicious about his pain. About the way he inflicts it. The way your body responds to it.

You groan—moan—and finally manage, “Thank you, Sir.”

He purrs something devious as he strokes the spot and begins to kiss his way up your spine. “Good fucking girl,” he breathes. The exhale of his praise dances across your back and you shiver. “Took your punishment so well. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Bet you even fucking liked, dirty thing. Didn’t you?”

You nod again and feel his knee begin to nudge its way back between your thighs. 

“Let’s check, shall we?” His fingers move now for the mess you already know is there. And when he feels it, he curses. “Fucking shit, Kitten, you’re soaked.”

You are. You are soaked and you’re making a mess of your duvet and his knee and he still hasn’t let you cum yet and you think you might die if he waits any longer. 

“Harry,” you nearly cry. “Please…please…”

He brings his kisses to the back of your neck. To the place below your ear that makes your stomach flip. He kisses. Sucks. Nips and violates the skin with his teeth.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay, but only because I know you need it.”

You nod again and begin to turn over. He goes to stop you—he wants to try from behind—but you insist.

“I want to see your face,” you say. “Please, I just…I need that tonight.”

The softness in his eyes and the fall of his expression almost hurts you. You don’t want to cause him pain or confusion. Ever.

But he’s not confused. He understands. And he agrees because maybe he needs it, too.

You pull him out of his briefs and he hikes your leg around his hip. Until the heel of your foot is digging into his ass and pulling him forward.

When he first pushes in, you both take a moment of silence to appreciate the beauty of your bodies connecting.

Harry was once your best friend and now he’s something else entirely. A completely different entity and you never imagined you’d see his cock disappearing into your cunt but now you don’t want to imagine his cock anywhere else.

When he’s about halfway in, he pulls back out and begins a steady pace. He’s large and he knows you need a moment or two to find the pleasure before he picks up a faster rhythm. So, he puts the focus on you. On your clit, on your thighs, on the way his lips feel against yours.

He kisses you—soft, sweet. Gentle. And then he kisses your neck. Your chest. Plays with your tits and whispers about how good they feel in his hand.

Then, he buries himself to the hilt as his hips find yours.

You arch and he catches you. There are more kisses, more soft murmurings. And there’s an intimacy here that doesn’t feel like sex. It feels like making love, a term you once scoffed at but now indulge in. Because maybe he does love you, in the only way he knows how. Maybe he does choose your body over hers. Maybe this was the best thing that ever could have happened to you. 

You grab his hand and bring it to your throat. Pointed enough that he knows what you want and after a quick glance for consent…he squeezes.

Your lashes flutter and you press on his knuckles. Harder. He obeys.

And you were right. His hand does look good on your body. A necklace to wear proudly and he whispers your name before tightening his grip and allowing the sides of your sanity to go fuzzy before loosening his fingers. 

You breathe. Deep. The air tastes like him and you love it.

He smiles. “You okay?”

“More than okay. That was…shit, I really like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Probably cause you’re doing it.”

He uses this hold to kiss you and it’s a mess of tongues and spit and loud sucking. It makes you giggle.

“You’re making this very hard for me,” he suddenly whispers.

“Well, I prefer you hard.”

He smirks, but this is not what he means. “I want this to work.”

“I know. I do, too.”

He surges forward—a sharp thrust. “It can’t work if Ethan’s in the picture.”

Oh. “Why? Because you need room for Rebecca?”

He sighs and you hate how sad it sounds. “I know I’m not being fair—”

“You’re not.”

“I can’t help it—”

“Well, neither can I.”

He stops for a moment and looks at you. “You have every right to go out with him. I know that. But I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you do.” He continues to roll his body against yours and you want to purr. “So I want to make a deal.”

“Okay…”

“If you go out with Ethan, you go out with me,” he says. “If you date him, you date me. And I’ll play nice. I’ll share. But only until you realize he’s a waste of time.”

You run your fingers along his shoulders. Along his back. Along the curve of his ass. You think about his proposition. It sounds good, it does. A way to keep him while also keeping your options open. 

Because maybe this way, it won’t hurt so much when he still goes home to her.

“Can I think about it?” you ask. 

He kisses you. “Of course. Always.”

You resume the languid but fervent pace he previously set. He squeezes your neck whenever he wants to hear you whimper and you scratch your nails down his spine whenever you want him to groan.

And it’s perfect. Truly. Because while you’re on this date with Ethan, he’ll be able to see the marks Harry left on your throat.

And when Harry goes back to Rebecca, she’ll see the scratches down his back made by your hands.

You can’t help but feel satisfied with the idea and it brings you that much closer as Harry presses your hips to the bed and begins to fuck into you harder.

He readjusts his stance above you, knees deep into the mattress and hands clutching the sheets beside your waist. And every thrust is purposeful. Hard. Beautiful. The sounds are symphonic and when you look down to see, you nearly mewl. The way his cock is absolutely fucking covered in you, slipping in and out of your cunt with ease and determination. 

He’s beautiful when he’s focused. When he’s about to cum. You just want to kiss him and hold him and love him and be his.

And you fucking hate it.

“Need you to cum, baby,” he whispers and you nod in agreement. “Can you do that?”

“Yes….yes, Sir,” you stammer, already feeling the overwhelming power creep up your thighs. “I’m…I—”

“I know. I know, come on—”

You do. Just like that. Unravel like a spool of thread and dissolve into nothing but pleasure beneath him.

But you don’t feel him follow. In fact, he continues fucking you through your high until he suddenly pulls out and comes all over your swollen pussy.

It’s the most mesmerizing thing you think you’ve ever seen. The sticky substance paints your cunt in masterful strokes. Glistening from your body, your clit, your thighs like stars.

And you want to be disappointed that he didn’t finish inside but soon you understand why.

He takes your hand. Moves it closer and presses your fingers into the mess. 

“Touch it,” he whispers. “Fuck it back in.”

Your eyes widen. He smiles but the look in his eye is mischievous and deranged.

“Go on, Kitten,” he says. “I wanna watch.”

Your arms are shaking. In fact, every part of you is still shaking from your orgasm but you obey. You slowly—very slowly—begin to circle your touch around your clit. Feeling the way it nearly throbs as you stimulate it. As you force it into more pleasure.

Harry’s attention is glued to the show before him as he swallows thickly and you swear you can almost see his heart beating against his chest like a cartoon.

You move down. Collect as many drops of him as you can and slowly begin to ease two fingers into your fluttering hole.

When you reach the knuckle, you gasp and he exhales. 

It’s perfect.

He scoots back until he can lay on his stomach and place his cheek against your thigh. Close. Close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your hand.

And he watches. Happy. A lazy smile on those beautiful, pink lips. Lashes fluttering every time you whimper or whine.

“I…I can’t,” you whisper. The sensations are too strong. You’ve already cum once, you can’t possibly cum again so soon.

He hums. “Yes, you can. Let me see, baby. Let me watch.”

And you almost want to be embarrassed but something else seems to take over your mind entirely and you can’t help but go faster.

You pinch and curl and flex. You push his offering as far into you as you can reach and then you push in a little more. And it’s easier this time, even if it almost hurts. But you cum. You do, right in front of his very eyes until he’s quickly grabbing hold of you as though he’s desperate to be closer.

You’re more than a puddle this time. You’re practically limp but you’re also so incredibly happy. And he smiles brightly as he pulls your fingers away and puts them in his mouth.

You don’t even have the energy to make a noise this time. You merely watch him—content—until he starts kissing down your palm, along your arm, and to your chest.

Then, he pulls you into his embrace and you both indulge in a moment of peace. 

You’re both quiet for a while. Even after your heartbeat has steadied. Even after the sweat on your skin has dried and the room no longer feels so warm. 

You run your fingers down his torso. Along the dips and curves of his muscles that seem more defined every time you see him. 

“You’re insufferable,” you finally say and he laughs. The sound bounces between the walls of your room—joyous and unencumbered—and it makes you giddy. He doesn’t laugh like this for her. “What? You are.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Another beat. Longer.

Then, you whisper, “Okay.”

He looks down. “Okay?”

“I’ll agree to your deal.”

“Really?” He’s grinning again. Big.

“Mhm. As long as I get to keep you in some way…maybe it’ll be worth it.”

He seems to sadden at the use of the word maybe, but he brushes it off before you can comment on it. Instead, he pulls you closer and kisses you hard. Forever. 

And maybe…this won’t be so bad.

Previous Part:

~ Insatiable You* (Pt. 2)

~ Full Infinite You Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @buckybarnessimpp @hannah9921

[bridenore]

HD Party Games fic recs

Here are a few drarry fic recs in which party games play an important part. Listed in alphabetical order, as always.

Back to You by @aibidil & daisymondays [8k]

The eighth years make Harry and Malfoy go head to head and back to back in a question-and-answer drinking game. The worst that can happen is they end up drunk, right?

Boom Clap (The Sound of My Heart) by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [39k]

Post-war Hogwarts has been energized by its new teaching fellows program. Where once bitter enmity divided the wizarding community, Malfoy and Potter chummily patrol hallways together whilst Granger and Zabini seek lost parts of the castle at McGonagall’s behest and Chang supervises Quidditch when not lecturing in Charms. It’s a veritable wizarding utopia and life is predictable for the first time in years. Which is, of course, when everything blows apart as the result of a drunken dare and Malfoy’s life is ruined beyond his capacity to repair it. Ever. In a million years.

check this hand 'cause I'm marvelous by @lqtraintracks [7k]

Harry's had a crush on Malfoy for months now. But it will take a bar full of his friends, some Firewhisky, wagers made on his behalf, and Malfoy himself to get him to act on it.

Erase the Shame by FleetofShippyShips [6k]

An Inter-House unity party is the last thing Draco wants to go to. It's not long into a game of Truth or Dare when he is reminded why. But maybe his dare is worth it after all.

Exceeds Eggspectations by Elle Gray (LGray) [61k]

Eighth year. Winter. Christmas has been and gone. Harry’s just been dumped and so has Malfoy. There’s a stupid fake baby assignment to be done, and what’s the harm in doing it together, really, when life is this shit already? This is not slow burn, this is a roman candle pointed at a pile of dry twigs that represent your heart.

Games Night by @agentmoppet​ [6k]

Harry has no idea why Hermione decided that an inter-house Games Night would be a good idea, but he’s here now, and he intends to beat Malfoy, no matter what game he chooses. But, who would have thought muggle games could be full of so much... tension?

How to Handle an Enemy by who_la_hoop [7k]

Everyone knows that it’s no fun playing truth or dare with a Slytherin. But add a little Veritaserum, a scheming duo of Slytherin girls and surprising things can be revealed. Particularly about the fine line between love and hate… Turnbout Is Fair Play by who_la_hoop [10k]   After a – cough – revealing game of truth or dare instigated by  his fellow Slytherins, Draco Malfoy finds himself in possession of a).  the interesting knowledge that a certain Gryffindor horror may not be as   immune to his personal charms as hitherto suspected and b). the   password to the Gryffindor Tower. But Draco makes a fundamental error   when he decides to make use of these facts.

Love, Harry by Zzzara [26k]

Harry Potter keeps a huge secret: that scary thing he can’t tell anyone about. Until a mysterious penfriend changes his life, because he keeps a secret, too.

Never Have I Ever Thought That You Might Want Me, Too by @drarrymyheart [8k]

“When it’s his turn, Ron gives Harry an ominous look. “Never have I ever wanted to kiss any of the boys in this room.” Harry freezes. Dean, Seamus, Hermione, Hannah, Pansy, and even Blaise are all immediately lifting their drinks. Malfoy moves to pick his up as well and Harry tracks the movement as if watching in slow-motion…The ridge of Malfoy’s bottle of cider pushes against his lower lip as he takes a sip. Harry nearly groans. Steeling himself, Harry drinks.” Harry and the crew take a ski trip. Harry can’t seem to keep his eyes and thoughts off a certain blonde.

One Night at the Leaky by birdsofshore [41k]

Harry should have known better than to accept a drunken dare. Especially when Malfoy was sitting right there, looking like that and wearing those bloody tight trousers. 

A Perfectly Valid Dare by kitty_fic [5k]

“It’s a perfectly valid dare,” Pansy says, and somehow she looks like she actually believes what she says. “I am not doing that,” Draco insists. He really has no idea when daring someone to wank in Harry Potter’s bed became a perfectly valid dare?

Right Hand Red by @lqtraintracks [73k] 

Harry felt Malfoy’s breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory. Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy. Malfoy felt inevitable.

Silk Scarves and Enchanted Handcuffs by TommyLane [28k]

It was only supposed to be for seven minutes and then the blindfold would come off and he'd be free from the dark cupboard and his mystery partner - only Harry was no longer sure he wanted it to end.

Starts With a Spin by Maxine [119k]

It started with the spin of a bottle, and now Harry and Draco have gotten themselves so far into their own game there's almost no way out again. Except to keep playing.

Truths, Dares, and Love Affairs by @ronbinary [17k]

NEWTs are approaching, Mind Healing is mandatory, and something is wrong with the castle. And then, there’s Potter.

When I Put My Eyes On You by Zzzara [31k]

When a hero defeats a villain, there’s supposed to be a happily-ever-after�� but when did anything ever happen to Harry Potter the way it was supposed to? Having sacrificed himself to the greater good, Harry is left alone in the darkness, blindly groping for the shreds of the life he knew. When the enemies meet, how is the story supposed to go, once they learn there’s more to it than the eye can see? A story of pain, hope and things we discover, once we stop looking for them with our eyes.

where all the veins meet by eight_of_wands [146k]

It’s the summer of 1998. The battle is over, and Voldemort is dead, but Harry still has more questions than answers. Who is he without a piece of Voldemort’s soul in his head? What is he supposed to do now? His friends try to help, but the only thing that can hold his attention—one of the only things that ever has—is Draco Malfoy, out on parole and weirdly hanging around the British Museum. As they keep running into each other, Harry sees that Malfoy is different, and he wonders if he can be someone else, too. Featuring rumpled band shirts, poker games everyone hates, fumbling sex, and a Harry going a little mental over how wands even work.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[americanwerewolfontheinternet]

{Microfic May} 3. Horizon

CW: horny Ron, swearing, references to drinking, death | ron x hermione (T)

🍊Horizon🍊

One– Hermione had promised him one date that didn't end up in their solving a mystery, but, alas, here they are, at the far end of Diagon Alley, around the corner from Carkitt and a bit too close to Knockturn, his girlfriend banging on a brick wall.

“It's just– we've walked by here every summer–”

“I don't know about you, love, but I'm not especially in the habit of remembering everything about every wall in Hogwarts. I spend a lot more time walking by them–”

“Yes, but that's a bit different, Ron. Those walls aren't up to something–” she catches Ron's mouth dropping open, argument ready, and beats him to the punch– "mostly, anyways. Oh, you know what I mean. We know their secrets, Hogwarts wouldn't harm us.”

“We can't possibly know all of Hogwarts's secrets. And it's a magic school, ‘Mione. I'd reckon it doesn't give two figs about us.”

Hermione glares at him, then, personally offended at the idea that something all knowing and potentially omniscient has more pressing concerns than her. It’s understandable, really (then she lit up her candle, and she showed me the way) Hermione Granger is the center of his universe, in any case.

Music drawls out from a distant bar (such a lovely place) filtering into the air through the cracks in the mortar, resolute and destitute, and Ron doesn’t argue when Hermione (such a lovely face) turns around again. She taps at the wall, and he inspects her ass. Lovely, lovely view. 

“–listening to me? Ron? Ronald,” she huffs, rounding back on him.

“Mhm? No, I wasn’t, I was lookin’ at your bum.” He's got to be the luckiest man in the world, he thinks.

Hermione huffs again, shoving her hands on to her hips. “Oh, honestly. Men! What am I supposed to do with you lot?”

Ron frowns at her and takes a step up the cobblestones, closing the distance between them. “Meaning just me, right? What’re you going to do with me?”

She rolls her eyes and frowns right back at him, but given the way her glare darkens alongside her cheeks, he’s feeling confident enough to reach out and put his hands on her hips, from where her own have vacated. She has one hand now twirling a strand of her wild hair, which she usually has up– Ron had vanished all her hair ties, and he’s not sorry–  the other is in its crook, forearm cross her front. Blimey, does she know what she’s doing, pressing against her chest like that? 

She’s Hermione Granger, of course she does. She’s hellbent on driving him absolutely mad.

“Let’s go home, love,” Ron suggests. It’s not that he’s not curious about where exactly Harry’d gotten drunk the other night (other nights? Harry’d spoken as though he’d been there weeks); it’s just that he has more… pressing things to attend to. 

“I’m worried, Ron,” she says softly, and it’s the softness that reminds him to take a moment. His brow furrows pensively.

“Of course you are– I am, too. But he seems alright, doesn’t he? I mean, he seems–” Ron’s not quite sure what he wants to say here. He is a bit worried about his best friend, though he’s not sure what’s nagging at him about it. He reckons Hermione does, so, he thinks, maybe he ought to ask. “Why are you worried?”

She chews on her bottom lip. “It’s just– well everyone grieves differently, I suppose. It just seems– too fast?”

Maybe. She could be right. The war had ended 132 days ago– was that a long time? Was it a short one? Did the time truly matter at all when it came to something like grief? Ron thought maybe he was doing a bit better these days, but sometimes, out of nowhere, Fred's death hit him like a heart attack, wretched and incapacitating. Like there wasn't quite enough air in the world anymore. He still carries the guilt of abandoning the loves of his life in a forest; still feels his skin crawl in the dead of night, the weight and chill of a phantom locket heavy on his heart. 

Should Harry still be all beat up? It's not a competition, Ron knows, but he can't imagine what it might have been like to be his best mate growing up. To think– Merlin, how he used to envy Harry his charm, his inherent competency, that confidence that he would accomplish any feat in front of him. Ron thinks a younger version of himself would hate his best friend now. Fourteen year old Ron would loathe Harry Potter who hadn't changed by the end of it all, who had merely grown into his life and destiny like one grows into their ears or their eyes or their smile.

But eighteen year old Ron wouldn't give up anything about his own life anymore, not for all the glory in the world. He can't even be sure he'd go back and change anything, not if it ran the risk of ruining what everything had become. Ron has Hermione, and he has Harry; he has his mother, and his father, Ginny and George and Charlie and Bill and Percy. He still has so much, and there will always be someone missing. Fred will always be gone, and Ron thinks he'll grieve over him forever. He doesn't know if that's too long, or not enough. 

Hermione wraps her arms around him, pulling him into her, burying her face in the soft spot of his shoulder. He wraps one arm tight around her, the other coming up to rest in the curls at the back of her head. 

He doesn't have the answers to any of these questions. He doesn't know the first thing about anything. All he knows is that he loves this woman, and he loves his best friend, and he hopes they're all going to be alright. And, anyways, he'll be there whether they are or not. Come hell, highwater, or horcruxes.

“Come on, ‘Mione,” he murmurs softly. “Let's go home," and he pulls her in closer for the warmth and the Side-Along. As they vanish, a door slides open with a hum, a paper lantern bounces in the breeze, music drifts out like the vines of a Devil's Snare into the alleys of Diagon and Carkitt and Knockturn.

(You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.)

🍊🍊

(all mistakes mine; song referenced is Hotel California by Eagles)

(1063ish words)

(<<2. Resplendent.) (4. Decision>>)

@microficmay (if you'll take it late 🧡)

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a rec list of fics with unrequited love - or seemingly unrequited love. The fics on this list do have a happy ending. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to show support by liking and reblogging this post. Happy reading!

1) Couldn't Be More In Love | Mature | 6710 words

“You’re my best friend.”

It's what Louis had whispered to Harry one night, words pressed into the skin on Harry’s neck while the rain outside had muted the whole world. Harry had gulped, hoping the beat of his heart didn't give him away, trying to slow his breathing and not let the lump in his throat grow.

I don't want to be your friend, Harry thought but the words died on his lips.

2) Moonlit Sky Over Gentle Waters | Explicit | 11377 words

Harry left his hometown to sail the seven seas and returns seven years later, yearning for something — or rather, someone — that he isn't sure he can have.

3) Show You The Stars In The Daylight | Explicit | 13227 words

The one where Louis has a type and at sixteen and scrawny, it's definitely not his best friend's little brother Harry...ten years later, he changes his mind.

4) Your Good Side | Explicit | 15870 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

AU where Harry can't seem to win over his Dunkirk co-star. Inspired by Joey and Kate from Friends.

5) Practice In Pencil, Seal It In Pen | Explicit | 16486 words

Prompt 174: AU where drunk Harry lifts Louis up after someone says “bottoms up”. Louis blushes at Harry’s antics, flustered that his best friend knew him more than he thought. Friends to lovers with a happy ending please

6) Don't Forget To Remember Me | Mature | 23138 words

Expecting a baby from the love of your life, does not mean that will make him love you back.

Louis learned this the hard way.

7) If Ignorance Be Bliss | Mature | 30429 words

Uni AU: Harry is too experienced, and Louis just wants to get to experience him.

8) I'll Grow You a Garden Inside My Heart | Explicit | 31259 words

Harry is hired to plan the wedding of his best friend he is so madly in love with it makes him sick. Literally.

9) Mark My Word (We Gon’ Be Alright) | Explicit | 35524 words

"He’s always known that there would come a time when Harry would bond with some beautiful, quiet omega, and they would have lots of curly-haired pups and live happily ever after.

Knowing it and living it are two very different things, though. Watching the object of your affection desperately search for a mate and completely disregard you as an option is all sorts of painful, but it is what it is, and Louis is just going to have to learn to live with that."

10) Before We Knew | Explicit | 39830 words

Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed onto his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

11) Underneath The Moon | Mature | 42967 words

In five years’ time, Louis would be the one saying to his students about how he knew the great Harry Styles, in a time before he had ever put out an album or performed on a real stage. Harry fucking Styles had been his best friend and he still loved him, he always would. But they couldn’t stay that way.

12) Mind Over Matter (You Under Me) | Explicit | 73825 words

Prompt 21: Harry stopped playing hockey (after 10 years of a professional career) because of a severe injury. The dream he worked so hard for vanished in the blink of an eye. His family insisted that he had to go to physical therapy, even if it only helped his health. Cue to personal assistant Louis, the most efficient and kind PA one could hire

13) Pinkies Never Lie | Explicit | 83615 words

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

14) Blue Ice | Mature | 102967 words

An AU where Louis finds himself in a marriage he didn't bargain for.

15) Inevitable | Explicit | 185917 words

AU where Louis and Harry used to be more than friends, but everything had to change the day Harry introduces Louis to his new girlfriend.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[lxngbottom]

Wow. | N.L.

in which the reader is given a dare, and she definitely won’t turn it down.

warnings: a little bit of nsfw, swearing, underage drinking.

word count: 1,642

idek i project all my crazy personal experiences onto my one shots sorry babes

—

the night was supposed to be fun. you were supposed to go the the gryffindor party, get drunk, dance all over your friends, and go back to your dorm. but that all changed when seamus finnigan got involved,

“longbottom has never seen a pair of boobs before! isn’t that right?” seamus smirked, looking over at his awkward friend.

neville huffed, “why did you have to say that out loud?”

seamus, dean, harry, & ron all laughed at the boy’s embarrassment. but they couldn’t laugh too much, knowing full well that they themselves had never seen a pair of boobs before either.

“you want to see a pair tonight, longbottom?” seamus asked him, that dumb smirk still plastered onto his face. neville absolutely hated when seamus got drunk. he seemed to totally forget to concept of boundaries and a filter,

“i really don’t—“

“i got the perfect candidate, too!” seamus interrupted, his speech slurred from all the affects of the alcohol. “look,” he pointed over towards y/n y/l/n. she giggled at something her friend said, and seamus’s smirk only got wider as he witnessed neville staring at you with nothing but pure adoration.

“do you know how many guys at hogwarts have seen her boobs? last time i checked, she had sex with like... four or five guys!”

this talk was quite common when your name came up in a conversation. you had hooked up with quite a few guys, and you regretted it greatly. you never knew how quick things could get around at hogwarts until a group of hufflepuff girls were yelling terrible and vile names at you two days after you had lost your virginity.

according to the general consensus at hogwarts, you were a slag.

but your true friends would say otherwise, and they were right. it didn’t matter how many guys you had slept with, you were still a person, and you deserved just as much as respect as everyone else did.

neville longbottom didn’t see you as that, though. he had talked to you quite a few times, even developed a small crush on you. but, he knew he never had a chance. out of all the guys that chased you, he knew you would never pick him.

“those are just rumors.” neville quickly retorted, shooting down what seamus had said. “don’t say things like that about her... it’s not true.”

the boys laughed once more, “oh don’t worry, longbottom. i’m not calling your little crush a slag, i’m just simply stating what i’ve heard.” seamus patted neville’s shoulder, “but, enough of all that. i have an idea that is going to benefit you, longbottom.”

neville furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “what—“

“just watch.”

before neville could even stop him, seamus was making his way over towards you. neville tried his best to protest, but ron held him back.

“merlin, what in the bloody hell is he even doing?” neville asked nervously, running his hand through his hair. his friends didn’t respond, only looked on to the conversation between you and seamus.

after a few minutes, which seemed like hours to neville, seamus begin to walk back, but you followed right behind him.

“hi, guys!” you greeted the boys sweetly, waving your hand a bit. “seamus gave me a dare, and i’m here to follow through with it.”

“what was the dare?” dean asked you, taking a sip of his drink. you grinned a bit, and your eyes found neville’s.

you suddenly held your hand out right in front of neville, ignoring dean’s question. he had a very confused look on his face as you waited for him to take your hand. “come on, longbottom. i don’t have all night.”

“yeah, come on, longbottom! she doesn’t have all night...” seamus whispered into his ear, and he laughed as he pulled away.

neville had no idea what his friend was up to, but he couldn’t ignore the sweet smile on your face, and the way you stood patiently for him. from what he could tell from knowing who you were for so long, seeing you in shared classes, you had always been a patient person. you sat hand in foot for people if they needed time for something, and that was something neville definitely was not used to.

he shakily took your hand, and you started to walk him towards the stairs that led to the boy’s dormitory. you heard whistles and cheers erupting from his friends, but ignored them, as that was just the way boys were.

“show me where your dorm is,” you requested, and he reluctantly nodded.

he was terrified of what seamus might’ve said to you. his intoxicated self could’ve out right told you that neville had the biggest crush on you, and neville promised himself that if that was the case, he wouldn’t speak to seamus ever again.

when you two arrived into his dorm, he awkwardly sat down on his own bed as you stepped a few feet in front of him. no words were spoken as you started the dare by unbuttoning your shirt.

“whoa, whoa, what are you doing?!” neville quickly asked, and you stopped. you raised an eyebrow at him,

“the dare that seamus asked me about. he said you knew about it,” you informed him, and neville scoffed. “you don’t know about it, do you?”

neville shook his head, “what exactly is the dare?”

you stayed silent for a moment, embarrassed and caught up in your next choice of words, “well... he sorta dared me to... show you my boobs. he said you never saw any before, and that you wanted to really bad.”

neville’s jaw was practically on the floor. he couldn’t believe that seamus had lied. but now, he was stuck in the most awkward position he possibly could’ve ever been in.

“i didn’t—i—oh, merlin...”

your eyebrows furrowed, as neville seemed more stressed than excited about the dare. you had never seen a boy look so miserable to see a pair of boobs in your whole life.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, genuinely concerned for the boy who’s face was now hiding in the palms of his hands. he was a bit taken back to here you ask that, as no one had asked him that question in a very long time. and, when he finally did look up at you, you seemed worried.

he didn’t want you to worry over him, though. so he quickly shook his head and rubbed his eyes, “oh, nothing. it’s—it’s nothing. i’m alright.”

you nodded, but still didn’t take it as the truth.

“well... do you want to still see them, or...?”

in that moment, a desire clicked within neville. he was still angry at seamus, and the predicament he was stuck in with you, but he couldn’t ignore the burning sensation in his gut when you had asked him that.

but, he knew it was wrong. “yes—i mean—no! no, i do not want to see your boobs!”

you chuckled quietly at his words, and the way he was seemingly trying to convince himself more than you that he “didn’t” want to see your boobs.

“well, alright then. that’s cool...”

you then sat right next to him on his bed, letting out a soft breath of air. he looked over at you, clearly still embarrassed from this whole ordeal.

“it’s okay if you wanted to, you know? and also, it’s okay that you’ve never seen them before, either. seeing them or not doesn’t make you more or less of a man, longbottom. i hope you know that.”

your words didn’t come from a place of pity, but from a place of worry. neville was the complete opposite of you, inexperienced, nervous. and that was fine in your eyes, but you could tell he thought the complete opposite.

“seamus is an arse for putting both of us on the spot like this.” you sighed, rolling your eyes.

there was a beat of silence before neville finally responded, “he is. a big one.”

the response made you look over at him, and you both chuckled.

before you knew it, you and neville were having an actual conversation. a huge party going on downstairs, but it truly just felt like the two of you.

you never really knew neville on a deep level, but after tonight, you wished you had known him like that for years. he had so many interests, and he was very knowledgeable about them, too. any bit of his life that he provided you details about intrigued you. the boy was so fascinating, and you couldn’t believe you never took the time out of your life to get to know him before.

at one point, you decided on the fact that your friends were probably worried sick about you. so, you decided that it was time to part ways with the special lad.

as you two passed goodbyes back and forth, you stopped when you opened the door. you smirked to yourself, and turned back around to face him.

“hey, longbottom...”

he looked up at you, showing that he was being attentive.

“i don’t turn down dares.”

before neville longbottom knew it, your once buttoned shirt was now opened, revealing all the uncharted territory that traced your skin.

his breath hitched, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from you. the way your curves dipped, the way your nipples began to turn hard from the chilly dorm air meeting them. it was all too much.

“goodnight, longbottom!” you giggled innocently, before leaving him all alone in his dorm.

his mouth was left agape. he couldn’t stop thinking about you, or... them. you were absolutely more perfect than he ever could’ve pictured.

“wow.” he breathed out,

his body fell back onto his bed, and he stared up at the canopy above him.

what a night.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Give You Hell (one-shot)

Synopsis: When you’re in a relationship with someone famous while being famous it can be difficult. But not for the Reader and Harry, yet when her past comes knocking, she’ll make sure to know where she stands.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, some minor angst, like microscopic 

Warnings: swearing, reference to past abusive relationship, but nothing explicit.

Word count: 3428

100% inspired by ‘All American Rejects’’ ‘Gives You Hell’

Dating someone famous while being famous yourself had pros and cons, much like everything in life. The cons mostly came from the outside, not from the inside. It was the opinions of others, thinking what they said mattered, the scrutiny of the press, hoping one of them would mess up, and they could run some bullshit article just so their numbers could go up, without a second thought of how the people involved felt, and it was some jealous fans who didn’t seem to comprehend the people they admired were actual human beings with feelings and thoughts and emotions and autonomy. But other than that, Y/N’s and Harry’s relationship was just like any other. Save for when their emotions bubbled over, millions of people heard them in songs.        They’d met at the iconic yellow-suit-Harry Brit awards. She’d been right next to Hugh Jackman opening the show, a red glittering bodysuit with a black and gold ring-master jacket, a top hat adorning her head as she dominated the stage. If Harry had been sloshed at that point (much like he was later on, but who was Y/N to say, given how most of the night was a blur for her), he would’ve absolutely started drooling at the sight of her, and he was one of the thousands who stood up, hollering and clapping as she and Hugh ended their performance.

       Much to his dismay though, Y/N wasn’t one of the people assigned to sit by his table, instead, she was a couple of rows behind, whispering something into Billie Eilish’s ear, the two erupting into uncontrollable laughter.        He felt like a creep as he tried to catch every possible glimpse of Y/N, her smile making his heart race. She’d been on his radar for a while, had even thought about asking her to collaborate on a song for ‘Fine Line’, but at the end of the day, it was an album of personal discovery (and when one of his producers told him Y/N was halfway across the world in the middle of Norwegian woods for the next half-year working on her own music, he didn’t want to be a bother). But seeing her then, Harry wondered why he hadn’t reached out on his own, especially after at the after-party Lizzo had dragged Y/N to him and introduced the two.        The following day, pictures of them dancing together, drinks in hands and drunken grins on their faces would sweep the web, sparking millions of rumours, but, at that moment, they didn’t care, nor did they care about what was written because as Harry twirled Y/N under his arm, as much as the connection was there, that night they went their separate ways. Even when they were drunk, they understood that about the other person, and wouldn’t accept anything else, but a sober and coherent ‘yes’.        Sometime midday the next day, Harry reached out to Y/N through a DM on Instagram checking in on how she was doing, which then turned into a six-hour FaceTime call.        “What do you mean you’ve never had a hangover?!”        Y/N laughed at Harry’s almost offended expression. “I mean I’ve never had a hangover. I’ve never thrown up while drunk or after being drunk, my head’s never hurt – nothing. I mean I’m tired, but that’s because I’m still on New York time and got to bed at like five AM.”        “You… are something else.”        She wiggled her eyebrows. “Is that something else something good?”        Y/N didn’t know, but when Harry saw her eyes sparkle, his heart skipped a beat, and he immediately knew – she was it. “The best.”        “Well…” she bit her lip. “If I’m the best, would it be too forward of me to ask you out for a coffee?”        What Harry didn’t know was that when she saw him smile as if those were the best news in the world, her heart skipped as well, and she knew he was the one.        “Only if it’s my treat.”        “But I was the one who asked you out.”        “Yes, but you can pay for the second date.”        Holding in her squeals of joy was tough, but she raised her eyebrow, giving Harry a sly smirk. “Already so confident there’ll be a second date?”        Harry scoffed. “And a wedding!”        Seeing Y/N throw back her head as she laughed, made all sorts of butterflies fly through his stomach.        “Okay, Styles. I’ll take your word for it.”        Three months into the relationship, the two were booked to appear on The Graham Norton show together, which was also the first time they’d appear officially as a couple at a work/outing kind of a setting since the rumours started floating, and a picture of Harry kissing Y/N outside of a hotel room had sort of confirmed that.        “So, you two.” Graham pointed between Y/N and Harry with his cards. “Have started to date? Not to say anything Harry, but Y/N… I didn’t think boy-bands were your type.”        That made her lean over in laughter as Harry gave everyone a shocked face, before slumping back and pouting, nudging Y/N with his knee. “That’s not funny.”        “I mean it kind of is.”        “She was twelve when she swore off boy-bands.” Graham nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “Isn’t that what you said last time you were here?”        “Hey, it’s been ten years since I said that!” Y/N laughed. “Cut me some slack. All the people I was crushing on are married anyway… with kids… and could probably be my dads… I have issues, don’t I?”        Everyone exploded into giggles while Harry shook his head, chuckling.        “Love you with all of your issues.” He nudged her shoulder, and she nudged right back, taking a sip of her drink.        “Yeah, give it a couple of months. You’ll regret your words.”        The thing was Y/N was so wrong, and she’d never been happier to be so wrong. Each morning they were together, Harry woke up to her showering him with kisses or vice versa. As private as Harry was, his Instagram stories were now filled with pictures and small videos of them, of Y/N’s face half-covered by a blanket, glasses crooked as she smushed her cheek to his chest and watched a movie, or her eating breakfast while re-watching old Bones and Castle episodes with captions like ‘dunno how she keeps the food down’ and ‘she swears it’s just for research’, while her feed was full of candid Harry photos or her rummaging through his closet and showing everyone his immaculate style, and giving tips how others can recreate it (also she may or may not just use that as a reason to steal his clothes).        Generally, people loved it, and their love for one another. It was refreshing to see them enjoy each other’s company, and not be afraid to do so, especially now, given how it was a couple of days before Y/N ended her tour in New York in Madison Square Garden, to which Harry had specifically flown out for despite being in the middle of filming for ‘The Little Mermaid’. Three AM blinked on the clock, as the two finally drifted off to sleep after five hours of a passionate reunion when her phone dinged, indicating a message had arrived.        “Turn it off,” Harry grumbled into the skin of Y/N’s back. “’S too early.”        She hummed in agreement, furrowing her brows as her palm blindly searched for the offending device, and she squinted her eyes as the light burned her retinas before widening in shock at the message.        Harry felt her body go rigid, and he pressed a kiss to her neck. “Everythin’ alright, lovie?”        “Uh – “ she stuttered, trying to process the words on the screen. “Uh, yeah. Yes, everything’s fine. Just… some last-minute changes for the show. They want something really big for the ending, and some of the propositions are just…”        She could feel a smile stretch across Harry’s mouth. “Extravagant?”        “You could say that, yeah.”        “Sounds like it’s gonna be one hell of a show. Not that the others weren’t.”        Y/N switched the phone off wiping away the message first and then turned to cuddle into Harry’s chest. “It most certainly will.”        For the next two days, she was an anxious ball of mess, as her crew got everything ready, and her and her band rehearsed relentlessly before she asked all of them to gather at the studio to add a song to the setlist.        “It’s gonna be a couple more hours, Hazza,” Y/N murmured into the phone as Harry had called in to check on her. “ ‘M sorry. You don’t have to wait up for me. I know you’re still adjusting to New York time.”        “ ‘S alright,” he slurred, clearly already falling asleep but determined not to. “Can’t sleep without you anyway.”        At those words, Y/N’s heart did that stupid flipping thing it’d been doing ever since Harry entered her life to stay, and a shy grin blossomed on her lips. “You’re exhausted, sweetheart. But I’ll tell you what - if you do go to bed, I’ll be sure to wake you up with a kiss when I get back.”        “You promise?” She could hear the smile on his face.        “Swear it.”        “Alright, lovie. I’ll be waiting to cash in on that kiss.”        “I’ll run to give it to you as soon as I can. G’night.”        “See ya’ in a bit.”        Y/N let out a shudder as she heard the call disconnect. She entered back inside the studio and clapped her hands, drawing the attention of her producers and band members. “Where were we?”

***

       The hour before a show was always nerve-wracking for Y/N. It’s when the adrenaline truly started to rush, when her feet and palms got all tingly, and her ears and cheeks heated up. It was when their warm-up band exploded on stage, and the crowd got pumped up. But the best moment that night by far was right when she was about to run out, Harry had pulled her back by the wrist and kissed the living daylights out of her.        “You’re gonna kill it tonight,” he muttered against her lips, words skimming her mouth and making her smile as bright as the sun. She seemed to do that a lot around him. It’s why he now dedicated Golden to her every time he sang it.        “Thank you. For being here.”        Harry flicked her nose. “Always. Now go. People are waiting.”        When Y/N finally appeared on stage, pretty much glowing as brightly as the stage lights, her fans went wild, and even more so when she jumped, starting off the show. The whole time, her gaze flitted to backstage just to get a glimpse of Harry, and whenever she did, she saw him dancing, singing along, filming her having fun and some clips of himself as well, going absolutely ham to her songs.        As the night was moving towards the end, usually, she’d feel euphoria from giving a great performance, after hearing thousands of people sing her songs in unison, now Y/N felt closer to throwing up and fainting.        “So uh…” She pushed back strands of sweaty hair, hollers of people echoing in her head. “This is a very special show tonight. Umm… this is the first concert my boyfriend’s come t - .” She didn’t even get to finish the sentence before the cheers of the people interrupted her, deafening the girl even with the earplugs.        “But umm… it’s also a special show because two days ago someone reached out to me, and uh… he… well, he was as important of a person once the same way Harry is right now, and he wrote this.”        Y/N went over to where the piano chair was, lifted it and fished out her phone from it, revealing the message that’d been basically haunting her nights and days since receiving it.        “Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake I ever made.” To her own surprise, her voice was steady and sure, unlike her hands which were trembling like leaves in a storm. “I know you look happy and in love, but I know it’s not true. I’ve known you for five years, I know how to see through the mask you put on every day just to make sure others are happy while you yourself suffer an inauthentic life. But you do deserve to be happy. And I’ll be waiting for you if you decide to give us a chance again. I’ll be at your concert in Madison Square.” She looked out into the crowd. “You wrote a song once for me. If you sing it, that’s how I’ll know you feel the same.”        By the time she got to the end, there were no more shouts or screams, but confused murmurs. Y/N let out a shuddering breath, hoping that she could manage to do what she wanted, and everything didn’t fall apart. “The thing is, I’d like for Harry to come on stage, please.”        She could see the fear in his eyes as he jogged to stand next to her, but he disguised it with an overenthusiastic smile as he waved over towards the raging sea of people. He’d seen the message, had seen her reread it more than fifty times by that point, and as sure as he was in their relationship, when someone who held such importance, no matter if good or not, in someone’s life came knocking again, you could never be too sure what would happen. Harry didn’t want to say anything, believing if it was important enough, she’d tell him. Guess that was it.        “So, uh…” Y/N pulled Harry’s arms over her shoulders and grasped onto them, grounding them both. “This is for you.” Y/N looked over into the crowd before glancing over her shoulder, Y/E/C eyes meeting Harry’s wavering green ones. “And you,” she whispered so that only he could hear. “Hope you know I mean everything.”        As the cords started playing, she felt Harry unwarp his arms from where she’d been holding them over her shoulders and a smile erupted on her face.        “I wake up every evening,” Y/N sang, “with a big smile on my face, and it never feels out of place.”        “And you’re still probably workin’,” Harry’s voice joined in, grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s, as he now had a microphone in hand, the other placing earplugs in his own ears, “at a nine-to-five pace… I wonder how bad that tastes.”        “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell,” the two harmonized, Y/N’s eyes locked onto the masses, imagining the face of her ex-boyfriend who had the audacity to send that message.        “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell.” Harry was looking at the crowd as well, now fully understanding the message and the person behind it, and although he lived by ‘treat people with kindness’, he couldn’t help but gloat at the fact he got to sing with the love of his life on stage, and basically serenade a break-up song to a person who didn’t know how to appreciate what he’d had.        Y/N cocked her head to the side. “Now, where’s your picket fence, love, and where’s that shiny car? It didn’t ever get you far. You’ve never seemed so tense, love. I’ve never seen you fall so hard. Do you know where you are?” It was hard not to smile, knowing where she was and who she was with. Harry threw an arm over Y/N’s shoulders as she sang, giving a mock sad look, while Harry pouted. “And truth be told, I miss you… And truth be told, I’m lying!”        “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well.” Y/N pointed towards where she imagined her ex was standing. “Then she’s the fool, you’re just as well, hope it gives you hell! Hope it gives you hell!” For a split second, the music slowed down, guitar strumming in the air, as Harry pulled Y/N by the palm and towards his chest.        When the next lyrics came out of his mouth, he knew them to be true as he sang them to the man, he’d heard Y/N talk about, to the man who thought everything he’d done to her, every horrible word and deed was justified, to the man who thought breaking someone else down was the only way to bring themselves up. “Now tomorrow you’ll be thinking to yourself, where did it all go wrong, but the list goes on and on.”        “And truth be told, she misses you,” Harry hummed, Y/N letting out a large laugh, holding onto his bicep, as he slightly changed the lyrics. “And truth be told, she’s lying! When you see her face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you walk her way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!  When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well.” Harry sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Then she’s the fool you’re just as well hope it gives you hell.”        “Now you’ll never see,” Y/N took over the song. “What you’ve done to me.” She placed a hand over her heart. “You can take back your memories, they’re no good to me. And here’s all your lies, you can look me in the eyes, with that sad, sad look that you wear so well.” She dragged her finger down her cheek, giving a pout while Harry mimicked her stance before turning the mic to the audience.        “When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell,” the crowd sang back with such vigour, Y/N was sure the whole ground was shaking just from their voices, and the clapping and stomping to the drum rhythm would bring the whole world down. “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well, then she’s the fool you’re just as well, hope it gives you hell!”        The two were jumping around the stage like madmen, adrenaline filling their veins. “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!” “Hope it gives you hell!” Everyone else repeated.        “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!” “Hope it gives you hell!”        “When you sing this song and sing along, well you’ll never tell. Then you’re the fool, I’m just as well, hope it gives you hell!” Y/N grinned once more, placing her hand over her heart, meaning every word – she was just as well. She had amazing friends, a career that’d flourished, and a person who loved her more than words could describe.        “When you hear this song, I hope that it will give you hell!” Harry crooned down the mic, knowing their happiness would, Y/N’s happiness would give him hell. And he enjoyed it, knowing how good her life was.        “You can sing along I hope that it puts you through hell!” Her voice became the only sound as the last word echoed around everyone, her chest heaving up and down from the exertion, from all of the emotions running through her body as well as the overwhelming feeling of not only having Harry watch her perform but to end up performing with him.        When his hands wrapped around her body, it startled her out from the daze, and the popping confetti startled her even more, as the rest of her band joined the two to take their bows, grins on all of their faces while they did so.        “Not the song you thought I’d sing, is it?” Y/N laughed into the mic, Harry’s arms tightening around her waist. “There’s a reason I blocked your number, let alone you from my life. Don’t think I won’t do it again.”        “But I would like to say thank you, to the asshole in question,” Harry said, making Y/N’s forehead scrunched up. “You let go of the best person ever; you had the honour of calling yourself her boyfriend, but instead, you chose to walk away. So, thank you for that. Because now I’ll have that honour and pleasure for the rest of our lives.”        Yeah. It was one hell of a show.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I love ‘All American Rejects’ and have been listening to ‘Gives You Hell’ non stop. It’s the best break-up song ever, and you won’t convince me otherwise. 

P.S. my tags are always open :)

P.S.S. please don’t repost my work on other platforms without my explicit written permission. reblogs are fine :)

[lottiebagley]

Snow covered courtyards- Oliver Wood

When he'd asked her to the ball he'd been certain she would say no. They'd been friends for a while but never particularly close, simply in the same year and house and therefore knew each other through mutual friends.

He'd always thought she was kind of unattainable, she seemed to always look perfect, she was smart and funny and kind and top of her classes. He never knew why but she always avoided Oliver a little, he spent nights laid in bed listening to Percy's snoring and racking his brains for any reason she might avoid him, an insult from years ago, a history between him and one of her friends but nothing quite came to mind.

It wasn't until a few weeks before the ball that he realised that maybe the reason she avoided him was because she wasn't quite as unattainable as he'd thought. He'd laughed at first when his best friend shrugged that she probably just had a crush on him, mouthful of cereal and a slightly bemused look on his face.

After that conversation he slowly allowed his brain to convince himself she just might like him back. After all why else would she blush when he catches her eye? why would she go to every quidditch game no matter how awful the weather? why would she giggle a little with her friends when he passes?

And so, Oliver Wood let a little spark of hope light in his heart and he began to plan how he would ask her to the ball.

He thought about asking her after they won a quidditch match when he was high on adrenaline but he didn't like the idea of being muddy and sweaty and with the fucking Weasley twins, their relentless teasing playing in his mind before it even happened.

Next he thought about making some production out of it in the great hall like he'd seen a few other people do, but he knew she'd hate being the centre of the entire school's attention.

He contemplated asking her at a party, figuring some liquid courage might make the prospect of asking his dream girl on a date a little easier, but didn't want her to think it was some drunk decision.

He settled on approaching her with a bouquet of flowers and just asking it, after all, he knew he was a good looking guy and most people found him charming if not a little intense. What he didn't think about though was that most people didn't make his heart beat too fast, his hands go clammy, and his words come out a stuttering mess.

Oliver announced to his friends one morning that today was the day he'd ask her out, they'd grinned widely, given him a pep talk, mocked him a little for his nerves and sent him on his way and Oliver had every intention to ask her out.

It was then that Oliver learnt the age old lesson.

Girls travel in packs.

No matter how hard he tried she was surrounded. Between classes, at meals, in the common room, christ even on her way to the bathroom. Whenever he saw her she'd have a gaggle of girls with her all of which would eye him with curiosity and smirks when he attempted to approach.

It took Oliver a further three days of attempting to catch her alone, his friends seeming to find the entire situation funnier by the hour, before it had happened. He'd caught a glimpse of her with Cedric.

Oliver Wood hated Cedric Diggory, hated that he was so often compared to him, hated that he had swoopy hair that made girls swoon, hated that he too was a good quidditch player. His newest reason though to despise the boy who showed him nothing but kindness was that he didn't clam up around her. He talked to her with ease and made her laugh.

If he'd done a little digging, Oliver would have easily found Cedric was a family friend and she viewed him like a brother. Through exasperated mutual friends sick of both their pining he'd have probably also learnt she had a massive crush on Oliver and had turned down multiple boys in the hopes Oliver would ask her to the ball.

He didn't dig though. Instead he scowled in the direction of Cedric and her, they were laughing by the quidditch pitch as the Hufflepuff practice ended and the Gryffindor's arrived for their own. She had been on her way to the greenhouses to grab a book she'd accidentally left there when Cedric had jogged over, unknown to Oliver actually asking if the Gryffindor had plucked up the nerve to ask her out. She had brushed her friend off, thinking it would be a miracle for Oliver Wood to fancy her back.

"Hurry up Wood, she's a good one, she'll get swept up all too soon," Fred smirks as he passes Oliver on his way into the changing rooms.

And with Fred's words in his mind Oliver grabs the bouquet of flowers from the office and marches towards her, Cedric spotting him coming and quickly taking his leave.

"Hi," He calls, cursing himself for not thinking to say her name when she doesn't even turn around, not used to him approaching her, "Hi-Y/N,"

She turns then, still clad in her uniform, hair blowing in the light wind and a small smile on her face.

"Oliver-uh-hey," She blushes a little as she falls over her words

"You're a really hard girl to get on her own," He comments. Fucking christ why does he sound like a stalker? The question spins in his mind but she seems to not think anything of the comment, instead blushing a little

"Oh- my friends and I are kinda inseperable," She shrugs lightly, not wanting an awkward silence so instead opting to ramble "They only aren't here now cause they are busy. Meg's at detention, Ali's with her boyfriend and Katie's tutoring some second year in potions. I'd have waited for one of them to be with me because honestly I kind of hate walking alone- not cause I'm weird or un-independent or any thing, I just, well I get a little anxious and feel like people are staring at me and-" She silences herself, suddenly coming to her senses and realising how crazy she's making herself sound. "Sorry,"

"Don't be. I think it's cute when you ramble," He admits, blushing as red as his quidditch robes when he realises what he's said.

"Did you need something or have I just embarrassed myself over a polite hello?" She questions, he chuckles a little making her feel mildly less uncomfortable.

"I was actually wondering if you wanted to go to the ball?" He questions. He feels a weight off his shoulder's once the question has been asked. Like suddenly even if she says no at least he could tell himself he tried.

"With you?" She questions, she realises she probably sounds more idiotic by the second but can't quite convince herself to believe her long term crush would actually ask her out.

"Uh-yeah," He's taken aback by the question and feels stupid for even thinking she'd consider it and suddenly the even if she says no bullshit is just that, because shit if the girl in front of him with wide eyes and a nervous smile doesn't say yes he thinks his heart might break in his chest.

"Like a date?"

"I was hoping,"

"I'd love that,"

Oliver feels like the luckiest person on earth. Watching as she blushes a little, but her smile is wide and god if he doesn't want to kiss her right there.

"Great,"

"Good,"

"Cool,"

"Yeah,"

Neither of them is quite sure what comes next and the interaction seems to run even more awkward. "You'll pick her up!" Oliver rolls his eyes at the sound of George Weasley, although thankful for the prompt, she blushes, peering behind him to see the entire Gryffindor quidditch team watching them.

"I'll pick you up," He confirms

"Right," She nods

"At 7? Outside your dorm?"

"Sounds good,"

"Okay," He grins brightly, still thinking this entire thing is his mind playing some cruel tricks on him.

"So you should go, your team awaits," She reminds, he nods, partly wanting the interaction over before he can make even more of a fool out of himself or ruin something before it even has a chance to start and partly wanting to live in this moment of pure joy for the rest of his life.

"Right, so I'll uh- see you at the ball- and- uhm- around before obviously," He stutters a little

"Great, I'll see you in both those places," She confirms, realising only after she's spoken how idiotic she sounds.

"The flowers Wood! Christ you're bad at this!" Fred shouts

"Always thought he had game," Harry comments

"We all did kid," George agrees.

"Sorry about them," Oliver apologises

"It's okay," She smiles gently, waiting patiently as he stands staring wondering why her eyes are flickering from him, to his team to his hands and-

"Oh right, these are for you," He confirms, passing the bouquet over and grinning when she blushes a little

"Thanks Oli,"

"Any time," He nods

**

When she pulls open her dorm door Oliver is certain time stops.

She looks like an angel, her makeup perfect, hair flowing in curls with a small section pinned back as to see her face clearly, Oliver is certain nothing else has ever looked as beautiful. She's dressed in a golden gown that shimmers in the light and makes her look like a princess.

"You- I mean- it- you look beautiful," He stammers over his words and his face goes redder by the second but she smiles at him

"Thank you Oli," She smiles up at him and when their eyes meet both of them feel their hearts hammering in their chests.

"You ready?" He questions, she nods, smiling when he grabs her arm in his and they walk together to the hall.

The hall looks like something out of a fairytale. Seeming to glow an ice white, lined with glittering trees and a glance at the ceiling showing a sky full of stars that gleamed in the air.

"You want to dance?" Oliver questions, eyes falling to the already slightly crowded dance floor, the students dancing to the waltz that plays.

"Think you might loose a foot if we try," She admits, glancing at the girls who swirl around the floor effortlessly and feeling a little self conscious she can't do the same.

"It'd be worth it," He grins, pulling her along with him.

"Hey Oli?"

"Yeah?" He questions as they come to the edge of the dance floor

"These heels are really high. Please don't let me fall,"

"I've got you," He assures, smiling when he notices her physically loosen the panic in her eyes dissipating.

It takes them a few stumbles and a couple of toe treads but eventually they pick up the dance. He watches with a grin as she stares at her feet in focus and with time, and a few glasses of the punch Fred and George spiked, she relaxes, feeling at ease in his arms and becoming more comfortable with the slightly confusing dancing.

Oliver whispers commentary about the ball that makes her laugh and he loves the way she talks with such excitement that he can't help but follow along with every word. He's pretty sure in that moment he could die happy and she's almost certain this is the best night of her life.

As the minutes tick into hours they become more and more comfortable with each other, sure there's still an awkward teenagers with crushes layer to the conversation, but they learn they have a lot in common and find it easy to make small talk that they both actually enjoy.

"Do you wanna go get some air?" She questions at around 11, the dancing has changed from formal waltzing to jumping around to the band who'd been hired for the event and they were both hot and a little sticky from the crowd.

He nods in confirmation and smiles to himself when she immediately takes his hand in hers to pull him along behind her, she seems to have no idea he'd follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked.

She takes him to a small moonlit, snow covered, empty courtyard.

"Anyone would think you wanted to get me alone," He teases lightly, she blushes a little but playfully shoves him

"Maybe I did," She shrugs, he grins cockily "Or maybe it was a little crowded in there and I'm a polite date who didn't want to just abandon you," She isn't quite sure where her newfound confidence around Oliver is coming from

"I'm going to go with the first option," He grins, she laughs a little before shivering at the cold December breeze that wraps around them. He's quick to shrug of his black formal jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders and blushing when she leans up to press a kiss to his cheek in thanks.

"You wanna dance?" She questions, he laughs a little at the idea of leaving a ball to go and dance but nods.

Her arms wrap around his neck as his circle her waist, he hums gently and she smiles a she glances up at him. Oliver Wood looks like a god in the moonlight and she thanks her lucky stars that it's her who got to be in that moment with him.

They dance slowly, eventually pulling each other closer. She laughs when he twirls her under his arm and he grins when her hands begin to brush through the ends of his hair.

"Tell me something," She speaks quietly, his arms pulling her even closer.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Anything about you," She decides, he takes a deep breath, figuring now's probably the best moment he'll ever get to tell her this.

"I've had a crush on you since first year,"

"You have?" She sounds shocked and he can't help but laugh at the idea of her not realising he's practically head over heels for her

"I have," He confirms with a grin

"Why'd you never say anything?" She questions. Her heart feels like it's beating a million miles a minute and she's almost certain he can feel it

"You kinda avoided me," he shrugs

"Yeah I did," She laughs

"Why'd you do that?"

"I was scared to make a fool out of myself," She admits

"Yeah I get that," He nods

"You do? You always seem so- I don't know- at ease,"

"Around everyone but you I kinda am," He shrugs, she blushes a little at that. "You wanna know something else?" He questions.

They're still swaying a little but there's not much movement at their feet, instead the entire thing looks like a loving embrace and she figured to an extent it kind of was.

"Sure,"

"All night I've thinking about if I were to try and kiss you. If you'd kiss back or you'd pull away and laugh in my face and I'd have made a fool of myself," His words leave her breathless and his charming grin only makes it better

"There's only one way to know for sure," She whispers.

His lips crash to hers in the moonlit courtyard, the snow falling around them. It's slow and gentle. Holding years of emotion and there's no need to rush, in that moment they both know they have forever to hold each other this close. It's a little toothy from both their wide grins but as his hands cup her cheeks she's sure nothing has ever been as perfect as this moment and the boy she's sharing it with.

MASTERLIST

[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

+

MY MASTERLIST.

+

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

[k-s-morgan]

What He Grows to Be: Snippet 6

Sensual snippet won, so here it is!

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

“There will be opposition,” Mulciber warned him. “Not everyone is going to agree with this.”

“Naturally,” Tom replied lazily. His eyes were slowly studying the outlined strategy prepared by Lestrange, pausing at the section titled ‘Potential unrest’. “If someone starts posing a problem, we’ll handle it.”

Mulciber’s silent hesitation somehow managed to be so loud that Tom sighed, raising his head again.

“Any questions?” he inquired coldly.

“It’s just…” Mulciber looked uncomfortable. “If all your opponents start disappearing, rumours will spread. To control them all, we’ll need—”

The immediate protest rose up from the very depth of his chest, sending a rush of fear-induced adrenaline through his blood.

“No one will be disappearing,” Tom interrupted sharply. Mulciber froze, probably catching the dark warning in his tone. “We will not murder anyone,” Tom continued, and though he wanted to soften his words, they still came out harshly. “There are many other ways in which we can control our opponents. Or did you think I set up the Memory Charm Department randomly?”

For a moment, Mulciber stared at him blankly, but then a flash of realisation lit up his face.

“You want to Obliviate them all?” he guessed carefully. Tom smirked.

“If a bunch of my opponents turn up as drooling idiots, it’s bound to attract attention. No, I’m more interested in modifying their memories. Reprogramming the undesirables, if you prefer this concept. Shaping them as I personally see fit.”

A stunned look in Mulciber’s eyes rapidly grew into an awed one. He opened his mouth to say something else when the door to Tom’s office opened.

Tom stiffened, sending an unwelcome intruder a cold stare, but all thoughts promptly left his head when he realised who it was.

Harry.

His lips immediately stretched in a happy, excited grin, and he jumped to his feet, taking one involuntary step closer.

“Hello,” he greeted softly. Harry rewarded him with an amused smirk.

“Hello to you too,” he drawled. “Am I interrupting something?”

Mulciber cleared his throat, giving Harry a tight smile.

“You are,” he said. “If you could return in—”

“Not at all!” Tom blurted out. “Please come in.”

With the corner of his eye, he saw how Mulciber gaped at him in shock, but it didn’t matter. Tom could feel a blush staining his cheeks as it filled them with an absurd amount of blood. Perhaps it was embarrassing, but his grin stayed glued to his face nonetheless. Happiness was rapidly spreading, making his nerve endings tingle, and he couldn’t stop looking — couldn’t let himself blink in the irrational fear that he might miss a movement or a sigh Harry would make.

“Get out,” Tom said. The words sounded very warm since his mouth was smiling, but the message itself was clear enough.

Mulciber looked at Harry, probably thinking it was him Tom had addressed. When Harry stared back, an eyebrow raised, he snapped his gaze back to Tom incredulously.

“Yes, you,” Tom growled. Forced to temporarily lose his focus on Harry, he gave Mulciber a glare. “Get out. I’ll summon you later and we’ll finish our discussion.”

He didn’t bother to watch whether his order was followed: right away, his gaze returned to Harry, who was watching him again. And something in his stare… it was new. Lingering. More intense. Tom couldn’t decipher what had changed, but whatever it was, it affected him on a physical level. His legs felt shaky, his mouth went dry, and the longer Harry stared, the more erratic Tom’s breathing grew.

Distantly, he noted the sound of the door closing. Harry must have heard it, too, because he slowly walked forwards, stopping mere inches from him and tilting his head, his expression inscrutable.

“I love your new look,” he said thoughtfully. He was standing so close — too close. Tom’s head was spinning. It took him every effort to catch his breath and murmur, “What look?”

Harry let out a small chuckle. Raising his hand, he traced Tom’s hot face with his fingers, his touch so gentle that Tom shuddered in delight.

He didn’t entirely understand what was happening. All he knew was that Harry was gazing at him in a way that made coherent thinking impossible.

“You look older,” Harry muttered. His fingers were still moving, stroking Tom’s face like he was mesmerised. Enthralled by him. “The pictures I saw didn’t do you justice.”

Tom blinked.

“What… what does it mean?” he asked hoarsely. Harry’s resulting laughter echoed in his bones. It poured so much warmth into them that Tom was quickly starting to feel on fire.

He didn’t know what Harry could have seen on his face, but his look suddenly grew more solemn. He leaned even closer, briefly brushing their noses together, and then his lips touched Tom’s cheekbone, caressing it in one lingering movement downwards. When he finally pulled back, Tom barely stopped a pathetic noise of protest from escaping.

“You are beautiful,” Harry said quietly. His thumb grazed the contour of Tom’s lips, and this time, Tom let out a small gasp. His heart was beating so wildly that he thought it might break his ribcage.

A part of him worried that making a sound would snap Harry out of this strange, reverent state, but it seemed that he’d done something right because the next moment, Harry was cradling his face.

“What you wrote to me in your last letter,” he uttered. “Did you mean it?”

“Yes,” Tom breathed out. His eyes were fluttering shut — the combination of Harry’s warmth, his smell, his proximity was intoxicating. Unwittingly, his own hands rose to clutch at Harry’s forearms, making sure he wouldn’t move and wouldn’t break the touch.

Harry smiled at him. It was a magnificent, blinding sight, and Tom could get drunk on it alone.

Then, unbelievably, Harry leaned forwards. Another second that lasted for eternity, and his lips covered Tom’s, soft and warm and wanting.

[writingsforanyone]

Celebration

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Y/N

Warnings: Underage Drinking

Type: Fluff

A/N: Weasley Twins and Y/N are in their 6th year, No Tri-Ward Tournament ; also the spacing is really weird i’m not sure what happened when i copy and pasted from my notes but i’m sorry!! enjoy :)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Gryffindor’s were notorious for throwing the best parties for every occasion. Especially after a Quidditch win. The biggest game of the year between Gryffindor and Slytherin had taken place just hours before, and after a landslide win, the lions were ready to party. The team’s star chaser, Y/N Y/L/N, had scored a whooping 7 goals for the team, with her fellow chasers Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson scoring 3 and 2.

Now, Y/N was being hoisted on the shoulders of her two best friends, Fred and George Weasley, and every Gryffindor from fourth year and up was cheering for her.

“Look at our best friend!” said George

“The best chaser Hogwarts has ever seen!” Fred added on

Y/N laughed and said to her best friends,

“Okay okay now put me down!”

“You’re okay with flying around on a broom but not sitting on your best friends’ shoulders?” Fred said with a smirk

“I can control my broomstick, I can’t control you two!” Y/N said with a smack to Fred’s head. In one quick motion, Fred pulled her from his shoulder and into his arms bridal style and added,

“Is this better?”

“Much better,” Y/N answered with a smile.

George, Lee Jordan, and the rest of the Quidditch team looked at the pair and rolled their eyes, not surprised about the flirty interaction between the two. While Y/N and the twins had been inseparable since their first day on the train, over the past year Fred and Y/N’s relationship had changed into something more. Flirty banter, lingering touches, and stares across rooms, it seemed obvious to everyone except the two that their feelings towards each other were more than just ‘best friends’.

Fred finally put Y/N down and grabbed her hand, leading her to the large round table in the back of the common room that was filled with all kinds of drinks. He grabbed two bottles of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky, handing one to the girl on his side and keeping the other for himself. Y/N opened the bottle and took a long swig, letting the burning liquor slide down her throat. Fred moved his hand from hers and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her into his side.

“You played really good today darling. Couldn’t take my eyes off of you the whole game,” Fred said looking down at her.

She looked up at him and winked, nudging his side before saying,

“Only because I had my favorite beater to protect me. And George too of course.”

Fred laughed and kissed her forehead, before pulling away and excusing himself to go find George and Lee, leaving Y/N to go find the rest of her friends. She spotted Katie, Angelina, and Alicia Spinnet across the room and made her way over to them, grabbing another bottle of Firewhisky before she left the table.

“There she is!” said Alicia say before pulling her into a hug.

“Hey ‘Licia,” Y/N said pulling away.

“So what was that over there?” Katie said, nodding her head over to the table where Y/N had just been with Fred.

“That was nothing, you lot know that’s how Fred and I are,” Y/N retorted while rolling her eyes, grinning at the same time.

Her three friends rolled her eyes, but changed the subject nonetheless, knowing Y/N was too oblivious to her own feelings. The group of girls talked for a while, eventually moving over to the table covered in alcohol and getting more, gradually getting more intoxicated as the night went on. Y/N knew she would have an awful hangover in the morning, but grabbing her fifth bottle of Firewhisky, she couldn’t care less. The group went their separate ways after a bit, going to find more of their friends to talk too. Y/N made her way over to the golden trio who was sitting on one of the couches. Being best friends with the Weasley twins and staying at the Burrow all the time meant Ron became sort of like a younger brother, and with that came with seeing Harry and Hermione in the same way. Y/N noticed Hermione nursing a bottle of spiked butter beer, half empty.

“‘Mionie! Bottoms up! We’re celebrating tonight!” Y/N announced, coming up in front of the girl.

“Jeez Y/N how much have you had?” Ron said.

“Four? Maybe five? I think I lost count” the girl giggled out, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take Hermione from you both, and we’re going to dance.”

“Wha- No I don’t dance!” Hermione exclaimed, but she let Y/N pull her up anyway. She placed her now-empty butterbeer on a side table by the couch, and Y/N led her over to the alcohol table yet again, grabbing them more drinks to keep them going. They then made their way over to the coffee table that was right in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, and Y/N quickly stepped up on it and started dancing, urging Hermione of join her. The younger girl rolled her eyes before stepping onto the table next to her friend. The two girls started moving to the beat, slowly getting lost in the music that was blaring from the speakers. Y/N took a long drink from the liquor bottle in her hand, before she spotted two familiar heads of red hair in a corner of the room. Fred watched in awe as his best friend swayed her hips to the beat, her white tennis skirt showing her curves off, and her red crop top rising as she lifted her arms above her head, showing her sculpted abs from years of Quidditch. Her white heeled booties made her legs go on for miles. Y/N knew he was staring at her, and started swaying her hips a bit more seductively, and raised her arms a little higher than before.

Y/N knew how she felt about Fred a long time ago, but after convincing herself that he didn’t reciprocate those feelings, she pushed them deep down and tried to forget about them. She saw how he was around other girls, and that did nothing but confirm her thoughts. That didn’t stop her from flirting with him, and she assumed that him flirting back with her was just his charming personality coming out. She had known the twins for 6 years, and while they had been her best friends ever since, her feelings towards Fred slowly changed compared to the ones she had for George. While she saw George as a best friend, a brother, she eventually fell in love with Fred’s charisma, his laugh, the way he treated her and protected her. He always made sure that she ate and slept enough, and was there for her every time the stress of school and Quidditch piled up. He would let her cry on his shoulder while he held her until she eventually fell asleep, and wouldn’t move until she woke up. He was always able to put a smile on her face when she was having a bad day, whether it be with a simple joke or with an elaborate prank. Whenever Gryffindor would throw their parties and she had one too many Firewhiskys, he would always make sure she got up to bed safe, and was there to cure the hangover the next morning. If Y/N got detention, he was first in line to cause a disruption that would land him in detention right next to her, even if it was with Snape. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, and while Y/N thought it was just him being a best friend, there was so much more to Fred’s actions than she knew.

Y/N let the music take her away, dancing like no one and everyone was watching at the same time. She danced with Hermione and grabbed her hand, spinning her around while they laughed. They lost track of how long they had been dancing, but it had been long enough for them to both have finished the bottles of alcohol in their hands, now discarded on the floor. Eventually, Hermione turned to the girl and said while laughing,

“Okay I need a break. I’m exhausted.”

“Who am I supposed to dance with now?” Y/N whined looking at her friend

As Hermione stepped down from the table, she looked up at Y/N and said,

“Ask Fred. He’s been staring at you this entire time.”

Y/N turned and immediately saw Fred in the same place he had been before, still staring at her with a soft smile on his face.

“Freddie! Come dance with me!” she called out.

The redhead immediately made his way over to the girl, noticing how she was involuntarily swaying and tripping over her own feet. As he approached the table, he spoke to the girl,

“I’ll only dance with you if you get down from that table. You’re too drunk to be up there.”

“But dancing on the table is fun Freddie you have to try it,” she answered, pouting.

“I’ll try it another time I promise,” he said laughing, “Right now I don’t want you to fall and get hurt.”

“Fine, you’re no fun,” Y/N mumbled, attempting to step down from the table. Fred shot his arms out and grabbed her waist, picking her up and setting her on the ground before she could fall face first off of the surface. Y/N wrapped her arms around his waist and put her chin against his chest, looking up at him.

“Now will you dance with me?” Y/N drawled out, pouting up at the boy.

Fred laughed looking down at the girl and nodded, and she quickly let go of his waist and grabbed his hand, dragging him to the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Just as they stopped, a new upbeat song started playing, and Y/N squealed and announced that she loved the song and immediately started dancing again, swaying her hips and raising her arms above her head yet again. Fred put his hands on her hips from behind and let her dance on him, swaying against her. This typically happened between them at every party, but what Y/N didn’t know was Fred looked forward to this every time. He looked forward to having the girl he loved dancing against him, with her attention solely on him and the music. He relished in the moments they got to spend just the two of them. He had told himself over a year ago that his best friend didn’t feel the same way, no matter what George and Lee thought, or even the rest of his family members. When Y/N had gone to the Burrow to spend the last two weeks of summer break with the Weasleys before their sixth year started, Molly had questioned Fred on why he hadn’t asked her out yet. He told her multiple times that they were just friends, but he knew she didn’t believe him.

Fred remembered the exact moment he realized he was in love with his best friend. During their first Quidditch game of the season in their fifth year, Gryffindor was playing Ravenclaw, and he hadn’t seen one of the Ravenclaw beaters hit a blunger towards Y/N. All he saw was the blunger hit her in the back, and her body falling off of her broom. He dropped his beater’s bat and ignored every call and shout from Olivier Wood telling him to stop fooling around. He flew downward as fast as his broom would take him, and managed to catch Y/N’s limp body moments before she hit the ground. He carried her all the way to the Hospital Wing, despite protests from Madam Hooch telling him to put her down and let her handle it. He stayed in the Hospital Wing for 3 days waiting inter to wake up, leaving only to shower and change out of his Quidditch uniform. George brought him food and sat with him for most of the time, but left when it was time for him to sleep. Fred slept in the chair next to her bed and skipped all of his Monday classes, but he didn’t think twice about wanting to be there when she woke up.

During those 3 days he sat in the hospital, he realized just how strong his feelings were for his best friend. He realized that he couldn’t live without her, and that he wanted no one else. No one made his heart race the way Y/N did when she walked into the room. He had fallen in love with her sarcastic banter and the way she could give just as much as she could take. He had fallen in love with her bright smile and her captivating eyes. The had a way with always encouraging him with her motivating words when it came to school, Quidditch, and even his pranks. She supported him through everything, but had no problem scolding his and George if they pulled a prank or did something that she knew could get them in trouble. She fell right into place with his family, treating his younger siblings as her own and getting along with all of his older siblings. His parents loved her. Family is everything to Fred, and Y/N fitting in with the Weasleys was everything to him. If Fred was sick, she was right next to him making him soup and tea, getting him medicine and helping him get better. She would lay with him and sing him to sleep, staying all night to make sure didn’t have problem through the night. She didn’t care if she got sick, all she cared about was making sure Fred got better. She helped him study so he could pass his classes, even if it meant studying less for hers. She had taken the blame for his reckless actions for than once, so he could avoid getting in trouble yet again. Fred had realized that he wanted no one else by his side, and because of that, he sacrificed telling Y/N his feelings in fear that he would lose her completely if he did.

Fred shook himself from his thoughts and focused on the girl in front of him. He bent his head down and kissed her on the cheek, then moving down and placing one on her neck. He moved his hands from her waist and spun her around so she was facing him. He placed his hands on the exposed skin between her skirt and her crop that had risen up. She looked up at him and smiled, wrapping her hands around his neck, not faltering her dance moves once. He locked eyes with her and didn’t look away, a small smirk playing on his lips. He pulled her closer so she was pressed completely against him, and she tightened her arms around his neck without a second though. They continued dancing like this for a few more minutes through a number of songs, before Y/N started to pull away and asked,

“You want to go get another drink?”

Before Fred could answer, she grabbed one of his hands that rested on her waist and started walking towards the back of the common room. She attempted to weave her way through the crowd, but bumped into multiple people instead. By the time they reached the table, Fred was holding onto her to keep her upright.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight, love,” Fred told the girl.

“But Freddie we’re celebrating tonight,” she pouted to the boy.

“I know but you can’t even stand up straight. I think it’s time to get you to bed.”

“You want to get me in bed?”

Fred laughed and shook his head, before wrapping his hands around her waist and walking Y/N towards the door to the boys dormitories. When they approached the door, he turned her to face him and she stuck her arms up out of reflex. He picked her up with ease and she wrapped her legs around his waist and nuzzled her face in his neck. Fred opened the door and climbed up the stairs until he reached the door to his room, opening and closing it behind them. When they reached his bed, he attempted to sit Y/N down but she clung to him and said,

“No don’t let me go Freddie.”

Fred leaned back so he could see her face and she picked her head up to look at him. She flicked her eyes down to his lips and back up to his eyes so fast that Fred wondered if he had imagined it, but when she did it again he knew he wasn’t seeing things. He kissed her forehead before sitting her down on his bed. He turned to his trunk and pulled out one of his shirts and a pair of flannel pajama pants for Y/N to change into. He handed them before saying,

“Go and change then we can go to bed.”

“I love wearing your clothes,” she said before getting up from the bed.

“You can wear them whenever you like,” Fred said with a smile as she disappeared into the bathroom. He changed into a pair of pajama pants and took his shirt off before filling up a glass of water and setting it on the table beside his bed. When Y/N emerged from the bathroom, she headed straight for his bed and sat on the edge. Fred handed her the glass of water and told her to drink it, and she finished the entire glass before saying,

“Fred?”

“Yes love?” he answered.

“Will you ever see me as more than just your best friend?”

Fred wondered if he had heard her correctly and moved to stand between her legs, and then asked her to repeat what she had said.

“You heard what I said Freddie. Am I just a best friend to you?”

Fred softly placed his hands on her cheeks and moved her head to look at him. He let out a breathe and decided it was now or never.

“You’re everything to me Y/N. You’re my world. You’re so much more to me than just a best friend. I can’t imagine not having you by my side everyday. I love everything about you; your smile, your eyes, your laugh. The way you’re always there to help me and support me. You’re my best friend but you’re so much more than that. I’m in love with you Y/N.”

Y/N took his words in and smiled. She felt herself started to sober as he spoke each word, and started to tear up. She felt a single tear slip onto her cheek, and Fred wiped it off with his thumb out of instinct. The girl placed one of her hands over one of his and whispered,

“I’ve been in love with you since we were 14 year old.”

Fred’s smile only grew, and he leaned down and softly pressed his lips against hers. His lips were softer than Y/N had imagined them being, and the kiss was slow and sweet. She moved her lips against his and moved her hands to his waist, pulling him in closer. The kiss grew from soft and sweet, to hard and passionate, both of them trying to express years of unspoken love to each other. Neither of them wanted to pull away first, but before long they both needed to breathe, and slowly pulled away at the same time. Fred leaned his forehead against hers, and placed another soft kiss on her lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Fred whispered.

“You should have,” Y/N retorted with a smile. Fred only chuckled before letting go of her cheeks and pulling back the comforter on his bed. Y/N wordlessly climbed under the covers and scooted over so Fred could get in next to her. He laid down and opened his arms, inviting the girl to lay with him. Y/N placed her head on Fred’s chest and tangled her legs with his, before placing a few kisses on his shirtless torso.

“This was the Quidditch celebration we’ve ever had,” Y/N mumbled, already starting to doze off.

“I love you Y/N,” Fred whispered back to her, pressing a kiss against her hair. He knew she was tired and had began to fall asleep, but he didn’t miss the “I love you too Freddie” that fell from her lips just before she passed out for the night.

[lozzypoz321]

Word count: 1235

A/N: someone requested this in a comment and I can’t remember who it was but here it is!!

Warnings: anxiety, mentions of abuse,

Steve Rogers daughter with fire powers headcanon

-

You had been made as an experiment.

Made in HYDRA. They’d given you fire powers to battle with

You had spent most of your childhood there

You had never known your father as a young childhood

Although you’d always had Bucky as a father figure

Whether he was under control or not, he never harmed you

Once Steve had found you one day in a base (after TWS) he had two different feelings

Part of him was happy he had a daughter

The other side of his brain was telling him to push you away so he didn’t mess up as a dad but he knew that wouldn’t help

And anyway, Bucky would personally beat him up if he even considered giving you up

Before long he found out you had powers

He didn’t find out straight away as you didn’t like using the fire

It was quite funny really, you were afraid of yourself and what you could do

But before long Loki, himself had helped you gain control and be comfortable with it

After that it turned into a game

The team knew you could do damage with it; you could light up the whole of New York if you wanted to

So it was safe to say they were on edge when you got angry

One time Sam had stolen your camera and erased all of its footage and your eyes started to glow red

Everyone was stood back in the furthest corner of the room, afraid you would set them aflame

All except Bucky

He knew you wouldn’t hurt anyone, he’d known you since a baby and everything you did was to try to help people. No matter whether they’ve caused you pain or not

So he knelt in front of you, his hand reached out close to yours as if asking for permission to touch you

And to everyone’s surprise, instead of killing someone, you burst into tears, reaching forward and bringing the soldier into a hug.

Sam felt bad after that for making you upset

Something else that scared the team was when you casually clicked your fingers, alighting a fire and then putting it out again, just casually.

They had a reason to be scared though.

Many times (on accident of course) you had lit people on fire by them just making you jump

It was a natural reaction.

You’d never been to school before so to say it was a relief when your dad said you could be homeschooled online was an understatement

It wasn’t that you didn’t know anything

No.

Tony and Bruce were there to teach you when you grew up in the tower

It was that other children were at schools and you thought they wouldn’t take kindly to someone who could turn them into a human torch with one click of a finger

The more you grew older the closer you grew to your father

He was there for you when you started to become distant from the hate you were receiving online

He was there when you struggled with training and started to give up on yourself

He was there when you had to stay in the towers hospital for two months after you’d accidentally burned yourself through your skin, nearly reaching the bone

He wasn’t, however there when Peter accidentally pushed you off the roof

You were very thankful that day that Tony’s suites were always on standby

Bucky and your dad were furious

Wanda had to literally put a protective bubble around the teenager to stop them both from launching at him

You were sure that they wouldn’t even think about actually doing it if they weren’t drunk on anger

The back of their minds was nagging them to think about what would’ve happened if the suite didn’t catch you.

If you weren’t here with them right now.

Neither of them wanted to even entertain the idea in their heads

Without failure, Fridays were the best days to be at the tower

Thor and Loki came back from Asgard to play board games with you

Peter spent the night there so everyone could play Wii after

And Sam brought over some of his homemade pancakes for everyone

You all ate them after the takeout though

Everybody always ended up in an abundance of blankets on the sofa though without even realising

Your dad loved to have Thursday dinners with just the two of you

Sometimes letting you alight the stove with your fire powers

You both tried to be as honest as you could with each other

Although sharing emotions wasn’t exactly your strong point

Especially when it came to being scared

One night the power had gone off, meaning most of the tower was technically useless

It also didn’t help when 30 minutes later it started thundering

Apparently, Thor couldn’t do anything about it

So there you were, alone in your bedroom shaking like a baby, as the thunder sounded from outside

You probably wouldn’t have been found if your dad hadn’t have come in to ask you to use your powers to cook the chicken on the stove as the power was out

But when he did, he instantly rushed over

Dropping the packet and kneeling in front of you

Tears stained your cheeks as he gently wiped them away with the pad of his thumb

He, or any other member of the team, didn’t know about your fear of thunder and lightning, so it was a surprise to him but he tried to mask it by being calm for you

“it’s okay, you’re safe doll”

Once you’d calmed down, he returned the food downstairs and instead grabbed some movies to drown out the noise from outside and some ice cream

You both watched Harry Potter films for the next couple hours, eating until the storm would blow over

Halfway through, Clint had come looking for the two of you

He didn’t expect to see you both wrapped up in blankets and snoring softly with Sirius Blacks voice sounding in the background

Nobody was better than you at monopoly

If there was a game (which was unlikely as they all knew what the outcome would be) then you would easily win

It also caused a lot of drama in the compound

“HOW DARE YOU!”

“WE ARE FAMILY. YOU CAN’T JUST PUT ME IN JAIL”

“ACTUALLY, I THINK I JUST DID.”

One time Thor actually threatened to bring thunder down on the tower if he didn’t get his house

That certainly shut you up

“Why are you guys so damn loud?” You asked with a groan

“Language (Y/N)” Bucky scolded making Steve narrow his eyes at him

“One time man”

When you first went on a mission, you were forced to go with your uncle Bucky and dad

They didn’t let you out of their sight the whole time

Which you supposed was fair enough since you were known to be accident prone

“(Y/N) stay behind Buck” your dad ordered in his captain voice as you all readied to bust into an experiment room

They were one of the most protective pair in the universe

But they were proud of how you grew up and handled being enhanced

Everyone was.

@marvel-ous-hobbit @snarky--starky @rae-is-typing @stargazingfangirl18 @canadianhufflepuffavenger @herecomesthewriterwitch @every-marveler-ever @hera-the-writer @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @xbongox @rooskaya-yelena @deephideoutmilkshake @kidney9-9 @js3639 @am3l1a-24 @bonkybarnes107 @ilovemarvel-andcats @vickcat (lined through are untaggable)

[thusspoketrish]

Play Pretend (Part 1/5)

TRIGGER WARNING (PLEASE READ THE TAGS. PLEASE READ THE TAGS. PLEASE READ THE TAGS): Depression. Suicide Attempt. Suicidal Ideation. PTSD. Poor Coping Mechanism.

Harry Potter & Astoria Greengrass; Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter; Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy; Astoria Greengrass/Others; Draco Malfoy/Others; Harry Potter/Others

Content: Friendship. Forced Marriage Arrangement. Unrequited Love. Falling Out of Love. Falling in Love. Betrayal. Friendships. Breakups. Mental Health Issues. Apathy. Flatmates. Acceptance. Positive Thinking. Therapy.

SUMMARY: Fate boasts a strange sense of humour when a severely depressed Harry finds himself convincing a drunk Astoria Greengrass off the ledge of Waterloo Bridge at three in the morning. The events that follow after are an exercise in strength as Harry finds himself relearning how to cope, forgive, and love alongside the blossoming of new friendships.

Thank you to @starlitsilvereyes for the beta!

====================

At approximately 2:07 AM, Harry Potter shoves his arms through his black wool coat before wrapping his Gryffindor scarf tightly around his neck. He shoves on the misshapen scarlet mittens Hermione knitted for him several years ago, realising he could summon a better pair as she’s improved greatly since Hogwarts, but finding that these reminded him of a better time.

Finally, he shoves his wand up his sleeve before wrenching the door open and taking the steps down from Grimmauld two at a time, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality. As he breathes in and out sharply, white puffs curling outward from his chapped lips, Harry looks skyward. The moon is heavy and hangs low tonight, full and beautiful as swirls of snow begin to gently fall. It’s dark, and beautiful, and it hurts to look at.

Harry had spent the entire day cleaning Grimmauld from top to bottom. Not that this mattered as Harry has found that no matter how much he cleaned or remodelled the house, he was incapable of penetrating its doom-and-gloom atmosphere. But he had cleaned to the best of his ability, and had arranged all his necessary documents across his office table several hours ago. He carefully placed each note facing upward, the individual names of all his friends in his spidery scrawl. He had even left notes behind for the Dursley’s, though, not imparting a single kind word, as seen in his other letters. He had left the Gringotts keys of the Potter Vault behind in Ron and Hermione’s name and endowed a small trust to any future children they may have. He had left the deed and keys to Grimmauld and the Black vault to Teddy and Andromeda.

Harry doesn’t think he left any stone unturned.

He had been planning this for months. Had made the nearly 40-minute walk from Clerkenwell to Waterloo Bridge nearly every night for the last three weeks, simply staring out at the water, yearning. It would take nothing, he thought, to sit on the ledge, cast a simple spell to increase his weight, and fling himself over the edge. And at three in the morning, it wouldn’t be hard to do this uninterrupted.

A numb sort of blankness overcomes him as he rolls his shoulders and makes his way through the quiet roads, onto the high street where the slow crawl of busses and cars creep past. Harry’s vision is a tunnel of black and white images flickering in and out of focus as he sets himself on autopilot. He could do this route with his eyes closed.

It’s not that Harry thinks he deserves to die. He’s simply come to the conclusion that he wants to.

He’s tired, much too tired from the debilitating numbness that’s crippled his entire existence. He’s remained frozen in time since dying and coming back to life in the Forbidden Forest. The experience has left him immobile, like a statue, weathered by the storm called time but never feeling the effects of it no matter how long he holds his breath, patiently waiting for something to come along and happen. He was waiting for the spark of life to feed his blood as it had during the war, and nothing, no reason or rhyme, has been able to replace it. He had quit the Aurors, had isolated himself from the pitying expressions of friends and family, and had shrunken himself on the outside to reflect what he felt on the inside—absolutely nothing. He was nothing, a lingering afterthought in his own mind, something ugly and broken with a piece of its soul missing. He couldn’t stand to live with that knowledge any longer.

It was no one’s fault, not directly. Harry’s never been whole, not as a child curled up and forgotten in the cupboard under the stairs; not as a child, shaped into a sacrificial soldier, not as a twenty-three year old man, alone, shrouded in the dark cloak of night, ready to end his life.

The black and purple swirls of fog and clouds paint a pretty backdrop for the breathtaking view of the Thames, the London Eye, and Parliament from Harry’s position on the bridge. It’s the only time his vision shifts to full-colour, when he’s standing on the bridge, hands gripping the cold railing as he peers over, his glasses sliding slowly down his nose. He uses a mittened finger to push them back up, a hollow laugh escaping him as he reaches deep down inside of himself to search for a feeling, anything. He wishes for even a fissure of panic as he places both hands on the railing again, wondering if 100kg added to his feet would successfully prevent his ability to kick back up to the surface.

A harsh wind whips by, and with it carrying a whimper. Harry turns, his gaze sharpening, harping on an elongated figure further down the bridge perched on the railing.

He turns back to the water, staring out at the inky black waves. He shouldn’t care.

The whimper turns into full on sobbing.

He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t.

Then, there’s a horrible scream of anguish that pierces the quiet, the sound full of devastation. He blinks several times, pushing his glasses up again. He may not have the ability to care for his own well-being anymore but he still...he still seems to care about others.

With a sigh, Harry walks to the centre of the bridge, noticing a lone figure down the road walking towards them before abruptly stopping and turning away from them.

Harry ignores them, and instead approaches the person perched on the railing. He can see that the person is wearing a black, long-sleeved ballgown, tiny sparkling beads of emerald green, gold, red, and silver shimmering in the moonlight, taking the shape of exploding fireworks across her bodice along the back of the dress. It’s beautiful, and Harry gasps when the woman turns to face him.

He’s seen this woman before, has seen her pretty pale face at the Slytherin table at Hogwarts. Her long black hair whips across her flushed face, mascara-tinged tears sliding down her cheeks. Her red lipstick is smeared across her lips and down her chin, piercing blue eyes unfocussed as she sways side-to-side.

“What do you want?” the woman asks miserably, her voice slurring, intoxicated. Harry steps closer to her, as if she’s a wild animal ready to leap away from him. The woman’s lips turn down into a terrible wound of a frown, misshapen by the smeared lipstick. “Did he send you?” she cries.

“No,” Harry says, not knowing who she’s talking about as he slowly approaches her. “Why don’t you come down?” he asks, extending an opened hand.

The woman’s gaze twists from Harry back out to the dark depths of the Thames. Harry inches closer.

Another whimper escapes her. “He doesn’t love me,” she cries, her body shaking as she weeps.

“There are people out here who love you,” Harry says, wincing. How many times has Ron and Hermione said this very thing to him over the last year?

“But not him!” she shouts, her shoulders trembling, the harsh winds whip her hair. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve even given him all of me, all my love, all my hopes and my bloody dreams, and nothing. Nothing I do makes him look at me…at me...as if,” the woman breaks off, a trembling cry escaping her before she shouts, “Why...why not me?”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Harry says, his voice carrying on the winds, tone firm. A small spark of indignation is felt in his chest. This woman, this woman is suffering, and it’s fuelling a knife-sharp sensation alongside his slow-beating heart. He wants to touch her, see if he can pull her grief into him, see if it’ll help him feel his own, for once.

The woman tilts her head back, a wail escaping her. “I don’t deserve him! I can’t help him, I can’t even bloody keep him. I’m useless.”

“Stop it, don’t put yourself down like this. He doesn’t deserve you...you’re stronger than this pain, this numbness you’re experiencing, and you know it. You know you can do so much better than him, that your life and your hopes and dreams outweighs whatever the fuck you think he sees when he looks at you. You don’t need anything from him, not when you’re this strong,” Harry says, shaking his head. He doesn’t know where these words are coming from, they feel foreign to his own ears. A part of him wonders if he wished someone would say this to him. “What’s your name?”

The woman draws in a shaky breath before she answers in a tiny, strained voice, “Astoria. Astoria Greengrass.”

Harry nods, now remembering her, remembering where he’s seen her name lately. “Come, Astoria. You have so much to offer the world. You’re strong, but sometimes even the strongest among us have bad days, but that doesn’t make us worthless,” Harry says, the feeling in his chest swelling, lighting him on fire from the inside. Harry gasps. “You’re worth fighting for, you’re...let me...let me fight for you, Astoria, until you can fight for yourself. Please...please, take my hand. You don’t have to do this...you don’t have to do this alone.” He’s now beside her.

A wicked wind whips past them again, the snow falling now coming down in thick, fluffy sheets. Astoria huffs out another sob before she turns around, her hand stretching out.

Harry clasps it, pulling her forward. She wraps her arms around his neck, digging her face into this layered scarf, clinging to him like a lifeline. They both sink to the ground as she weeps. The cold stings the trail of tears on Harry’s own cheeks.

She smells like the cold, along with lingering scent of bergamot orange and rosewood. He knows it's a combination of scents he'll never forget as he cradles her against his chest before quickly opening his coat to wrap around her shivering form.

All the while, feeling more alive than he has since the day he died.

[lee-scribbles-and-doodles]

S2 ep5

I'm so pumped!

Asdfff Sam landing on Max and Bosco landing on him

Mr Featherly just knowing they're in the afterlife... because he studied the classics

Aw, Sam actually wants to help Bosco

Oh, a Moleman!

"Serving the finest vegans"

Oh hey, Harry is here

"Aw, cute Max. A little goth moleman."

Harry is death now.

Sam just got cat-called by a moleman

"Ooohee look who can fill out a suit." "Why I never!"

Max is too small to climb the ladder properly so ge has to jump up the rungs 🥺

"You can't see over the wheel, Max." "Facist."

The Desoto died!?

Featherly laid an egg??? Trans featherly???

Max and Sybil are gossip buddies🥰

Ew Sybil and Ave are getting married. 🤢 (Honey date the monster or Superball)

"Cake at a wedding? Ooookay."

Oh, Monster is having a rough time

Aw, Max offered to be the priest at the ceremony 💕 (Sybil declined but still)

Lol, Max has the wrong idea of what a shotgun wedding is.

I can kind of understand Sybil's apprehension at allowing the boys to be part of the ceremony tbh

Ghost Mama Bosco!?

She still looking fine as an old lady tho

She's still after Bosco for wrecking her store (although she still doesn't realize it was her own son)

Aw, she actually wants to see more of Bosco

Flint is still looking for Bosco

Aw, we can give the Ai to Jimmy

Oh no, it woke Maimtron up!

Did we just kill Timmy???

Oh hey, Past Sam. I knew that one cutscene was going to come back.

They sure are making a lot of hell freezing over jokes

Oof the tourette jokes are back. REALLY hope they get swapped out with new jokes in the remaster

Max's big kick before jumping down the manhole

Max landed on Sam's head

The Soul Train is actually cool looking

Jurgen!?

He's being so petty. Why would the boys save him when killed them???

Hugh Bliss!

He's just... staring... with his head on backwards...

"That a list of swear words!" (Proceeds to say every one and gets censored each time)

Brady Culture too. Is everyone here?

"I'm in hell, and I'm happy."

"--But none of that matters because I finally found someone who believes in me: Satan."

Oh hey, the big door had Sam and Msx art on it

Oh, Demon Sam and Max statues

Sam the devourer and Max the destroyer

Bosco's hell is being naked in front of others?

Santa is in hell!

The Desoto is in hell :(

Grandpa Stinky!

Aw, Sam wants to save them all

Sybil still does therapy?

Lol, we can make Bosco scare himself.

"See you around naked Bosco." "I don't think I'll ever stop seeing you." "Save me!"

Imma just take the laughing gas

Santa hates kids haha

Max is allergic to dogs?

The Desoto only goes like 6 mph and only honks :(

"I hope when we die, they put our hells close to each other." "It'll be like a sleepover that never ends!"

Boy it took me a bit to figure out the Santa and Elf puzzel

Let's move on to Stinky

So are Girl Stinky and Grandpa Stinky not related?

I got a book. I think that's all we can do for now until we get Timmy.

Satan won't even give the boys the time of day

Harry is looming over Timmy.

Have to distract him. I guess it's time to put the monster out if his misery.

I feel so bad 😥

Oh, poor Timmy

Welp, back to Stinky's hell

Sam using the karaoke machine 😳

Ok, saved Stinky's soul from internal damnation

Omg it took me way too long to figure out what to do with the laughing gas.

"Vamoose!" *fire's gun*

At least Basco and the Desoto are free

Satan just tricked Sam into trading his soul 😮

Max's ears drooping when he realizes Sam is gone 😭

Noooo! Not Peepers!

Sam's personal hell is a life without Max 👀

Sam's sad walk 😔

Leonard is in a hell closet

"Peepers said he was my partner." "What!? Nobody steals my sidekick!" "I always thought you were the sidekick." "Heh, sure Sam."

"Max, meet demon Peepers." "Oh, hi!" "Demon Peepers says he's my partner and best friend." *Max proceeds to kill demon Peepers*

Omg the Soda Poppers are Satan's bosses!?

Omg do I get to kill them now? Pls let me kill them!

They beat Brady to death!?

They've been planing their rise sins s1 ep1???

They're after the boys because of one bad birthday? What crybaby!

They're firing Satan!

Flint, Bosco, and Mama Bosco cutscene us everything.

Mama Bosco is gone :(

"I did wipe your windshield for you." "Oh, I er, must have left my change in my other suit! Max?" "I'm naked."

Satan's proud of the boys haha

The stripper is the monster

All the men are into it. They're all gay, bi, or pan now you can't change my mind.

Bosco likes to be nude apparently

Mr Featherly doesn't have his vest on!

Abe, you really aren't winning me over

Oh, Timmy is a Poppers fan. Poor child has no taste.

Let's steal Satan's stufg

Let's mess with Hugh

"I hope I won't have to bend over provokedly to--" "That's enough, Max."

Oh wait, I didn't check on Sybil

Ew, Peepers is seducing Sybil.

"I hate to say, but Peepers is kind of sexy." "Ha, if you're into short guys with annoying voices!" 👀👀👀 Max, you just described yourself

Dick Peacock!?

Yay, we saved Sybil!

Whizzer is trying to make Girl Stinky eat the forbidden fruit

Grandpa Stinky is alive!

Awe, the Stinky's are a surrogate family

Culinary dark arts

Oh, that's what the baby book is for.

She's a cake!!!

Aw, Grandpa is upset he turned her into a cake

Oh, I think we were suppose to do the Stinky puzzel before the Sybil one.

Specs is trying to win the C.O.P.S. souls?

Ok, figured out how to save Chippy

Hell yeah, Chippy rocks!

Specs didn't give him the golden fiddle! What a rip!

Ok, time to help the Stinky's! Let's get the boys drunk!!!

Poor Monster 😞

Drunk Abe is showing remorse

Yay! Girl Stinky is back!

Of course we can't just give hell back. Poppers gotta make it difficult

Welp, down into the pits or he'll we go.

Oh hey, the sleigh. Yay for tome travel

We made hell freeze over!

Sam letting Max pick up the phone because they froze he'll over 🥺

Sybil decided to let Max officiate ❤

Oh! I see what we have to do

The Miriachi!

By Popper fucks!

To the wedding!

Still wish she were with Superball

Aw, Sybil looks good in her dress

"Hundred bucks say they don't last three months." Thanks Flint

Max stole the flowers 👀👀👀 Him and Sam gonna get married. That's the only option

Leonard!

Aw, the boys let Abe and Sybil take the car ❤

[cali-holland]

Break Up Songs- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: Being best friends for years, you and Tom have helped each other through many breakups, but neither of you had ever thought there could be something more between the two of you until tonight, when you both celebrated your cheating exes with drunk karaoke.

Word Count: 2800

Loosely Based On: Breakup Song by Little Mix

Warnings: drinking, swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions of vomiting/alcohol poisoning

Featured Songs: Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood, Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond, What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction, and My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

Eight relationships. Eight breakups. Eight first kisses. Eight last kisses. Eight long nights on the phone blissfully talking about that special first date. And six long nights crying over the heartbreaking last date.

Over the course of your eight year friendship with Tom, the two of you had been through six relationships in total- not together, no that number was still zero. Three times Tom had been there to help you through a breakup (once to egg the cheating bastard’s house), and three times you had been there for Tom as he went through a breakup (sadly, you didn’t get to egg anyone’s house for him).

Somehow, your relationships never really lined up with each other. Whenever you had a boyfriend, Tom was single; whenever Tom had a girlfriend, you were single. That’s just how it always worked. One person’s breakup would almost consistently line up just days after or before the other’s first date.

Until now.

Tonight was the seventh and eighth breakup. It wasn’t really anything you or Tom saw coming exactly; you both kind of knew your own individual relationships were fading out, but you never expected your boyfriend to cheat on you with Tom’s girlfriend. Technically, you had the seventh breakup and he had the eighth because you found out about the infidelity first and then called him. Well, you guessed that was why that double date you all had felt like you were there with Tom more so than your actual boyfriend. So, naturally, the night of your breakups, you both went out to the bar with Harrison and the twins. It almost became a tradition: whenever one of you went through a breakup, the other would take them out for drinks (how shitfaced you all ended up at the end of the night coincided with how shitty the breakup was).

“To getting cheated on.” You said, raising up your shot glass that was filled to the rim with tequila.

“Cheers.” Tom clinked his shot glass against yours, as the other three boys chimed in happily. The five of you threw your shots back, only cringing a little from the harsh alcohol soaring down your throat.

“Shit, we forgot to order limes.” You coughed a little.

“I got the next round.” Tom offered, getting up from the table to order more shots, but this time remembering the limes.

“So, now Mandy and Troy are out of the picture.” Harry teased you.

“And I’m thankful for that- those cheating bastards.” You scoffed, “I always thought Mandy wasn’t good enough for Tom.”

“You never think any of his girlfriends are good enough for him.” Harrison pointed out with a laugh.

“That’s because he always dates bitchy, selfish girls.”

“Wow that doesn’t make you sound bitchy or selfish at all.” Sam teased.

“I’m just saying, he doesn’t date the right kind of girls.” You tried to explain yourself, already feeling the tequila a little bit. Another reason why this bar specifically was part of the tradition- each shot of tequila felt like two because somehow they had strong alcohol.

“And what would the right kind be? You?” Harrison laughed. “You almost sound jealous, you know that?”

“Oh my God, no.” You scrunched up your nose, “Haz, I know you’re pretty, but that doesn’t excuse you from saying stupid shit.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He smiled proudly, and you just rolled your eyes at him. “Still, you and Mandy seem to have the same taste in guys.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you, leaning in teasingly, and you put a hand over his face, shoving him away.

“I got the limes!” Tom grinned, placing the next round of shots in front of you all.

While you all got ready to take your second shots of the evening, you found yourself thinking of Harrison’s words. It was true that you didn’t like any of his girlfriends; something about them just bothered you. You always pinned it on them being too stuck up, too fake- too bitchy and selfish, but maybe Harrison was more right than you’d like to admit. You didn’t think of yourself as a jealous person, and yet you might have been jealous of his girlfriends. Surely after eight years though, you would have been able to tell, right? You would’ve been able to tell that you liked your best friend as more than a friend? But yet again, you now had a valid reason to hate his most recent ex because well, she was the other woman in your own relationship.

A couple rounds later and it was your turn to get everyone shots, leaving the four boys alone. Tom watched eagerly as the bar’s employees started to set up for karaoke night, one of his personal favorite things about this particular bar. Drunk karaoke was his own highlight of these breakup night outs; what was better than getting over heartbreak by drunkenly embarrassing yourself in front of a bunch of strangers (while hoping the videos never surface and ruin his career)?

“You gonna sing with Y/N again?” Harrison asked Tom, watching his friend focus intently on the karaoke machine.

“Well, none of you will do it with me.” Tom replied, turning back to his friend and brothers. “You know what’s weird? This is the first time in years that both Y/N and I have been single at the same time.”

“It’s been four hours since your breakup.” Harrison pointed out.

“What’s weird is that you thought of that. Was that drunk you or sober you that came to that realization?” Harry joked.

“I just think it’s strange. You two have been single for ages.” He lifted up his hand to motion at Harry and Harrison; Sam just laughed proudly to himself.

“You gonna do anything about it?” Sam inquired.

“You mean like date Y/N? Nah, that’d be too- too,” Tom trailed off, not knowing the right word for it. He felt his heart twist a little at the thought of dating you. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t like to date you; it just would be odd, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t he have figured out long ago that he actually had feelings for you? And wouldn’t you have acted on it by now if you thought of him like that? There would have been signs, right? No matter what, his drunken brain was too gone for him to think of the right word. “I don’t know. Too something.”

“Whatever you say.” Harrison laughed, sipping on his water. He was familiar with how these nights ended with you and Tom, so after a few shots at the beginning of the night, he called himself good. He needed to be sober enough to keep you two in line.

When you returned with the drinks, Tom couldn’t help but look at you in a different light. In all of your eight years of friendship, you were finally single when he was single- albeit it was under sort of bad circumstances. There was no denying he found you attractive, and you were by far the funniest, most interesting person he’d ever met, but he always just categorized his feelings for you as strictly platonic. Though, he definitely felt different about you than he did with his other girl friends.

It wasn’t until later though, once you were both thoroughly drunk, that he got up and tugged on your hand. “C’mon, love, let’s do karaoke.”

“No,” You whined, as the twins drunkenly cheered you on. Harrison just wished he could be at least tipsy if he had to watch you and Tom drunkenly do karaoke for yet another night.

“Please, for me? We gotta sing at least one iconic break up song.” Tom pouted.

“Fine.” You stood up and followed him to the little stage. You couldn’t hear what he told the worker as his song choice, but you heard the familiar opening to Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats”.

“Suitable enough?” He chuckled, proud of his choice.

“Right now, he's probably slow dancing, with a bleached-blond tramp, and she's probably getting frisky,” You started singing, your words a bit slurred by the speed of the song, “Right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink, ‘cause she can't shoot whiskey,”

“Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick, showing her how to shoot a combo, and he don't know,” Tom sang back to you, banging his head with the beat as it went into the chorus.

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive, carved my name into his leather seats,” You and Tom both sang, jamming out to the song, “I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, I slashed a hole in all four tires, maybe next time he'll think before he cheats,”

“God, I’m too sober for this.” Harrison muttered, watching you two from across the bar. Harry and Sam clapped encouragingly, whistling for effect.

“They’re horrendous.” Harry laughed, and Sam started to film you and Tom drunkenly singing the bridge.

“That’s what makes it great, though!” He smiled. As the song finished, Harrison stood up.

“I need to grab them before they realize “Sweet Caroline” is on the playlist. The last thing I need to hear is ba ba bum every thirty seconds.”

“Ba ba bum!” Sam and Harry both chimed, hearing the iconic song in their heads.

Calling it a night for all of you, Harrison managed to get you and Tom out onto the street, you clinging to Tom while you stumbled together. Harry and Sam, while still drunk, were arguing over Harry’s music choice for their walk home, his phone currently playing One Direction from his “Drunk Karaoke” playlist.

“You don’t know, oh, oh!” Harry shouted into the oblivion of night over his twin brother’s protests. “You don’t know you’re beautiful.”

“Sam’s not beautiful.” Tom joked, and his brother shot him a glare.

“Oh my god, wait, Harry— like Harry Styles.” You mumbled to yourself in a drunken epiphany.

“Damn right!” Harry nodded, keeping the song going. “I need to queue more songs.”

“As long as it’s not—“ Harrison started, but Tom cut him off.

“We didn’t sing “Sweet Caroline”!” He exclaimed, looking at you with wide eyes.

“No!” Sam, Harry, and Harrison all protested, but you two started anyway.

Mumbling at the beginning because you two didn’t know the words, you both crescendoed into a yell, “Touching you! Sweet Caroline, ba ba bum!”

“Thank fucking God, we’re home.” Harrison breathed out a sigh of relief, stepping up to their house as you and Tom tried to figure out the second verse, singing incoherently.

“I feel sick.” You whined, making a (somewhat sloppy) beeline for the bathroom and Tom trailed off after you. Meanwhile, the responsible one went to get all the pain meds and water in order for tomorrow.

“Why did you dare me to have those last two drinks before we left?” You mumbled as you and Tom sat down on either side of the toilet. You were propped up against the bathtub while Tom leaned on the wall.

“Because you on ten shots of tequila is fun.” He laughed, and you glared at him.

“It was not ten,” You trailed off, trying to think of how much you drank, “Fuck it, I don’t know how many I had.”

You rested your head on the side of the tub, letting it cool your heated face. It was silent for a few moments as Tom looked at you, studying your features.

“What’re you staring at?” You asked.

“Just thinking.” He shrugged. “We should sing Celine Dion next karaoke night.”

“Celine Dion? You haven’t even seen the Titanic, we can’t sing-” You were cut off by him belting out the ending of the iconic song.

“You’re here, there’s nothing I fear!” Tom sang out, basically shouting. Giggling, you joined in with him until the two of you ended the song with a fit of laughter. As you continued to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the song, Tom spoke up quietly.

“I think I’m in love with you.” His voice was so soft, but the bathroom seemed to echo it, making it reach your ears like a thousand bricks. You looked at him speechless for a moment, processing his words. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I just had to-“

It was your turn to cut him off as you closed your eyes and leaned in across the bathroom floor to kiss him. The shock on his lips was quick to wear off with him moving his chapped lips against yours. Your position was awkward, trying to avoid his outstretched limbs and the sketchy looking towel on the floor; sensing your discomfort, Tom wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you into his, keeping his lips on yours the whole time. He kissed you like his life depended on it, his tongue dipping past your lips as the taste of tequila and lime overpowered your senses. You pulled back, your eyes opening to find him staring right back at you.

“I think I’m in love with you too.” You smiled shyly at him, panting a little from the heat of the kiss.

“I wanna kiss you again.” He said and you nodded, eagerly leaning into him again.

You weren’t sure how long you two stayed like that, perfectly content in your drunken bubble on the bathroom floor, but the bizarre moment was ended by Harrison throwing the door open.

“Why aren’t you two singing “Sweet Caroline” anymore? Did Y/N choke on vomit?” He asked, the door flying open. He froze as he looked down at you in Tom’s lap, both of you sporting swollen lips. “Oh no, you choked on Tom’s tongue.”

“Fuck off.” You hit him in the leg as he snickered at the two of you.

“It’s about time, but get off the bathroom floor. That’s disgusting.” He said while making his way out of the bathroom.

“He’s not wrong.” Tom laughed and you stood up, before helping him up.

“About time indeed.” You smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.

~~~

Tag List: @viagracex​​ @theamazingtomholland​​  @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart​ @joyleenl​​ @t-o-m-holland​​ @lonikje​​ @sleepybesson​​ @sunkisseddreamer​​ @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh​​ @gorrillaglue13 @petersoftboyparker @musicalkey @duskholland​

Tom Tag List:@quaksonhehe​​ @tomkindholland​

[skylarmoon71]

E2 Harrison Wells x Reader- Oneshot (Flash)

"Listen to me, you don't have to do this. You aren't a killer. "

You just closed your fist, eyes dark with hatred. The more you squeezed, the harder it was for the criminal in front of you to breathe. Barry took a step forward and you raised your free hand.

"I don't want to hurt you Barry, but I will if I have to. BACK OFF!"

"No! I'm not gonna stand here and watch you throw your life away. I know what it's like (Y/N), to resent someone to the point that you're willing to risk it all." your hands faltered for a second, and the man on the floor groaned. Your lips were quivering.

"H-He killed him Barry..for a stupid watch and some cash. "

"I know, and I'm so sorry (Y/N). " Bit by bit he was inching closer, and you could feel your anger dissipating slowly. You should have known that Barry would be the one to figure it out. After losing your boyfriend to a mugger, you dedicated your life to tracking his killer. 

You worked under Joe at CCPD. You were just an officer. A close call with a meta one night when you were working with Joe had led to the discovery of your own abilities. Shortly after he introduced you to the team. Even with your loss, you felt like you were slowly but surely getting your life back together. Then you heard of another robbery. Similar MO, except this time the individual survived. They were able to identify the perp. It could have been an impulse, but you tracked him down. Took you hours.

Standing in his beat down apartment, all you wanted to do was inflict as much pain as you could. You just wanted the hole that he left in your chest to disappear.

"Please (Y/N)." Barry's eyes were pleading. You finally lowered your hands, and the male being pinned gasped, coughing. Barry moved forward, pulling you into his arms and you stood there, gripping onto his shirt as you bawled your eyes out.

~~~~~

"You saved a lot of people. He's been on the run for weeks. Hurt a lot of innocent people too. Good job kd." You can't even look Joe in the eyes. You keep your head down nodding and he pats your shoulder. This entire situation could have gone completely sideways. All you can do is watch as they take the handcuffed man away. You're standing next to Barry who's doing his best to keep you grounded. As Joe leaves, you look over at Barry. "Thank you." you whisper. If he hadn't brought you from over the edge, it could have been you walking away in cuffs.

Barry knows that no amount of sympathetic words can help, so he just offers a hug. "Anytime (Y/N)."

~One Year Later~

"Guys I could really use a hand here!!" The meta currently trying to break past your barrier was a little more than you could handle at the moment. Between fighting past his metal armor and trying not to become like the unconscious officers around you, it was a struggle. With gritted teeth, you push harder, but he's fighting through pain. Being able to control liquid elements was a nice ability, but for this iron head, it may not have been enough. You were manipulating his water components, but it was just barely holding him off. A normal person would have been out cold by now.

"B-Barry!" On cue he zips by. The meta looks down at the cuffs on his wrist. You grin, because he no longer has the metal to shield him. With a flick of your wrist, his body is thrown back, hitting the wall.

"You know he was bound right." Barry says. You just shrugged. "I know." He shakes his head with a laugh, calling in Joe to round up some reinforcements. Finally, you can relax.

"What took you so long?"

"Well Harry and Cisco were-" you wave your hands.

"Don't bother, I can already guess. " Those two never quit.

"Next time just ignore them." you state walking away.

"Will do!!"

~~~~

"The next time you dipsticks decide to have a fight don't forget their actual people out there that don't wanna get crushed by a psycho metahuman." Cisco and Harry stood still as you basically ripped into them. Most of the time you could care less, but Barry could tell that something about this case must have really agitated you. Storming out the cortex, Barry's eyes followed you. He hadn't seen that look on your face since, well since you lost Calvin.

"Did she seem off to you?" Cisco inquired.

Barry was still zoned out.

"Just give her some time." Barry advised. He wanted nothing more than to help you, but he could tell that right now all you really needed was some space.

~~~~~

Later that afternoon Caitlin and Iris invited you to a well deserved girls night. Fighting metas as well as dealing with regular criminals took a pretty heavy toll on you. So of course you accepted. Knocking on the door, Iris rushed to open the door. The moment she saw your face she was grinning. You barely had time to greet her before she was tugging you inside. You laugh at her excitement. 

"Someone's ready to party." kicking off your shoes, you raised your head. You didn't expect to see the many faces that filled the room. "Uhhhh.." you were positive she'd said girls night over the phone, so why was Cisco, Harry, Joe and Barry here.

"Sorry we set you up, it was Barry's idea.' Iris apologized with a smile.

"Hey!" you can't really be mad. You step forward, and Barry is the first to hug you. Not anticipating it, you pat his back awkwardly. "Y-You okay there Barry?" He's acting a little strange. When he pulls away, all he does is smile, patting your shoulder. "Yeah I'm just...really glad that you're in our lives."

He's certainly being weird, nevertheless, you appreciate his words.

"That's sweet Barry, thank you." He nods.

"Alright let's get this party started!!" Cisco cheers. He's never one to pass up getting drunk.

"I'll make sure Ramon doesn't pass out on your couch Allen." With the both of them you know it's only a matter of time before the bickering begins, and it's sort of comforting.

For the night you all talk, drink and exchange stories. Harry gives some moments where he's had to scare away Jessie's potential boyfriends. Joe states the same when Iris had started high school. You're dying of laughter at one point when he says he flashed his gun to intimidate one of them. The night carries on. Somewhere along the line, you've slipped out to the balcony. You enjoy the company, but right at this moment, you need to be alone. You lean over, eyes staring up at the sky. 

The facade you've been keeping up all day has fallen, and you allow the tears to flow freely. You sniff a couple times. When you hear the door behind you slide close you straighten, wiping at your eyes frantically. 

"I-It's pretty chilly outside. Kind of makes your eyes water. The man standing there, it's not who you'd assume. Harry just watches you for a moment, and you're convinced he can see right through you.

"W-Well I should get inside before they start to worry." you try to bolt.

"Who did you lose?" Then he asks that question. You haven't even fully made it to the door yet, and you're lucky for the curtains that block the view on the other side of the door.

"I've been watching you all night. This morning Ramon was concerned you were acting unusual. I brushed it off, but seeing you tonight confirmed everything. The smiles don't truly reach your eyes. "

You have half a mind to tell him that it's none of his business. Who the hell did he even think he was, profiling you like some kind of criminal. Harry takes another step, and when he looks down, your barrier crumbles instantly. With a shaky hand to your lips, you lean your back against the wall. His eyes convey sympathy, and he takes your hand softly. You sob, and Harry slowly pulls you into his arms. You hold unto him, breaking down right there. It's been such a struggle carrying on all day. Harry is the absolute last person you ever would even think could provide comfort, but you're grateful.

~~~~~~

It takes a while for you to calm down, at one point Barry even comes searching, upon seeing you chatting with Harry, he closes the curtains with a smile. The both of you just sit in silence. You've pulled out a chair, and Harry is right beside you. He doesn't press for any kind of information. You kind of like this.

"His name was Calvin."

Azure eyes move in your direction.

"We were together for three years." You place a hand on your chest, and Harry watches as you reach under the neck of your shirt, pulling out a necklace. There's a ring attached to it. A beautiful diamond right at the center. "The night he was.." your throat tightens. 

"The night I lost him, he was going to propose. They recovered all the items that were stolen from the guy's apartment. Calvin bought it a year before. He was making down payments to afford it. " Your hands grip the ring, and you can feel the tears about to spill again. You swallowed, looking over at Harry. 

"I-I'm really sorry that I yelled at you guys today. I-I was just.."

"You don't have to explain. " He was starting to get the bigger picture. Today was important to you. This is what was needed for you to mourn. He understood, more than you realized. You knew about his past, and now he knows about yours.

"How long does it take for this feeling to go away?"

He wished he could give you an easy answer, but he was the last person to ask about dealing with loss. Tess was the most stable and treasured thing in his life. Then he lost her, shortly after that he almost watched his only daughter get killed. Safe to say he was the worst at trying to move on.

"It never really goes away." he knows that isn't the answer you want.

"But it will get better (Y/N). You have people here that care about you. Family."

They were the reason he no longer looked at the world at people as if they were expendable.

"You'll be fine." He takes your hand when he says it, and the confidence of his assurance. It's exactly what you need.

"Thank you, Harrison."

A brilliant smile.

"You're welcome."