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coryosbaby · 8 months

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Down & Dirty

Fandom: “Outer Banks”

Pairing: mean! Rafe Cameron x fem! Pogue! Bimbo! Reader

Cw: dark themes— dubcon, angst, manipulation, nsfw . Gunplay, dumbification, mud scene, codependency, subspace, anal, breeding, daddy kink, extreme domination, size kink, predator/prey dynamics

A/N: bro I was fuckin FERAL writing this .

Fear courses through you as Rafe Cameron’s hand covers your mouth and he drags you away towards his truck. You knew it was a bad idea to come here by yourself, but you went against your better judgement.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that.” He calmly but scarily murmurs as you struggle. His bottom lip peeks out and his eyes are almost vacant.

You’ve always known that Rafe is somewhat of a bad person, given the torment he had always given you being Sarah’s best friend— but now, with his grip tight and mean, gun barrel pointing at your skull, you know now that something has shifted inside him — something dark and unforgiving. The hands that had once been soft on your skin, the eyes and body that had comforted you once or twice, regardless of Rafe’s violent tendencies with your pogue friends, we’re now aiming to end your life .

“Rafe, please…” You plead with him, as he yanks you by your hair.

“Rafe, please,” he mocks. “Jesus, you’re fucking pathetic. You’re lucky that I haven’t put a bullet in that pretty fucking skull yet.”

Tears well in your eyes and you kick him in his groin. It makes him groan, and he drops his grip from you. You run away from him, at a certain point having to stop and take your favorite pair of heels off. You were incredibly stupid to wear them here.

Rafe catches up to you quick. He tackles you, and with a loud sloshing sound you both land in the mud on the ground. He wrestles you down until his hands are around your neck. You gasp, trying to run away again, trying to get away from this guy you had once recognized as a form of comfort for you, but to no avail.

“You fucking bitch.” The gun has been lost somewhere beside the both of you, but that doesn’t make the boy any less threatening. “I never wanted to hurt you! You did this to your self- stop fucking squirming!”

You sob as his hands loosen a bit on you. He looks down at your supple chest, your bra now peeking out of your tank top from all of the movement.

“Even now you’re dressed like a fucking slut,” he growls. Your brows furrow. You’ve been avoiding eye contact with him, but now you meet his once again. He looks like a predator about to catch its prey.

He looks angelic, almost… a fallen angel. You breathe out, and with enough strength to pull forward, you kiss him.

You don’t know why you do it— sex is the thing that most men want from you, so maybe that’s why. As a way to plead for your life.

His tongue finds its way into your mouth for a moment, his teeth clacking against yours, but as if pulled out of a trance he rips himself away from you. Mud cakes his face and arms as he gets up to his feet.

You let out a tiny whine as he looks down at you, from frustration or fear you don’t know. Probably both. You flimsily move up on your knees, doe eyes looking up at him with a begging expression.

Rafe’s eyes dart to the other side of you, and he catches sight of the loaded gun laying in a heap on the ground. He grabs it and shoves the barrel against your skull. With one hand he wraps it around your neck and pulls you closer to him.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” He says with a disgusted tone.

You don’t say anything, just let out a little whimper. He catches sight of your tank top again— and a small smirk glazes his features.

He grabs the strings of it and rips the flimsy thing right down the middle. When it settles in what’s about to happen, a wet spot forms in your panties.

You might die right now, covered in mud and grass, but you’re fucking horny.

“I should kill you right now,” he whispers heavily against your ear. “But that’s not what you want, is it? You want me to fuck you, right here on the dirty fucking ground. Don’t you?”

You nod your head, desperate. For what, you don’t know.

He smiles, demented. And he moves the gun down to your mouth. “Just a dirty little pogue that wants to get filled with dick, right?”

“Yes… yes, sir.” You mumble. Your tongue lolls out to lick at the gun barrel. “I wan’ it..”

And that’s all the confirmation Rafe needs. He places the gun in the back of his waistband and begins to undo his belt.

“Of course you do,” he rambles. “That’s all you’ve ever fuckin’ wanted was to get dicked down by me. I always saw the way you looked at me, y’know.”

You move closer to him when he pulls his lengthy cock out of his pants. It’s heavy, thick and long, circumcised, with precum coating the tip. A vein runs down one side of it, almost throbbing.

You reach out and lick the tip of him. He tastes absolutely divine.

“‘S so pretty..” you whisper. You drag your face along it, just to feel the warm skin and lick it all up.

Rafe, bored, grabs your face and positions his cock in front of your mouth.

“Open that fucking mouth as wide as it can go.”

You obey, mouth opening to take him; he shoves his cock in as deep as it can go. He reached behind him to his waistband and the gun is back in one of his hands again. He shoves it against your head for a third time. He groans when you gag around his fat prick, and your body naturally moves forward in between his legs. Rafe takes notice and is quick to wrap his thighs around each side of your head, making sure to squeeze. It’s too much pressure on your head, and you try to move away. But Rafe slaps both sides of your blushing face and thrusts so hard that you gag.

“Don’t fucking move. You move, I’ll fuckin’ shoot you. Do you understand me?”

You can’t nod, but you cry out around him. He holds the top of your hair with his fingers and keeps you down until you can’t breathe.

But seriously, you can’t breathe— your vision goes blurry and you’re almost close to passing out. You’re too dazed to care, But thankfully Rafe doesn’t want to kill you just yet. He forces your head away. You gasp, choking and sputtering, trying to get more oxygen back into your now sore throat. He’s back on you in an instant, though, and he’s leaking so much precum and you’re drooling so much that it’s dripping out of the sides of your mouth. His balls slap against your chin; your nose presses into his pubic hair, and he smells so delicious that you almost start rutting into the filthy ground.

He pulls you off of him when he’s about to cum. You get thrown to the ground, your head hitting the soft mud and caking your face. Rafe discards the gun again, gets down on his knees behind you, and rips your skirt and underwear down your legs vigorously. Your puffy cunt is revealed to him. He tsks, running a finger through your folds.

“So wet. And shit—“ he pulls your cheeks apart, exposing your juicy pussy and tight asshole to the warm air. You clench around nothing as he spits down in between your ass cheeks. “All your little holes are so tiny. Fuck, this is gonna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“Please..” you whimper, pushing your body back against him on your hands and knees. “Need daddy’s big cock. Need it ‘s bad.”

The fact that you’re talking in third person like this should be a bit concerning. Your mind is so far gone. But Rafe doesn’t care about that— all he cares about is ripping your sloppy cunt open.

“I know you do.” He states. His tongue goes down to your asshole. He runs it along that place there, and down to the place in between your ass and pussy. His thumb moves around and lightly massages your clit. It’s the first kind of stimulation he’s given you and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” He mutters. “Maybank ever do this to you?”

He’s referring to JJ; he has, although you don’t want to admit that to him. Rafe isn’t the first cock you’ve sucked, the first guy to finger your pussy. But he’s by far the best.

“S-Sometimes..”

It comes out low, and his fingers stop.

“Yeah? You slut yourself out to all those dirty pogues?”

When you don’t answer, his hand comes down on the fat of your ass. You sob.

“No! N-No, just JJ, I swear!”

He reaches around and slaps your pussy. It hurts, and Rafe thinks that you let out a sound like a pained little bunny. The nickname makes so much sense to him, and he’s angry as he lines himself up to your puffy entrance.

“You’re never gonna see him again.” He states. His tip sinks into you. The stretch stings, fucking hurts so bad. You’ve sucked cock but you’ve never had one inside your cunt. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. You dumb fucking bunny.”

And he pushes himself in, in, in, and you’ve never felt so full, so dirty, so claimed. He pushes past that thin little wall inside you, pops your cherry with his cock’s mushroomed head. When it breaks through blood coats his length; he knows because he begins to move quick after that, sees the red coated on his dick. You’re so tight and sweet and fuck— Rafe doesn’t think he can kill you anymore. He needs to be inside you forever.

“Mine.” He growls. “All mine.”

You’re laying there, having no choice but to take it. The pain feels good. Rafe grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back as he begins to pound you right there in the dirt.

Little ah ah ahs leave you as his balls slap against your clit. He shoves one of his fingers into your mouth. You can taste the grittiness of dirt and under that, his natural taste— mixed with the taste of hand soap, almost. Probably the one that sits back in the Cameron household’s second bathroom, on the counter. Or maybe it’s the body wash that he so often washes himself with; you know this because you use it sometimes. You like the way the boy smells.

“Little pussy’s squeezing me so fuckin’ tight.” He groans. “Best pussy daddy’s ever had baby, fuck.”

He’s almost a whimpering mess himself. He’s not gonna last long because of your cunt— and he intends to make the most of it.

He grabs you by your throat, has bent backwards against him as he presses a messy kiss to your mouth. It’s hungry, it’s crazy, the whole situation is. But you’re both at each other like fucking animals.

“Whose pussy is this?” He demands. You lick at his bottom lip, clench around him just right.

“Yours! ‘S all yours, daddy!”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He huffs, then he thumbs your asshole and watches as you suck him in. “Gonna fuck this tight little ass after this. Gonna take you home and take you right there on my fuckin’ staircase.”

You mewl, and you can tell that he’s close. You reach around to try and rub your own clit, but Rafe slaps your hand away. He turns you over on your back. You can see him a lot better this way, and he looks like a fucking God, pounding you so good like this. He pushes your legs over your head and slides back inside your gummy walls. He buries his face in your neck and his fingers move down to your clit. When he rubs you, it doesn’t take long before you’re cumming on him with a scream. Your cunt tightening around him makes him let out a growl, and you beg him for his load.

“Please, Rafey,” you whine out. “Please cum inside me. I need your cum in my tight little pussy.. wanna be a mommy, wanna have your baby, please please please—“

He lets out an animalistic shout, and his cock squirts warm, white cream right against your cervix. He pounds you even more at the force of his orgasm. When he comes down, he slows and breathes in your scent. The sweet strawberry perfume you wear is right against his nostrils. He pulls out of you, slow. He spreads your pussy lips apart and watches his seed drip out of your gaping pussy.

“Good girl..” he coos, oddly sweet. “Daddy’s good little cocksleeve..”

Your mind is hazy, and even here in the woods you grab his hands and grab him to pull him closer to you. He pushes you away, however, and grumbles, “Don’t. Cmon, get up.”

You comply, on shaky legs. He picks up your tank top, slips it over your head. Your skirt is practically in shreds, so he just puts your panties back on. You’re too fucked out to even care that he’s dragging you to his truck, half naked, cum dripping down your legs. You don’t care.

The ride to the Cameron residence is quiet. Rafe threw the gun in the console when he got in. You fall asleep halfway there, and he turns the radio on softly.

He looks over at you. Caked in dirt, cheeks red, scratches all over your thighs. You must’ve got them from the twigs in the mud.

Something tugs at his chest. He blames it on the adrenaline.

The house is empty; Wheezie, Rafe had sent off to a friend’s. Sarah, running around with the pogues, probably trying to find you. Rose, god knows where. His dad, dead. He does what he said he would do. He sits himself down on the staircase, pulls out his cock, already hard from the way your thighs are wet. He positions you on top of him as you look down at him tiredly. You want to be good for him, though, and let him stretch your ass out on his fingers. Afterwards you move your panties to the side, grab his cock and slide it inside your heat. You bounce on him, mouth agape as you look into his eyes. There seems to be more emotion in them now. He’s calmed.

He digs his fingernails into your hips, and he grunts when your lips find his neck and you suck a bruise onto it. He spills inside you for a second time, and then he makes you go upstairs with him. He pulls you into his bathroom, the one connected to his room, that you’ve never been in. He takes off the both of your clothes and starts a warm shower. He pulls you inside of it, takes a rag and begins scrubbing the both of you down. You lean against him as he does so, leaving kisses against his now bare chest. His fingers come down to your pussy and make you cum again, an oddly selfless act preformed by the boy. A reward because you were good, maybe? He turns the water off when you’re both squeaky clean. You don’t let him out of your grasp until he gets out of the shower and you follow him. He grabs a towel and dries your used body off with it, and then grabs another and does the same for himself. He guides you to his bed, and you crawl into it.

Your mind is still a mess. You feel alight, like you’ve been touched by god himself. But Rafe’s distance from you when he sits beside you makes you frown. It saddens you so much even, that tears well in your eyes again. Rafe can see the tears coming down your face.

“Jesus, are you fucking crying right now?”

Silence, and then a small sniffle. He scoffs.

“Need me to fuckin’ coddle you, or somethin’?”

You don’t say anything, but you do want that— you don’t know why. He had just taken you in the literal fucking mud, like a disgusting fucking animal. But his warm embrace sounds like something that can ease the headache forming in your skull.

Rafe must sense this. Because he groans, and lays himself down in the spot beside you.

“Come here.” He demands, harshly. You turn over, surprised at his words, but comply regardless. You bring your arms up around his neck and nestle in the space between his arm and torso; it’s comfortable there, it’s warm and soft. You like it. Maybe you’re losing your fucking mind.

You feel the need to thank him for his generosity— you still haven’t gotten out of that space he had forcefully thrown you into— and you need him to be proud of you, almost.

“Rafe—” you say, voice a bit hoarse.

“Did I say you could talk?”

“No..” you murmur. “‘m sorry.”

“Better be.”

He pulls the comforter over the both of you. He remembers the gold, the entire reason why this had occurred in the first place. But it can wait. Exhaustion overtakes him. After a moment a small sigh emits from him and his thumbs rub soft circles against your shoulder.

And soft, almost like an angels wings, he kisses your head with plush lips.

#rafe cameron #bunny writes ͟͟͞☆#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem! reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x bimbo! reader #dark! rafe cameron x reader #mean! rafe cameron x reader #mean! rafe cameron #dark! rafe Cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe obx fanfic #drew starkey #Obx #outer banks #s2! rafe cameron

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k-atsukibakugou · 1 month

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tw: sfw, childhood best friends, mutual pining, w/c: 0.6k notes: uh I was slapped in the face with this scene so here u go; I wuv domestic bakugou, idc how bad this is it was haunting me

the tips of bakugou's hair droop ever so slightly at the moisture in the air, the blond growing darker in the steam. he adjusts himself in the bathtub, getting as comfortable as he can in the empty porcelain tub in front of your shower, the discomfort of the hardness against him the last thing on his mind as he listened to you talk, unconcerned by discomfort, or the steam settling on him, the feeling of his clothes sticking in the humidity. you're animated, he can see even that through the steam, the way your hands wave about wildly, one at your face as you scrubbed it, the other gesturing passionately behind the glass.

you swipe the condensation from the frosted glass in front of your eyes, "you know?!"

you’re incredulous, your brows down in a scowl as you gossip about someone he probably doesn’t even know the name of. he hums his agreement, content listening to you rant and rave all about the most recent news in your life, and watching your blurred silhouette.

“okay, close your eyes, im gonna get my towel.” your voice is light, not a trace of apprehension, this habit like second nature to you now. bakugou obeys, grunting when you’re safe to climb out of the shower.

he can feel you near him, the heat and steam radiating off of your skin, the clean scent of your soap entering his nostrils, clouding his head more than the steam. you're close enough to brush your wet skin against his, the softness of your towel fluttering against his forearm when you wrap it around yourself.

“hey, are you home this weekend? the old lady keeps asking about you.” he doesn’t care he interrupts your story of the latest episode you watched. hearing your lips part and close, his ears prick, waiting for your gentle hum to reach his ears.

“depends, what are you going to make me for dinner?” you sit down at the edge of the bathtub, reaching to poke his face, one cherry red eye cracking open, then the other. he’s met with your smiling face, a strike of adoration hitting him in the heart at your pretty features, as damp as his from the steam, a droplet running down the side of your throat to the top of your towel tucked into itself at your chest.

“whatever you want me to make.” his voice is softer than he wants it to be, his adam’s apple nervously bobbing in his throat, his mouth dryer than it had ever been with you this close, he’s had you closer; pulled into tight hugs when you were 5, closer again at 9 when you wrestled with him in the mud, his heart starting to race at 15 when his parents made him shuffle ‘closer, katsuki, you guys are friends,’ when you graduated lower secondary school together. every moment since then turning out like this, his eyes darting back and forth between yours, the air shifting the longer you stared at each other, his chest about to touch yours when you respond, your breath fanning over his cheeks at your proximity, “yeah, i’ll be there.”

he deludes himself for a moment, thinking you sound as nervous as he does, thinking your pupils dilate ever-so-slightly the longer you stare at each other, thinking maybe your lips pucker when your gaze falls, when you lean a touch closer, years of tension about to break between you both.

"i'll get out of your way." you clear your throat and stand back up, water still dripping from your body, katsuki jumping back like he was electrocuted by your sudden movement, muttering an agreement, a foreign anxiety settling in his stomach even as he sheds his shirt; sparing one last glance before you latch the door, katsuki catches your wide eyes once more and wonders if they mirror the adoration in his.

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost or recommend my work on other platforms or translate my works, i do not give permission for my works to be bound and sold. 18+ minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

#「kat <3」#「mercury writes」#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader

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singmyaubade · 9 months

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The Girl We Love

Poly!Marauders x Female!Reader

A/N: Hello! Long time no see; this came to me out of nowhere, and I just wrote it off the top of my head; I hope you enjoy it! <3 P.S. I have no idea what to think about this story.

Summary: Can all of them handle loving you at the same time?

Warning: Containing cursing, soon-to-be-smut, etc... Viewer discretion is advised.

The boys were enjoying their summer, basking in the hot sun and the chance to go in the pool anytime they wanted. Although it was just Remus, Sirius, and James, that was all they needed. Unfortunately, Peter was in France, but 3/4 Marauders was better than none.

"James, Sirius!" Euphemia yelled as James and Sirius groaned, not wanting to go downstairs due to their laziness, "I know you boys can hear me, and I am giving you five seconds," She yelled louder as the two boys looked at each other in fear as they both lunged to the door, James pushing Sirius into the wall.

"5..4...3.." The boys had rushed downstairs before two to see their Euphemia setting the dining room, "Why is Remus the only helpful boy in this house?" Euphemia huffed as Remus set down the dishes.

James ignored her, noticing the fancy table mats she would only bring out when people came over, "Uh, Mum, what's going on?" James asked, scratching his head, confused.

"Yeah, we never use this table unless James forgot he's human instead of dog," Sirius joked as James smacked him in his stomach, earning a groan.

Euphemia sighed, "Ms. L/N and Y/N are coming for dinner," She answered, setting the plates over the tablecloths.

James's mother and your mother were best friends, practically inseparable when you all were younger. Even when they didn't see each other, James would see her writing letters to your mom.

"Why?" James asked as Euphemia glared at him, "I just mean that we haven't seen her in so long, like since we were like thirteen,"

"You mean when you all would rough house and were into wrestling and Quidditch?" Euphemia hummed.

"The good old days," Sirius added, looking up in dramatics.

"Yeah, when you would tackle her and throw mud on us all," Remus muttered.

"Um yeah?" Sirius responded, "The good old days!"

Having you over was like having another brother around when it came to James. You always loved watching Quidditch and would yell with him when your favorite team won, chest-bumping each other.

You would always dress like the Marauders, wear whatever trend they were following, and play with whatever toys seemed remarkable to them.

You all ate like absolute slobs, and Euphemia and your mother would constantly reprimand all of you, but you didn't care because if you all did it, it was incredible.

When your parents divorced and you went to France with your Father, they all hadn't realized the switch in your presence as much. They would mention you sometimes but would only give it a short conversation. They were just kids; They didn't know much until later.

"This might be nice, you know?" Sirius said, "We haven't seen Y/N in so long, and I do miss having another one of the guys in the house," Sirius wrapped his arm around James's shoulders.

"Y/N is a girl," Remus corrected.

"You know what I mean," Sirius said, sitting in his seat.

"Wonder if she still plays Quidditch," James added, sitting beside Sirius.

"Can't wait to kick her arse in it," Sirius said, putting his hands together tauntingly.

Euphemia shushed them, "Enough of this talk, they should be arriving any minute now, and I expect the most from all of you," She tsked, moving near the door.

"She's talking about you two," Remus said, smirking.

"Oh shove it, Moony, you aren't a saint," James teased.

"Yeah, we know of your unspeakable acts in the bedroom," Sirius joked, winking at Remus as he bit his tongue.

James could hear voices from the front door as you stepped into view, hugging Euphemia, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing; none of them could.

Of course, you were different; the years did you well, but your hair grew past your shoulders, not the usual bob. You were wearing a lavender dress, a step away from your tomboy outfits. From what he remembered about you, your nails were painted in your favorite color, and you no longer wore a retainer everywhere you went.

Your dress hugged your waist perfectly, and none of the Marauders were perverts, but none of them could hide the fact that they were staring at you.

You looked at them with a grin, going over to James first as he stood up from his chair like a statue, "Jamesy!" You squeaked, the childhood nickname sounding different now.

You embraced him in a tight hug, your boobs pressing against his chest as he grew flustered. You pulled back, looking at him, "I missed you so much," You excitedly said, returning for a hug.

James could feel how soft your skin was, like a rose petal coated in shea butter. He had never felt something so gentle in his entire life like it wasn't real.

Once James squeezed you back, you moved over to Sirius, giving him a tight hug. His hands stayed on your back as your lips were on his neck accidentally. Sirius was never the type to blush, but somehow, you succeeded.

Sirius could smell home when he was near you, like cinnamon and hot chocolate, like a long day of Quidditch on the grass and Euphemia giving him a cold glass of Butterbeer kind of touch.

You pulled back, giving him a smile instead of words because moving over to Remus, pecking him on the cheek, and moving to a hug, "Remsy, long time no see," You giggled, giving him a hug as he smiled, trying not to let his thoughts get to him.

Remus could feel your happiness like sunlight as if it was glowing. When he hugged you, he felt happy like never before; it made him forget every stormy night or memory.

They all could feel your presence like a lightning bolt with each embrace, and it was hard to hide when you were up against them.

Euphemia and your mother were still chatting at the door, so you decided to talk with them about their social life as much as possible.

"I missed all of you so much," You cheesily said, sitting across from them all, "Please tell me how all of you have been," You looked at Sirius first.

You had developed a slight French accent, but only people would notice if they genuinely heard you.

Both Remus and James side-eyed Sirius, who looked shellshocked, "Well, I've just been focusing on school since graduation and just been enjoying summer," He awkwardly laughed, not knowing what to say, "I made Quidditch Co-captain with James,"

Your mouth fell open, "Oh my god, I am so proud of you guys; congratulations," You said happily.

"Thank you," James and Sirius said in unison as you laughed.

"What about you, James?" You asked, looking at him.

"I've been focusing on Quidditch and maybe becoming an Auror in the future when I'm done with my Quidditch career," James responded.

"I remember you always talking about being an Auror; I'm glad you still want to do it," You responded kindly, "What about you, Remus?" You looked at him.

"I've been focusing on becoming a healer or professor since I enjoy helping others," He said as you beamed.

"Well, considering you did help me when I cut my knee on the concrete when we were ten, I would say you are perfectly trained," You joked as Remus grinned.

"What about you, Y/N? What have you been up to?" James asked.

"Well, I hope to become a journalist or a write since it is a dream, but I was going to move back to London with my boyfriend," You said as all of the boys mentally punched themselves, "But then he cheated on me so I might just be alone," You said as the boys grinned from ear to ear.

"Yes!" Sirius said as you raised an eyebrow, "Yes, what an awful thing for him to do; I am so sorry, Y/N," Sirius said.

"Agreed, he must be a bloody fool," Remus added.

"I'm glad he's out of your life," James said, "Uh because, he's a horrible person,"

"Thank you, guys; I am glad I found out before I moved with him here," You said with relief.

Your mother and Euphemia approached the table, your mother sitting next to you and Euphemia sitting across, "I apologize, Fleamont couldn't attend; he has business matters in Rome," Euphemia said in a sweet voice.

"That man always focuses on business," Your mother tsked as Euphemia smiled before your mother looked at the three boys, "Oh my, how you guys have grown," She smiled dearly.

"You don't look like a day over twenty, Ms. L/N," Sirius winked as Remus elbowed him, causing the air to fall out of his lungs.

"Why thank you, dear," Your mother said genuinely as Euphemia glared at Sirius.

"First course is ready!" Minnie said, snapping her fingers to a variety of foods. Your eyes shot in amazement at the different dishes, even some being French.

"Thank you, Minnie," Euphemia said, nodding to the elf as Minnie bowed, disappearing.

"Y/n, how have your studies been at Beaubaxtons?" Euphemia asked, grabbing some potatoes.

"Delightful," You responded, "I know that it seems like a reform school for young girls, but I actually do enjoy it there, and we always watch Quidditch, surprisingly," You said as Euphemia grinned, "I do wish we had our own team though, I would love to play,"

"I'll play with you, Y/N," James said as the table looked at him, "If you ever need a partner," He whispered, digging into his chicken.

You cheerfully looked at him, "I would love to,"

James smiled to himself as Sirius side-eyed James, "And if you ever need another partner, I am here as well," Sirius added, making James kick him from under the table.

"Thank you, Sirius, I would love that as well," You said, still smiling.

Euphemia noticed the two boys rolling her eyes, "And your mother has told me you enjoy reading; Remus might know a thing or two about that," She said.

"I've needed a reading partner. The girls at Beaubaxton read, but they don't have much variety," You chuckled.

"Well, I can assure you that I do," Remus jokingly said as both James and Sirius glared at him, causing Remus to clear his throat.

"That's great! Considering I will be staying here, that sounds incredible," You said as James nearly spit out his dragon fruit juice.

"The cat seems out of the bag," Your mother said, eating another piece of meat.

"Oh, I apologize; you hadn't told them?" You said, looking at Euphemia.

"Not yet," Euphemia said with a slight smile, "Y/N and her mother will be staying with us for the summer,"

They all felt like they were in a dream that felt like reality; Sirius was close to pinching himself.

If they were thirteen again, they probably would've considered this a chance to have another Peter around, but now, it was entirely different.

You were sweet, still enjoyed Quidditch, and read while being entirely yourself.

You were like a dream.

"Trust me, they are all excited," Euphemia told you as the boys snapped out of the trance.

"That sounds amazi-" Remus started.

"I am so glad-" Sirius beginning.

"I can't wait to-"

They all said simultaneously, making you giggle, "I am excited too."

From then on, the conversations were light with laughs and banter, moving through the courses until Euphemia decided that all the kids needed to go to bed, to which James and Sirius protested.

They were all instructed to guide you to your room, to which you followed them up the stairs until they led you to a room with lavender walls and blue and white bedding.

You stopped them at the door, grinning ear to ear at the room, "Thank you all for leading me to my room," You said as they all said you were welcome at the same time.

You giggled, "I missed you guys so much," You said, hugging all of their tall figures with a kiss on each of their cheeks, "Goodnight, I will see you tomorrow,"

They all stuttered a goodnight as you closed the door.

And the Marauders didn't know they could ever want something so wrong.

3K notes · View notes

frantic-fiction · 2 months

Text

Hey you.

Pic: Cuddlelion on steam

Astarion x gn!Tav

Summary: Young Arabella comes to stay at the camp during the trip through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Her curious questions affect Astarion more than it should.

Based on this post by the-phantom-otaku

Thank you to my lovely friend Ayselluna for requesting this fic sorry it took me so long. Hopefully you like it.

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist

The camp is as lively as it always is. Gale is working away on the group's supper, Wyll giving him unwarranted pointers. Karlach is trying to sneak spoonfuls of the unfinished stew only to have her hand slapped away dramatically with a spoon. Shadowheart is in her evening prayer, and Haslin sits beside her in contemplation. Scratch and the owlbear cub are playfully wrestling in a mud puddle. The grinding sound of Lae'zel sharpening her sword echoes through the camp.

Astarion clenches his jaw, hands tightening against the leather binding of the book Tav had gifted him last week. He hated this time of evening the most when it was too late to keep moving on their journey but too late to hide away in his tent. Not that it would have stopped him before, but things have changed. Or maybe he had changed because he was waiting for them instead of tucking himself away.

Tav.

Because they should have been back by now, Tav had said they would only say hello to the skeleton. Something about 'Not wanting him to feel lonely.' It's a thing only Tav would think about because who cares about a reanimated skeleton besides Tav? But that was almost thirty minutes ago, and these woods left a sickly feeling lingering in the air. Astarion was familiar with darkness, but these shadowlands were filled with malice and evil, still not fully comprehended.

Astarion should find them. Ensure they're not trying to bring home an orphaned squirrel, stray cat, or whatever Tav seems to get up to when he's not watching. Make sure they're safe so he can quell the fire of anxiety that's eating away at him.

But as Astarion is tossing his book down to leave, Tav emerges from the red foliage. Their face is stretched into a soft, beaming smile, and the moon's glow cascades down in dim rays. Gods, they're always so breathtakingly beautiful that he doesn't think he'll ever get enough.

Tav shakes their head and speaks down. That's when Astarion notices the small tiefling child holding their hand. He recognizes her from the grove, Arabella. He smirked when he remembered her attempted robbery of that artifact from those testy druids. Then the images of her parents lying stiff in those dirty cots press forward into his mind, and he has to look away.

Now that he knows Tav is safe, he tries to focus back on the book. It wasn't anything special, just a romance novel about a dashing pirate and a blushing maiden. But Tav had gone out of their way to keep his collection filled with new material so he would not complain about the lackluster writing.

Astarion was halfway through the chapter by the time someone had approached. By smell, he knew it wasn't Tav, so he ignored them and hoped they would take the message and move along.

They didn't because soon there was a tug at his sleeve and a small clearing of one's throat.

"Hey, you!"

Astarion lowered the book and looked down to find Arabella looking expectantly up at him.

"Yes, hello," Astarion says cordially before pressing his face back into the book.

If he was being honest, children unnerved him. After being entombed for that long, painful year trying to save that young boy, he did everything in his power to steer clear of them. Astarion's hoping if he ignores the young girl long enough, she'll get bored and move on to bother the next party member.

However, the little tiefling wouldn't be swayed so easily.

"You look sick."

Astarion freezes and stares unblinkingly at the girl. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you're pale, sickly pale. You have dark circles under your eyes, and even your cheeks look kinda hollow. Are you okay?"

Now Astarion is thoroughly offended. Scoffing, he crosses his arms and sticks his nose in the air.

"I'm a vampire. I can't get sick." However, Astarion betrays his confidence by bringing one hand up to his face to prod at the skin under his eye.

"Really?" Arabella says in surprise, causing Astarion to snap his gaze down to the child. "Aren't vampires supposed to look young?"

Now fuming and outright pissed, Astarion sees the ghost of a smirk on the tiefling's face.

"Listen here, you little sh–"

"Astarion!" Tav interrupts, walking up behind and touching the girl's shoulder warmly.

"What? The little shit started it!"

Tav gives him a pointed look that he knows means he needs to calm down, or he will be in the dog house tonight.

"I didn't mean to upset him, ma'am," Arabella says, all sickly sweet, playing into your caring side. "I was just curious. I've never met a vampire before."

"No, the little devil-"

"Astarion," Tav warns, forcing him to bite his tongue. "Don't mind him, Arabella. Let's get you something to eat. Gale made a beef stew tonight."

Tav offers the young girl her hand, and as the two walk away, Arabella sends a smirk over her shoulder and sticks out her tongue, taunting him. Astarions hand twitches towards his dagger, wanting to teach the twerp a lesson, but he takes a deep breath and turns on his heel, storming into the tent.

By the time Tav retires for the night, Astarion is tucked away in the corner of the tent. He's glaring daggers at the hand mirror grasped tightly in his hand, willing the glass to show his reflection. Nimble fingers are poking and prodding and pulling at the skin under his eyes and around his face, trying to pick apart any details he could not see.

A deep frown pulls at his lips and creases his brow. Astarion's shoulders are slumped, betraying how much Arabella's words have affected him. It wasn't a secret the man was vain and took pride in his appearance. To have a child pick apart his insecurities left him upset and wanting nothing more than to see his face just once more.

Astarion is pulled from his brooding thoughts when he feels two arms snake around his middle and the soft press of kisses peppered up his neck. Instinctively, he melts into Tav's touch, still astonished by the simplicity of this new relationship.

"Hey, handsome," Tav breathes into his ear, pressing one more fleeting kiss just below before pulling away to get ready for bed.

He absentmindedly greets them, still too focused on his internal conflict. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Tav strip bare and move around, tossing random bits and bobs to find their night clothes. Once they're dressed, Tav stops and stands in the middle of the tent. He can feel them staring at him as he's transfixed on the empty mirror.

"Astarion,"

"Do I look sick?" He drops the mirror and turns to face Tav. "Do I look hollow and pale…old?" His voice trails off at the end, and he's unsure if he wants to know the answer, but it's eating away at him.

Tav's eyes soften. "Was that what Arabella said to you?"

Pity. He could see it in Tav's eyes, and he recoiled, disgust curdling in his gut.

Astarion scoffs." Please, Tav, I don't need your pity."

Tav grabs his hand and pulls him close. "There is no pity. Understanding yes. But not pity."

"It's all the same." Astarion looks down.

"No, but that's beside the point. Arabella is a child Star. They will say the most insulting things without realizing it or just because they know it will hurt. Do you want to know what I see?"

Astarion nods softly, holding onto the hem of Tav's shirt. He knows he's being foolish, but Astarion wants the reassurance that Tav is happy to give.

Tav cups his cheek, forcing him to meet their eyes. "Your face might look hollow to Arabella, but I see your high cheekbones and sharp jawline," Tav emphasizes their point by trailing a thumb against his jaw and pulling Astarion into a fleeting kiss. "Not to mention everything those lips and tongue have done to me."

Astarion smirked and chased after Tav's lips, pouting when he was denied.

Tav's hands trail down his chest and slip under his shirt, splaying against his cold skin. Astarion lets out a shaky breath. "Yes, you are pale, perhaps at times sickly. But I love it because after you've finished feeding, I see that beautiful flush covering your body."

"Maybe you have laugh lines and forehead creases that a little girl would consider old. But if you ask me? Astarion, when I see you smile and laugh, gods, it's the sexiest thing in the world. Because it shows me that you're happy and safe and here with me."

Tav has now thrown their arms over Astarion's shoulders and has pulled their body flush against his. Astarion is at a loss for words, especially when Tav looks at him with such love. Tav kisses him softly, and he tightens his hold, wanting nothing more than to meld into their body.

"So, who cares what a child thinks? You are beautiful, and between the two of us. I'm going to be the one worrying about wrinkles, not you, mister immortal vampire."

"Thank you, my love," Astarion whispered against Tav's lips, smiling into another sweet kiss.

"Let's lay down. I think it's time to cuddle, don't you think?"

Astarion's insecurities fade for the night because how can the darkness stand a chance when he has Tav as his guiding light?

Just something short and sweet while I'm in the middle of moving. Sorry if anyone felt ooc. Let me know what you guys thought of it.

Taglist: @heartfully10@ayselluna@marina-and-the-memes@anixson@canonicalchaoticneutral @toadsbitch @meulinkitten-blog @ambr4armr @lotusandcrystals @venussakura @synapticjive @skittleabyss @asterordinary @lariatbunny @whispering-depths @butchboi-chihuahua-slumlord @darkest-part-of-the-forest @queenofcarrotflowers-s @sessils @d20bunny @cherifrog @ophelia-ophelian @bgthree @darlingxdragon @mothynyx @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @babyqnn @mmendez0124 @kokoyu-art

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#astarion x tav #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 astarion #reader insert #fanfic #astarion ancunin #astarion imagine #frantic fiction #bg3 fic #bg3 tav #baldurs gate 3

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fangisms · 11 months

Text

summertime at the burrow

A/N: i want to be an honorary weasley please im literally begging. notice me molly weasley

Pairings: Best Friend!Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Fred finally invites his best friend home over summer holiday. Neither of you expected it to go so well. 3.7k words.

Warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers, ungodly amount of shenanigans, friendly bullying/teasing, mud wrestling, kissing, (friendly) violence, pet names (trouble, snookums, sugarplum, sweetheart), cursing, borderline frog abuse

"Good morning, trouble."

You hop into the seat next to him that he’d been saving for you. In fact, he’d been saving it for you since the first time you plopped down beside him after the sorting hat declared your house first year. You laughed when he shook your hand. He thought you had the cutest smile. Then you teased him for his devilish charm and he called you catty, and you’ve been teasing each other ever since.

"Are you packed and ready?” He sounds more worried than that time he nearly shattered his collar bone during a vicious Quidditch scrimmage. “We're leaving bright and early tomorrow. Mum says she's preparing a hearty lunch for our guests." Fred scarfs down the rest of his breakfast and turns to look at you to find you're looking back at him in bewilderment.

"Somebody's excited," you tease, ruffling his fiery locks and glancing over at George with a grin.

"If you think this is bad, you should see him before winter holidays," George huffs.

“I have.”

Fred rolls his eyes at you and you jab him in the side.

"Where are the lot of you off to?" Lee perks up from across the table, setting his plate down and wiggling his way between Alicia and Angelina.

"I finally got my honorary invite to the Weasley burrow this summer," you chirp, wrapping your arm over Fred's shoulders and leaning him into your side.

Lee cocks a brow and smirks at a suddenly and uncharacteristically shy Fred. "Well, it's about time! You've only been dating for—"

You shake your head. "No, not dating, Lee. I swear we've been over this—"

"Oh, we've been over it plenty. I just choose to ignore wicked witches when they lie—!"

You practically leap across the table with your teeth gritted to grab for his robes when you're stopped by the laughing twins holding you back from tearing into him. "Lee Jordan, you take that back right now, or so help me your mother will wonder why your hair's gone purple!"

"I'm not going to apologize for being lied to!"

"Let me at him! I'm trying to defend my honor here!"

"Miss—young lady!”—McGonagall appears behind you, sending you into shock and barreling back onto the bench—“Settle down! You're frightening the first years, and we typically prefer they come back in the fall."

"Apologies, professor, I was simply trying to have a friendly discussion with my classmate," you say, gesturing to Lee who smiles begrudgingly.

"Right, well, from now on, let's have our discussions from across the furniture, not on top of it." She wanders away, and you turn to stick your tongue out at Lee who is doubled-over and cackling at your being caught.

“I hope you know, we’re going to receive the same third-degree from my dear mother,” Fred mumbles in your ear. His heart races when you turn to him, a playful glint in your eye. You blink sweetly and rest your hand on his knee when he tucks his arm around your lower back. “But don’t worry, sugarplum, it’s never too late to try.”

He winks. Your eyes go wide, and you shove at his shoulder with a chuckle disguised by a scoff.

“Scabbers not the only rat in the Weasley family, I see.”

“That is exactly what I’m talking about, there’s no way you two are just friends—”

A slice of ham sticks to Lee’s cheek with a cold, wet slap as you eye him from across the table.

“Don’t listen to him, snookums, he just doesn’t understand our complicated arrangement,” Fred says, nudging your cheek with his nose and holding back laughter.

“Gross,” George mutters, grinning before he’s met with the same lunchmeat backhand his friend so rudely received. “Suppose I could’ve predicted that one.”

…

You wipe the sweat from your brow, slinging your carry-on over your shoulder before bending down to pick up your trunk. You’re trailing behind most of the rest of the group, just a few steps behind the twins while their younger siblings charge ahead through the field with Harry and Hermione. Fred checks in with you every couple of meters, making sure you don’t need any serious medical attention.

Once the twins breach the front door, you take a seat outside on your trunk, fanning yourself with your hand and throwing your head back. Then you hear:

“Fred, you better get out there and help that poor girl with her things!”

“Sorry, mum!”

You chuckle when he appears in the doorway moments later, winded as ever, hair plastered to his forehead, and still grinning wildly as he jogs over.

“What’s a lovely young lady like yourself doing outside all alone on such an unbearably hot afternoon?”

“Sweating like swine.”

“Ravishing,” he teases, shooing you off the suitcase, “head inside, mum’s absolutely itching to meet you.”

So you do. You can see her welcoming her children and their friends alike, and it fills you with the warmth of fresh gingerbread and the nerves of a teenage boy during school dance season.

“My dear!” she coos, arms outstretched even though a thin year of sweat coats every inch of your body, even though you’ve been wearing these clothes for a day, and even though you’re breathing heavy like a dog. She’s got her arms outstretched like you’re family.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Fred, and, goodness, you’re even prettier than he said you’d be!” —She gasps when he walks through the door, hauling your trunk in tow—“Don’t tell him I told you.”

“It’s been five minutes and you two are already sharing secrets about me. Only seven more days, Freddie,” he mumbles, setting the trunk down with a thud.

“Oh, well! It’s wonderful to finally meet you, dear, Ginny will show you to your room and lunch will be ready once you’re all settled!”

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley—”

“Oh, none of that, call me Molly.”

Your brows knit when she smiles at you so gently before making her way back to the kitchen.

“Thank you, Molly!”

Fred hops up from where he’d been relaxing on an armchair, clapping you on the arm with a reassuring smile.

“Everything processing alright up there?”

You nod.

“Peachy. Now give me a smile, you’re scaring me.”

You squint at him and pinch his arm, simpering when he hisses and swats your dry-gulching fingers away.

“That’ll do!”

“We’re up this way,” Ginny chirps as she rushes by and tugs you by the hand up the stairs.

Fred watches after you, rubbing his arm with a mean look on his face just before his playful resentment fades and his affections settle into the apples of his cheeks. This is going to be a long seven days.

…

Fred had never invited anyone to stay at the burrow. He preferred the company of his close family and whoever his mother deemed Weasley-enough herself. But he’d been saving this invitation. It stewed in the back of his mind for years before he mustered up the courage to offer it to you.

Ridiculous. That’s how it sounded in his head: ridiculous. If he wanted to ask you, he should have done it at the first chance. That’s what Fred would do. But he could never bring himself to get the words out whenever he swore to himself today would be the day. Because you’d just look at him with those damned doe eyes—you’d test his boundaries and make him all gushy inside—and it was like he was suddenly turned to a tongue-tied and pathetic halfwit.

And now here you are. An unofficial part of his family. But nevertheless a part of it. You’d found the annual Weasley strawberry-picking trip to be wonderful despite Fred pulling cheap pranks on you and the fact that it was basically sweltering outside. When you returned, you all spread out in the family room with bowls of the dewy berries in each of your laps. Everyone claimed a seat while you and Fred were forced to share the hardwood floor. You ended up tossing the small fruits into each other’s mouths with your legs laid across his thighs.

At one point, he lands one of the berries down your blouse. Almost immediately, he starts to laugh, clutching his chest while you gawk at him.

“You better start running, trouble.”

He gulps and scampers to his feet before scurrying out the front door. You take off after him, shouting curses into the wind when he rounds a corner.

You follow his footsteps but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“I swear, if I ever get my hands on you—”

He grabs your waist from behind you, dipping down to whisper in your ear. “You can put your hands on me whenever you’d like, sugarplum—”

“Merlin’s Beard, Fred! You scared the shit out of me!”

You jolt away, and he thinks you look genuinely angry this time. But he smiles and your features soften. Then you’re after him again, bounding into the tall grass with an uproar of laughter.

…

You spend the next few days of your vacation trying to beat Ron at chess then deciding it may be better if you and Harry team up to try and beat Ron at chess. You also take Ginny and Hermione shopping while the gaggle of boys trail behind the three of you grumbling and whining about missing their beloved Quidditch game.

You offer to help Molly with every meal, and she only accepts once you convince her your desserts are a crowd favorite back home. She’s proud to say she’s impressed, and she grows even prouder when you admit you adore big families like hers and see at least two kids of your own in your future.

Arthur takes a liking to you after you listen to him rave about the kind of items muggles use day-to-day and how fascinating their modern technology has become in recent years. He’s thrilled to find you actually take interest in his tinkering and collections and whatnot.

But most of all, you spend your time at the burrow with Fred. He steals you away after meals and keeps you up late to teach you his favorite charms. One overcurious evening finds you two perched together on the bathroom floor whispering and giggling while you brush a bold smokey-eye onto his eyelids. Let’s just say dinner that night was nothing short of hilarious: a look that Fred will never live down.

On the fifth morning, you jostle him awake. He whines about the sun not even being up yet while you drag him down the steps and shove your socked feet into an extra pair of rubber boots.

“What’s the bucket for?” he whispers, traipsing down the path along the side of the house when you stop dead in your tracks.

“Shh!” You press your gloved finger to his lips. A chorus of croaks erupts from the marsh beside the house. Nothing out of the ordinary for Fred, in fact that sound had often soothed him to sleep. But there’s a dangerous glint in your eye that tells him you’re on a mission.

“Can’t we do this when the sun is up? It’s cold and I’m tired—”

“The faster we catch ‘em, the faster we can go back to bed,” you whisper as your boot sinks into the edge of the muddy body of water. He sighs and sinks in next to you with his hands on his hips.

“I can’t believe you’ve convinced me to do this. You’re lucky you’re so pretty or you’d never get away with anything.”

You purse your lips and wade a little further out, looking out at the cooly rippling water beneath the sliver of sunrise.

“Yes, I would,” you say, quietly but so matter-of-fact he’s inclined to believe you.

Just then you spring into action, shoveling a small frog into your bucket with a victorious grunt. A few minutes later, he shuffled over to you and lowers his cupped palms into your bucket: three more frogs settle down into the center with a wet plop. You beam up at him, and it’s worth the early morning trouble to see you so happy and have you so close.

“So what do you plan on doing with these poor creatures once we’re done?”

You sit on the bank of the waterbed, sighing and setting the bucket beside you. He watches you from the water while you examine the small blob of darkness in the center of your palm. The bottom of the bucket is lined with croaking frogs, and the sun is well above the horizon, dousing the sky in soft pink and warm rose.

“I’m going to let them go.”

He lets out a sharp breath, hands falling to his sides, leaving streaks of mud down his tee shirt.

“You’re joking.”

You look up at him. You’re not joking.

“No,” he huffs. “You did not drag me out of my nice, warm bed to catch a million slimy frogs in the freezing cold dark just to let them go again.”

“Oh, but I did.” You’re crazy, he thinks. You’re crazy and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. Doesn’t make you any less crazy, though it might make him much less sane.

You set the frog down in the grass and leave the bucket tipped over. The small creatures immediately flood out from the splotchy tin opening into the newborn daylight and the crisp morning air. You stand and wipe your hands against each other a few times, scrunching your nose and finally meeting his eyes again.

“What’s wrong, trouble? Cat got your tongue?”

You grin.

“You know, one of these days, I’m going to say ‘no’ to you, and it’ll be a rude awakening.”

Fred walks past you like he’s really mad. Like it was an uncrossable line and you treated it like the tape at the end of a marathon. He’s hulking back towards the house when you grab his wrist to get his attention.

“What?”

But you don’t look sad. You don’t look pitiful or hurt. You look like you’re scheming, and it drives him crazy. As if he could ever say ‘no’ to you.

“You think I’m pretty,” you coo, batting your lashes just to get on his nerves. His breath hitches, and he feels warm despite the nipping cold of the morning.

“Unrelated.”

You drop his hand and cross your arms over your chest with a pout. He continues leisurely toward the burrow, tossing his gloves to the ground with a huff of hot air.

“Fred?” you call. And you sound worried, so he’s compelled to whip around. But when he does, he’s met with a rude awakening.

It was a misstep. A silly mistake, the wrong footing. Easily avoidable, and yet he didn’t avoid it. So he’s ass-first into a mud puddle with you shrieking in laughter about a meter away.

“You’re awful,” he grumbles, both hands propping him up and seeping into the thick mud as seconds tick by.

“I’m sorry! Freddie, I’m so sorry,” you cackle, taking a few steps toward him with tears of joy in your eyes. “But you should have seen your face!”

“Help me up,” he says, shaking his head and wiping his hand down his pajama pants before holding it outstretched to you. You grab it and tug enough to leverage him out of the muck. But he doesn’t budge. And in that moment, your eyes are filled with fear. Then, with one jolt, you topple down into the mud right beside him.

“Fred!”

“An eye for an eye, sugarplum.”

You push yourself up onto your hands to find your entire front is caked in mud, the mess narrowly avoiding your chin and above.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

“Oh, bring it on,” Fred teases.

You smirk just before a handful of mud is smeared across his chest by your slippery glove.

“Your move, trouble.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, looking down at the abstract art work fondly. But not quite fondly enough to hold himself back. His fingers dig into the puddle determinedly just before patting the top of your head with it like a stray dog. You squint your eyes closed and groan before peeking one eye open and coating his cheek in mud.

You make it to your feet and Fred hurls a ball of mud at your ass but he misses and it lands in the grass in front of you. You bolt around the back of the house, but he hurls a hunk towards your shoulder blade. You yelp and shout at him:

“You’re supposed to be a gentleman!”

“I’ll show you a gentleman, sweetheart,” he hollers it just before he catches up to you. You squeal and nearly slip on a slick patch of grass, but before you can leap out of his reach, he grabs your upper arm and presses you against the tree just behind your back.

“That’s not playing fair, Freddie, I’ve got nowhere to run,” you say, breathlessly grasping at the edge of his shirt with a tired smile. He chuckles and plants one palm against the bark beside your head, bringing the other hand to cup the side of your neck.

“You don’t need to run anywhere,” he mumbles, “just stay here.” The dried mud on the pad of his thumb draws a swipe of dirt down your cheek. Your fingers curl around his wrist and your lips part sweetly when he leans in.

“Time to come inside, you two! Breakfast is ready!”

Your eyes go wide when he leans his forehead against the tree with a grumbled curse.

“I suppose I am quite peckish!” you chirp, dragging him along behind you all the way to the front door. You leave your boots and gloves outside and brush some of the dried dirt from your pajamas.

You sit across from him at breakfast and catch him stealing glances at you every so often. With a mouth full of food, you wink at him with a dirt-smeared face and almost make him spit out his juice when you kick him under the table. George teases the two of you about wrestling in the mud while Molly scolds Fred about tracking it into the house.

…

Before long, you’re facing the final night of your stay. You’d been dreading the end since the beginning, and now that it’s here, you’re heartbroken. It’s been nothing but fun and you’ve never felt so wonderfully vulnerable with so many people around.

But the thing you’ll miss most is Fred. He could sense you pulling away the last couple of days. Trying to shield yourself from the impact of reality. No matter how hard he tried to cheer you up, he knew nothing could stop you thinking about how much packing up and leaving would hurt.

With your things splayed out across the floor of your temporary room, you had started packing hours ago but kept finding ways to distract yourself and avoid the idea of leaving altogether.

“Need any help?” Fred knocks on the doorframe, leaned against it and wearing the blue jumper you once told him he looked best in. You smile up at him from the floor.

“No,” you huff, “but some company would be nice.”

He perks up and shuffles around your belongings to plant himself on the edge of the bed. You had made the bed up nicely, tucked the duvet and set the pillows out nicely. He told you you didn’t have to, but you did it anyways.

After a few minutes of folding and refolding the same shirt, you stand from the floor and join him on the bed. He’s leaned back onto his elbows when he nudges your foot with his. You nudge him back but don’t turn to look at him. So he sits up and bumps you with his shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says, fussing with the edge of your shorts to distract himself, “Being here, I mean. As a part of our family.”

You smile down at his fiddling fingertips and inch closer, looking at him with this half-sad, half-happy look that has him confused and hopeless and head over heels and confused.

“I had a really, really nice time,” you whisper, leaning your head onto his shoulder and letting your eyes drift closed.

“So…”

You chuckle and smile to yourself, “So…?”

You sit up when the floor rattles a little, a thudding coming from the room below you. Then George shouts.

“Get it over with already!”

You both look at each other and giggle. Fred leans back again and you watch him tilt his head back and let out a sigh. His chest rises and falls beneath that damned blue sweater, and you trace your fingertips over his knuckles. He lifts his head and smiles cheekily at you, like he knows what’s going on inside your head. Like he has any idea. And for once, you think he might be pretty close.

You practically tackle him to the bed, smiling against his mouth when he cradles your face in one hand and rests the other on your waist where your shirt had ridden up from the ruckus.

You pepper soft kisses over his blushing face, leaving faintly glossy lip prints on his cheeks and nose and forehead and a stray one on the column of his neck. He goes slack against the bed, satisfied and content and happy all because of you. But still, he lazily opens his eyes and grins mischievously and says:

“Took you long enough.”

You smack your hand against his chest just hard enough to warn him.

“Oh, you’re trouble, Weasley.”

He cups your hand against his warm chest and his smile ebbs from mischief to something not as easily recognized. Something that makes him shy and pink thanks to the girl who likes the freckles across the bridge of his nose in the summer and his hands even when they’re covered in mud. Love that makes him much less sane for the girl who might just be crazy for loving him back.

And all of it makes him hold your hand and lean up to kiss you one more time.

masterlist

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fluff #fluff #fanfic #hp universe #hp fandom #fred weasley x fem!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x gryffindor!reader #friends to lovers #best friends to lovers

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 1 year

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Giving them a friendship bracelet

Requested: No

Warnings: Light angst

A/N: I tagged this as X reader but it’s really just platonic so I wasn’t sure if I should. Should I use & next time? That’s how it works on Ao3.

Ghost

Very much the embodiment of “what the fuck is this.” “you don’t have to wear it.” “fuck you, I’m never taking it off.”

He usually hides it beneath his gloves but rest assured that it is well and truly never coming off of his wrist until the poor strings finally snap in which he will demand that you make him the exact same one all over again. He’ll sit over your shoulder the whole time too, glaring holes into your head (unintentionally, he’s gone fish eyed and your head just happens to be in his line of sight). The old one will probably be put into an overly fancy case and secured in a safe in his home.

Soap

Doesn’t even hesitate to whip a matching one out of his back pocket and slap it onto your wrist. When questioned on how the hell he managed to make a matching bracelet when you didn’t even mention making him one (it’s the exact same colors and everything!) he just shrugs and smiles as he puts on the one you gave him, practically sparkling with happiness for the rest of the week as he shoves his bracelet into everyone’s face.

König

König is definitely a little shocked by the suddenness of it but is unbelievably touched by it. This is the kind of thing that he never got to experience as a child due to his anxiety and lack of friends so it’s all the more precious in his eyes. He’s more than likely afraid to wear it or actually keep it on him in fear that he’ll lose it or damage it so he puts it in a pretty case that he keeps by his bed, bringing it out when he’s feeling lonely or sad and just touching it to remind himself that he’s important to someone.

Alejandro

Alejandro will just stare blankly at it for a few moments, twisting it this way and that on his wrist before smiling widely and thanking you while patting your head. He’s never had something like this before, not because he didn’t have friends as a kid but because he was rowdy and rambunctious and something like a friendship bracelet never crossed his mind as a child. For him it was all about throwing mud in each other’s faces and wrestling til you were all bruised. But something like this is kinda nice and he’ll treasure it dearly.

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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

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What Are You Waiting For Then? (Daemon x Reader)

Hey guys sorry for keeping you waiting, one of my friends was visiting so I was all day doing tourist activities, this was actually so exciting and refreshing to write!

“Nathaniel! Mother come quick Nathaniel is back!”

All Daemon saw was young woman ran barefoot heading towards his fellow soldier, Nathan was a man that got recruited to fight alongside Daemon to the Stepstones, he was a brave and honourable man that was shipped to the Stepstones under the fellow banners of the noble house resided in Lys named “Fyresteel”, they were the first to respond to the call for aid, the young strong man truly embedded their words

“None shall be left behind”.

The woman crushed her body to the knight almost knocking him over, she had wrapped her arms around him like her life depended on it, her clothes were semi tarnished and the hem of her dress dirty from the mud.

A few moments after she pulled away in arms length, examining Nathaniel with her eyes, the look she had on her face showed how close of a bond they shared, tears clouded her eyes as she gripped on to his biceps.

“You are back, safe and sound”

“If I died there would be no one to mess with you dear sister”

The woman did not respond, she only hugged him one more time to which the knight responded with the same warmth. Daemon was astonished by the tremendous declaration of emotions, he loved his family yet he had never been that close to his brother, if Daemon were to be back Viserys might share a hug however there would be no engulfing nor tears shed for his safe return.

“My boy! Oh my boy is back!”

A middle aged woman paced in their direction with her arms wide open. The younger woman reluctantly pulled away from her brother to make room for what Daemon guessed was the boys mother, she wiped her tears with her hands as she sniffled.

“I apologise, it is just we have not seen our brother in such a long time, I am (y/n)”

“Daemon and no need to apologise, you should be proud of your brother, he fought fiercely and was one of the most trusted soldiers in battle”

“You should thank me for that, Nathaniel always liked to wrestle with me in the mud when we were children”

“Come on, don’t stand there they are probably hungry, come inside”

Daemon was stunned by their hospitality, they had no idea who he was, no clue of his heritage yet they welcomed him with open arms to feed him just because he appeared with their family member.

It was a small cottage, mostly made out of wood and stone, it was warm from the fireplace that burned under a big pot, the smell of home made food hit Daemons nostrils like a brick, his stomach rumbled with anticipation and his tastebuds begged for something warm.

“Does your friend like goat?”

“Goat is excellent my lady”

“Oh bless you young man, I have not being called lady since I gave birth to Nathaniel”

“Mother please!”

“What? This tall handsome boy was at the same size of a little kitten when he was born, he gave us all a fright we thought he would not survive”

Daemon chuckled at the comment that made Nathaniel hide his face behind his hands. Nathaniel was the only man that followed Daemon at his crazy plan of invasion, now he had to withstand his mother ruffling his hair and pinching his cheeks with endearment.

To be honest Daemon did not care much about that, his eyes were set on (y/n), the girl had the same energy of her brother, noble, altruistic, bright, as supper was served he got caught in a trance that was her voice, he could listen to her speak about anything all day, the affability that radiated off from her was addictive to say the least, if you combine it with the earthy scent he was in true bliss, surrounded by people that took care of one another and honoured the word “family”.

Daemon had stayed with them until the moon turned, he would go around the farm with (y/n), not allowing her to lift a finger or doing her daily chores, to see a Targaryen prince milk a cow and gather chicken eggs was truly a surreal sight for anyone, Daemon felt at peace with being just Daemon, he was not “the rogue prince” nor “prince Daemon Targaryen”, his name sounded the best when it rolled off (y/n)s tongue.

“I will marry you one day”

“Will you take me back to the castle? be a princess of the seven kingdoms while I twirl in pretty dresses?”

“No, I will give you your own castle, you will be the queen of my heart and the ruler of our family”

“What are you waiting for then?”

Daemon flew to Kings landing at dawn, to bend the knee in front of the iron throne and beg for his marriage to be annulled, to humbly request to wed another now that he proved himself worthy and honoured the kingdom.

“Annulment? I thought you were a bit loose in the brain but this is a new type of madness even for you brother”

“I won the war against the crab eaters, I led the army to victory”

“And you assumed that it would make you invisible, you swore to be with this woman until the end of your days”

“Your grace, I am sure you are aware that the wedlock I am under was not a burden I chose to carry”

“Burden!? The lady Rhea is a respectable lady, you stand there and ask me to make Runestone our new enemy so you can marry a common beggar?”

“She is not a beggar”

“She is nobody!”

“She loves me! I do not know why but she chose to love me”

“My starlight, you are ravishing”

“Daemon, we are to attend a funeral”

“You will be ravishing at the funeral”

“I hope so, this is the only dress that fits me”

(Y/n) had given birth to 5 children already, to squeeze out children one right after the other meant her body had changed since they got married, her breasts had swell from breastfeeding their youngest son and the weight had managed to get comfortable.

Daemon could not keep his hands off of her, he found her new curves to be tempting, she looked like a well taken care of woman, the woman that blessed him with creating a home and children inside her, the goddess that put herself in danger to expand their family.

After moving to Pentos to elope against the kings wishes Daemon wanted to fulfil his promises, give her a castle and make her his queen.

(Y/n) was a marvellous wife and confidant, Daemon had spend all his life fighting for a place at the table, to be seen as worthy as his noble brother, the heavy weight of competition was suddenly lifted by (Y/n)s magical touch that showed him what it truly is to be accepted, to be nurtured and cared for with compassion and respect, Daemon would often watch her sleep while she rested her head on her pillow and just admire her, how could she be so… good to him?

“You are the most wonderful woman I have ever laid eyes upon”

“Seems like you are the only one that thinks like that, they are all eye balling us like we are their lunch”

With that mention from how beloved wife Daemons focus shifted from the diamonds (y/n) held for hues to observe what was behind him, to his displease he found the people from his bloodline gawking at his family, to the point that the eldest son Maelor of theirs clung a little closer to his mother, grasping her clothing with his fist for comfort and protection.

“Listen to me, stay close to your mother and myself and everything will be fine, understood?”

“Yes father”

The second born child, their first daughter Melody responded, Melody had a soft spot for her father, ever since she could walk she would wobble behind her father and wait for him to pick her up and spin her around. Daemon pinched her cheek before he took his wives free hand -since she was holding their youngest babe Aelor with their other arm- to lead his family to the place the ceremony would be held.

Daemon had promised his wife that he would not leave her alone, he guarded his partner and offsprings during the whole ceremony, choosing to stay far back than get close to his immediate bloodline members Viserys and Rhaenyra, he was content with sitting down on the bench and play with their fourth child their daughter Hera on his lap.

“I know my sweetling, I know”

(Y/n) cooed at the babe that was starting to get fussy, (y/n) had done her best to keep the babe comfortable however no one can predict when the babe wants to feed, only thing we know it’s babes are hungry often and they do not like to wait.

“What is the problem starlight?”

“I must feed him”

“Go on then”

“Daemon we are not home, if I start feeding him-“

“You will be a mother that is taking care of her babe and does not scoff in the natural way by having other woman nurse your kin”

“We know that stands true, they do not”

Daemon puffed out a breath before he reluctantly let his daughter off his lap to stand up and take (y/n)s cape to create a little curtain around his wife, as a way to assist her with putting her mind at ease so she can breastfeed that youngest member of their family.

“What is happening?”

“She must be feeding the babe”

Ottos face squirmed up in disgust at the sight of the babes own mother pulling her breast out for the babe to suckle on and in such a prestige setting, Alicent on the other side was certainly intrigued to say the least, not for the feeding part but to how attentive the rogue prince was to her, the man that had a heart made of steel was now pulling silly faces to make his children laugh and shielded his lover from invasive looks of disapproval like the one her father had.

“I think he is finished”

“Let me do the rest starlight”

Daemon had done this multiple times, their children had been very close in age so sometimes Daemon had to do the digestion process while the older one was in their “I only want my mother” time of age, so in order to relieve his wife he gracefully took his youngest son in his arm to pat his back so he can digest his food.

“Father, why is mom a starlight?”

“Often times I had to travel at night with Caraxes, the light that came from the stars gave me hope and guided me to safety”

Their daughter was a sucker for fairytales, so to listen to her father talk in such a poetic way for her mother compelled a weak smile dance on her lips, (y/n) reached to tuck a small strand of the toddlers dark hair out of her face until Melody wrapped her arms around her mother to hide her face in her mothers neck.

“What a beautiful scene, you have grown to be a wonderful father”

Viserys interrupted the precious moment by slowly approaching with his cane. Daemon instinctively took a step to stand in front of his wife, his natural need of protecting her kicked in and even though Viserys was his brother he did not take the chance.

“You honour me your grace”

“we are brothers Daemon”

“Mayhaps, long time ago we were”

“Daemon”

“Maelor why don’t you take your mother and siblings to play at the shore? I’ll be with you in a moment”

“Oh yes! Come on mother let’s go”

Maelor was smart but not witted enough to figure out why his father allowed him to lead his mother away from this interaction, the young boy was too excited to notice the stern look (y/n) shot to her husband as she took the small babe from Daemon to give him and his brother some privacy.

“I know we had our differences howbeit I come with good intentions”

“I am sure you do, until Otto whispers accusations against me”

“We mustn’t hold grudges, I am here to offer a sumbol of peace”

“Which is?”

“Your children are unfortunately considered illegitimate, I own up to the mistake of not treating your lovely wife as equal, after the funeral I shall announce to the court that we affirm your wife and children as such, let us become a family again”

“My children are my family, my wife is my family”

“And your brother is willing to acknowledge that”

Daemon let his gaze fall upon his children, (y/n) was chasing around their children while they laughed along, all of them adored their mother, every time he would watch their faces light up and (y/n) smile it was equivalent to floating around the clouds, that was the reason he took them to Pentos, to ensure they were safely tucked away in their own world, no harm, no ill minded people, just pure and utter bliss.

“I would deeply appreciate that, I however have nothing to offer you in return of that favour”

Daemon was rudely awakened by his wife bursting in their room, clearly disheveled she stared at him as tried to catch her breath, (y/n) would often wake up in the middle of the night to make sure her children are alright, this time it seemed she was right about it.

Daemon was on his feet in no time, silently he followed her and she was making it difficult since (y/n) was basically running.

“Maelor!”

“I am alright mother, I cannot say the same for Aemond”

“What happened?”

“I wanted to go for a ride and I found them fighting so I called for help, I did not get involved I promise I just called the guards”

“I am not mad at you sweetling you did the right thing”

“Right thing? He ran away when my son was been beaten”

“He called for help”

“It was too late for that”

“What would you rather have him do? Fight off all the others and risk his own life”

“So it is better than my son is the only one that got injured?”

“I did not say that-“

“Stop! All of you. We are family”

“It was my sons that were forced to defend themselves your grace”

The young woman spoke up as she stood in front of the two brunette boys and one of them was also stained by blood. If she had to be honest she did not care about what happened, only that her children had no part in any of it.

“He called us bastards”

The young one explained, the room grew cold all of a sudden, like someone had stolen the light out of everything. Daemon stepped a tad bit closer to his wife, the word scratching his heart enough to irritate him, it stand true but unfortunately his children could technically be called such ridiculous words.

“Where did you hear such lies Aemond?”

“It was Aegon”

All eyes were on the boy with the king white hair who was somehow dumbfounded by the accusations. The king, even though he was frail and had almost withered away approached his son, Daemon could detect some type of fury on his weak and dissolved face.

“Now you tell me… boy, why did you say that? Aegon!”

“We know father, everyone knows. I do not understand why is there a problem with it, prince Daemons children are also bastards”

“Careful now young man, we do not want you to miss an eye as well or a tongue”

Daemon was taken back by his wife threading a prince, he also noticed how her hand clenched Maelor shirt compelling him to get closer to her. (Y/n) was his wife, his love, his body, mind and soul belonged to her, she was aware of how devoted Daemon was to their family, still to hear such vile insult made her blood boil.

“My father offered for your children to become legitimate, so for the time being and the past few years they were considered b-“

The only thing that interrupted the prince was Daemons footsteps that approached Aegon, he did not touch him, he just stood right in front of him and eyeballed him right into his soul. Aegon by just pure instructed had shrunk as much as he could and avoided making eye contact with Daemon.

“Finish your sentence, go on”

“Daemon I can handle my son”

“I disagree brother you can allow your children to dig their claws into one another until the only thing that is left of them is bones but I refuse to let this idiot speak like that about MY children. With that, we shall bid you goodnight, we will be departing at dawn and hopefully we will not hear from you ever again

Requests are open!

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vanessamooney · 27 days

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The Age of Us pt. 1 - Draco x Reader

Prompt: Glimpses into your lives through the years

Pairing: Draco x Slytherin!Reader

Part 2

Part 3 coming soon!

In First Year you're a ball of glimmering potential. You're staring wide eyed at the brilliant castle before you from the boat house and on the walk up a little Draco is trailing behind you, holding up your robes to prevent them from dragging in the mud. You don't even notice the sweet gesture as you spend the climb up rambling to him about how excited you are to begin learning about magic, bouncy as ever with a smile wider than he's ever been able to draw out from you. Not even his mother's white peacocks at Malfoy Manor brought out such a smile from you, nor the time years ago when you two rolled down the hill on your family's estate, covered in twigs and wrestling in a pile of dried leaves, giggly as ever.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Draco watches proudly as his girl is sorted into Slytherin house, and he welcomes you with a radiant smirk as you trot over to the house table and seat yourself right next to him. He watches eagerly as Potter and that blasted orange haired Weasley boy are called out next, moping methodically along to the sorting hat, watching them with a glare he reserved for the mud-bloods his father would point out on trips to Diagon Alley. He hopes Potter will be sorted into Slytherin, after all, 'connections are key' Lucius would say and who better a connection than the chosen one?

'Oh Draco,' You tut, 'look at the sky!' you're in awe at the ceiling which you've only just noticed, the enchantments were executed so gracefully if you hadn't of read Hogwarts, A History before the year began you would've had no clue the great hall ever had a roof.

He looked at you with the same dirty expression sculpted on his face that he had given Potter through the ceremony, stuck like cement, but when he noticed your doughy lips parted in wonder, he reached over and with a nimble finger, he closed your mouth for you, leaving you blushing a tomato red.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

'Up! Up! Up!'

You're standing over your broom, watching the other kids stand in organised lines across from you in the fields, succeeding with calling their brooms to them. Draco had succeeded on the first try, of course, and you're embarrassed to be one of the last people whose brooms have still not so much moved from their original position.

He catches your eye and gives you a sympathetic look, crossing his lips into a firm line. The broom in his hand is tossed carelessly to the ground and he makes a leap towards you, his hands reaching to tenderly adjust your arm in another position.

Draco had received lessons over the Summer and was already worrying his mother as he hastily flew around the Manor windows on the shiny Nimbus Lucius insisted he needed. You watched him on warm Spring afternoons with your feet firmly planted on the ground in the grassy meadows as he perfected his flying, your hands busy with knitting because 'a little girl like yourself needn't fly,' as your mother had so often reminded you when you dared to ask.

'There, try with your hands like that, and say it firmly,' Your best friend instructed you, watching your worried eyes and flushed cheeks.

'I don't know Draco, maybe I just can't fly,' you confess, worried that really was the possibility.

'Just try,' he furrowed his brows, 'for me?'

You shakily nod your head, the last one on the field now without a complying broom. The Longbottom boy had now been escorted to the hospital wing by Madam Hooch and you hoped such a thing wouldn't happen to you but Draco seemed to read your mind when he notices your wandering eyes.

'Just look at me, look at my eyes, Y/N,' he began, rubbing your shoulders 'Don't focus on anything else,'

You gulped, staring into him with an openess you reserved only for him 'Up!'

The broom snaps into your hand and you squeal in excitement, throwing it away as quickly as it flys to you and embracing Draco in a hug so tight he could barely breathe.

You don't notice the glares the two of you received from Potter and his gang, but Draco does, giving them an equally dirty look before marching over to the remembrall that had rolled over and snatching it right off the ground.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

There was a troll on the loose in the castle and you've been escorted back to the Slytherin dorms by the Head boy and girl. Everyone had gone up into their respective dormitories in fear of being taken by the ghastly monster but you had tugged on Draco's sleeves with puppy dog eyes and begged him to stay in the common room and play a game of friendly wizard's chess with you.

He sighs and rolls his blue eyes to the back of his skull but reluctantly agrees and you sit warm by the fire on a bear hide rug. The chess board is nestled between the two of you and Draco instinctively goes to grab the white King but you start to sulk.

'Oh Draco, please, can I be white this time?' you beg, looking up at him with the biggest and glassiest eyes you could possibly muster. How could he say no?

'Ugh, you just want to be white because you want to use the Wayward Queen opening, you always use that one,' he retaliates, pressing the white King into your little hands.

'Do not!'

'Do too!'

'Do not!'

'Do too!'

You blow him a raspberry and make your first move. Pawn to E4.

'Ah hah!' He exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at you with a light scowl brushed on his features, tussling his air with his other hand in frustration. 'You're doing it! You're doing the same opening!'

You give him a ghastly stare and with a swing of your arm you knock over all of the chess pieces, huffing and puffing as they spread fallen all over the board.

'Fine! Stay down here and get eaten by the troll then!' You hiss at him, and run up to your dorm room to scream into your pillow.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

You're sitting in the first potions class of the year, listening to Professor Snape lecture Harry about not listening after watching him methodically take notes on the Professor's wise words from a couple rows away. You weren't able to get a seat next to Draco at the front of the class and you silently thanked this luck, having boasted about how much you've studied all Summer in preparations for potions and knowing Draco had not read even a single passage.

You sat next to a bushy haired Gryffindor girl called Lavender who weary looked in a mirror and you smirked as you watched Draco's ivory head listening to Snape assign the first task ever: brewing a common poison antidote. When Snape announces the winning pair will receive 5 points each to their respective houses your eyes twinkle with anticipation.

You leave your partner behind to gather the ingredients for the potion: Bezoar, mistletoe berries and a unicorn horn. You bump into Draco in front of the ingredient cupboard, and beam at him proudly.

'I read about this potion in the potions book,' you smile sweetly up at him, purposefully brushing against him as you shove to grab the vials. 'It should be a piece of pie,' you laugh accusingly, standing as tall as your short legs allow you to.

'Good luck,' Draco laughs vacantly, handing you a unicorn horn from the top shelf you couldn't reach. His fingers brush against yours and you scoff, heading back to your cauldron.

Lavender is sat twirling the knife on its tip on the chopping board as if she'd never seen the utensil before and in the time you were gone had managed to spill water just about everywhere, wetting your parchment and bleeding the ink of the potion recipe.

'My goodness,' You exclaim, rushing to take away the knife and wipe up the water, 'have you two left hands?'

You watch the potion brew and bubble as it cooks, anxiously tracking the time with an hourglass. When the final grains of sands trickle through the narrowed passage, you hastily reach for the unicorn horn you powdered earlier and your heart sinks when you see your partner already poised over the cauldron, a pinch of the precious powder between her fingertips. She carefully sprinkles it into the cauldron and you watch in horror as a noxious cloud of black smoke billows forth and envelops you both in char.

'How many pinches did you put in?' You scream, wiping the soot from your eyes.

'Two,' Lavender whimpers, eyes stinging from the cloud.

'It was meant to be ONE!'

Everyone in the class is now giggling at your misfortunes and Professor Snape has now come over to see what all the commotion is about.

'You two better clean that up right now,' Snape chastised in his nasally voice, condemning you to blush in shame beneath the soot on your cheeks.

As Snape made his rounds, meticulously examining the colors of each potion, his scrutiny lingered noticeably longer on Draco's cauldron. The pungent aroma that emanated from Draco's concoction filled the classroom, matching the textbook's description exactly, causing you to wince involuntarily.

'Malfoy, Zabini, 10 points to Slytherin,' Snape announces.

Draco's triumphant gaze locks onto you as he revels in his perceived victory in the silent competition between the two of you. With a mocking laugh, he directs his attention to your soot-streaked face, his expression one of haughty satisfaction as he proudly asserts his well-deserved win with a piercing stare.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Eyes drifting over to Pansy Parkinson you can't help but notice she is staring at your best friend, and you don't like it. You're in Charms class with Professor Flitwick and you're sitting a few seats down from Draco who is stuffed in-between his minions and looking increasingly annoyed from the class introduction Flitwick is moping on about. Pansy has painted on herself an innocent expression she only wore around Draco and you wished you could shake her until the ribbons came undone and her mask fell off.

Despite her Pureblooded nature and family status, you couldn't rid the feeling of unease whenever she was around and sharing a dorm with her turned to be nothing short of a Lovecratian nightmare. There was something about her that set your teeth on edge. You wanted to pry off her veil and examine her flaws beneath a microsope; you wanted to disect her and unravel the intricacies that made you burn with an inextinguishable fire.

You gaped at her when she cheered on Draco who had quickly succeeded in levitating his feather, leaning over the desk so far you thought she would topple right over and end head first in the middle of the classroom, bouncing on her horribly cut bob upside down and out of the classroom window and into the grounds. You imagined it so vividly you started to chuckle to yourself and didn't even realise Draco had been beckoning you with the usual smirk you loved across the desk.

Pansy looked at him eagerly, daydreaming about her name dancing on Draco's tongue rather than yours and she blushed a million shades of red when she realised she was drooling slightly from the corner of her mouth. You shot her a look of disdain, features twisting haughty from her sopping desperation. She knew that you had won - as did you -knowing it was your name on his lips, not hers.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

'Potter,' You're seething through your teeth, acknowledging his dreadful existence as you and Draco pass him on the way to the Quidditch fields. You're dressed head to toe in green, showing support for your house. Draco's Slytherin scarf is wrapped securely around your neck, flowing behind you in the wind and you delight in his scent. You can't help but watch Harry in pure disgust, not because you hate him by proxy, but because Draco should be seeker, not him and it wasn't fair.

'Rosier,' He starts back, his eyes narrowing to a squint at the two of you for an instant before he hurries back to the safety of the rest of the Gryffindor team. Malfoy smirks at you proudly, leading you to the Slytherin seating area with a gentle hand on the small of your back, luxuriating in seeing his scarf around your neck.

And when all of Hogwarts watches Harry reveal he has caught the golden snitch, you feel nauseous and you can only think back to all of the nights you spent comforting Draco when he found out Harry had made the team. You scowl, your fingers sliding down to find Draco's beneath the bench and you squeeze them hard. It should've been him.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

You wake up in a panicked sweat, the hair on your face sticking on your damp skin. You feel tears sliding down your plump cheeks and you reach up to wipe them away but they won't stop. Nightmares invaded your dreams, mercilessly rocking you awake in a sea of no hope. When you look around your sleeping quarters, you see strange figures in the form of your wardrobe, capes draped across armchairs and coat stands twice your height. Your dormmates are sleeping peacefully In their own beds, their light puffs of air comforting you - but it wasn't enough. You needed Draco.

Gulping, you manage to place your wobbly feet on the floorboards and wrap a Slytherin blanket around your tiny figure, tip-toeing out of the room without causing anyone else to lose sleep. You left the girls a silent prayer for their safety and you snuck down the stairs.

The common room was now empty in the middle of the night, the hot fire still roaring its song to warm the unforgiving dungeons the Slytherin house called home but you couldn't shake the uneasy feeling of being watched by prying eyes and you squeaked with the floorboards, rushing up the stairs opposite and straight to Draco's dorm.

You padded on the door softly with care to not wake the wrong occupant. You whispered his name more times than you could count, counting instead the hot tears that flew to the ground from your leaky eyes. When the door opens revealing a half-asleep Draco he knows right away to open his arms and hold you tight, and that is exactly what he did. That night he inhales your sweet scent and whispers sweet nothings into your ear, lulling the bad dreams away.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Snow topples from the sky and for the first time in your life you're happy about it. Christmas break came and went all too soon and now in front of you lies the vast whiteness of Winter. She covers Hogwarts in a thick blanket and you sink in it's softness, snow filling your boots and socks.

'Ah!', you jump around from the chill, pausing Draco is his steps as he's foraging for a stick to finish the snowman the two of you had spent all afternoon building. He lets out a hearty chuckle directed at you when you point to your boots, mouthing 'wet' and pouting with your pillowy lips.

He is stifling a laugh as he goes back to searching for the perfect twig and you don't feel content at this reaction. Without a single further thought, your gloves pawed into the sheath around you and formed a perfectly round globe of snow. You eyed your target meticulously, catching the eyes of Blaise and Pansy in the process and before Pansy could warn her precious Draco, you've already belted the snowball at him and watched as it exploded into dust on his back.

Draco whips back to see you howling in laughter, bracing yourself with your hands clutching your thighs, the pom of your beanie shaking erratically. He frowns, glancing over to his friends who shrug their shoulders at him, and while Blaise sends a cheeky smile, Pansy is mouthing your name and pointing to you crudely.

'Hey!' he yells, abandoning the stick he spent oh so long looking for and creating his own balls of destruction. He was going to make you regret this.

That afternoon you all walked back to the castle covered in snow and ice, hair wet and lips pink but you silently wished the day would have never ended and you replayed it over and over in your head that night, cackling silently when the image of Draco's scowl turned into a mischievous grin and it all lingered in your mind.

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liauditore · 8 months

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hehe. small.

just some casual brainrot art for the au i have in my head that i should probably draw the intro comic to sometime👍putting these under 'liaumercAU' til i find a better name 😭😭

look below the cut for my nonsense 👍

OK SO.. this was originally gonna be called the 'ethubs mercenary au' cus it was mainly ethubs-centric (and still kinda is) BUT i have scope creep issues and slowly it's become more and more broad and now the entire player list of the life series has some sort of role to play in it along with several hermits. yes i have a problem don't. Talk to me.

anyway,,, these guys are a pack of orphan street rats menacing the streets of Rivendell, living off of pick-pocketing and other mischief. Absolute public nuisances.

No exact ages cus I don't like em but Martyn's the oldest and has a bit of a leader complex about it. You'll most likely find him challenging other boys to prize fights in the middle of the street.

He and Jimmy have formed a bit of a partnership that they call the 'property police' in which they (attempt to) run a mafia-like extortion scheme with the local shopkeeps by charging them protection fees. They're only successful with the few that choose to show them pity or just think their antics are cute.

Grian's just a bit younger than Martyn and likes to lie comparatively low but secretly thinks of himself as the lead in that "these idiots would be dead without me" kinda way. Despite his age he's got connections everywhere and wants to leave the empire one day to set up his own little settlement somewhere out in the wilderness (he calls this "project EVO").

Just cus he's more logic-oriented and prefers to send any of the other three to do the dirty work doesn't mean he's afraid to thrown down when pissed though, which a lot of people have learnt the hard way. He's frail but his punches HURT.

Pearl's the youngest and the most likely to just grab your wallet and run away with it while cackling. She's got way too much energy for anyone to deal with so it's probably a good thing she has Martyn to roughhouse with. She's got the worldview of one of those small dogs that thinks they can take on pit bulls and huskies five times their size and won't hesitate to jump into a fight if she sees one of her friends involved (she has bitten so many people).

Scott just shows up from time to time to hang out with them and is weirdly secretive about who he is or where he came from. His clean shoes and ability to read hints that he's probably more well-off than the four. Grian's somewhat wary of him but nobody else is willing to put up with Pearl's mud-wrestling when Martyn's not around so he's allowed to stick around.

That's all for now before i spoil the whole thing but despite their hardships they have each other 👍until bad things happen and they don't but that's for the future 😊😊

#my art #liaumercAU #scott smajor #pearlescentmoon #grian #martyn inthelittlewood #jimmy solidarity #tried to base these mostly off of their old skins with some creative liberties here and there #<-- cus grians old skin is link lmao

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leohamatoblog · 24 days

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As a Dad: Donnie Edition

Authoritative

• he was never a stick in the mud or off the walls, he's more of an in the middle of all his bros when it comes to personality

• out of all his brothers, you'd think he's the most qualified to be a dad, he thinks he is, but he's as much of a disaster as the rest

• he relies heavily on research once the baby is born (biologically by miracle or adoption) but then when the science back fired, he had an epiphany

• 0-8 month stage was the hardest for him because he doesn't do well with screaming and crying but he knows the baby can't help it so he just wings it

• he discovered science isn't what helps him be a parent, it's getting to know the child so he's a pretty hands on dad

• the toys are all home made and cater to brain stimulation and growth

• he definitely takes the child everywhere with him cause that's now his little friend

• sleep schedule is all messed up so he's usually the one to take the night shift

• loves the walking and talking stages cause now he can start introducing the kid to his non-deadly projects

• thus begins the 2-8 stage. poor donnie

• he has way more patience than leo could ever have cause he's a middle child, so he becomes a more gentle parent

• not a yeller and not a physical punishment kind of guy. the naughty corner is definitely a thing

• this is the stage where he reads up on how to deal with tantrums and redirecting, so he becomes the de-escalation king

• it worked until puberity.

• 13-17 were not fun for him and he really felt splinters pain from when he was this age

• the kids are respectful and really nice kids, until they are fighting with each other or being told no

• grounding became a thing and donnie isn't the best at sticking to his punishment (lets face it, he's a softie), however he still reads those books and knows he can't back down

• he often invites his kids to his lab and to help him with his projects, it's his way of spending time with them

• the kids think donnie wont find out things but donnie always knows

• sometimes his head gets stuck in his computer or in a project, but he always makes time for his kids

• he's a binge watcher so he watches tv shows and movie series with the children all the time

• kids are super smart so an A/B average is no problem and he's their personal tutor when they need it

• never forces his interests on the kids but he teaches them things he thinks they need to know

• boy dad coded but if he had a little girl he would also be a great girl dad

• his tinkering sessions with the kids is his time to really figure out what's going on in their heads, thus creating a judgement free zone

• not an overly affectionate dad but he's very supportive of all the kids do

• he definitely says it's parenting

• he's the fun parent by far

• he will make sure your kid excels in whatever sport or activity they decide to take up, but also teaches them not to be little jerks about it

• no problem playing dress up or getting his make up done

• no problem rough housing or wwe wrestling after you said no

• he may be the man of the house, but he usually says that you're the boss so the kids have learned to ask you first over him if they want something

• he is always attending every event the kids have and watches through security tapes or he sneaks in

• he teaches his kids how to dominate the world

• he has the best bedside manner when his kids are sick or upset about something

• he makes science nicknames for your kids and still calls them by them into their adult years

• honesty and respect is the one thing he instills in the kids

• he lets them have ice cream for breakfast on their birthdays

• type of dad to call and ask what you're doing rather than text

#rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt ask blog #tmnt bayverse #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #ask blog #tmnt 2003 #tmnt headcanons #tmnt imagine

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bibittybopittybadbxtch · 3 months

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Don’t Forget

Pairing: Felix x Reader

Warnings: A Singular Innuendo-ish

Word Count: 563

Summary: You and your best friend were sat on the couch watching the newest season of Single’s Inferno. It was your current obsession, perfect for practicing your korean and the eye candy wasn’t bad either…

A/N: Hi lovies! Did you miss me?? I missed yall! I got a little busy but I’m back. There are probably spelling errors. You know the drill. Anyways have fun reading! Hope you enjoy!!

XOXO, BiBi🩷

P.S.

I do NOT consent to have my work posted, translated or published to any third party site or app.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Bangchan and Felix were upstairs doing their own thing, occasionally you could hear them shouting at something. Meanwhile you and your best friend Imani, who happened to be dating Bang Chan, were on the couch enjoying your weekly binge session. Singles Inferno was getting good. you both had your favorite singles and ideal couples picked out. There was a shared notes app where you shared opinions and nicknames. It was serious business. Usually you waited until the boys were gone to watch because the two of you together got a tad vocal. This week happened to be a week off so you decided to continue as usual, just quieter. At least you were trying to be quiet.

The challenges for a chance to paradise made that difficult though. You snuggled closer to Imani as the newest challenge was being introduced. The male contestants would all gather in a shallow pit of water and try to remove each other, last 3 men standing won. You just knew this was gonna get good. You and Imani both try to muffle your squeals as you watch the male contestants wrestle each other in the pit. They were getting pretty rough with each other. Water was splashing everywhere. They were caked in mud and covered in scratches, it was quite the sight. You both watch as your favorite contestant picks up another male and slams him against the side of the pit. Before either of you can register what’s happening the tv gets paused and you both scream. Forgetting you weren’t alone decorum went out the window. You’re looking at each other giggling with flushed faces, when you hear the sound of feet rushing down the stairs. Crap. You both had forgotten your boyfriends were upstairs.

You turn around as Chan makes it down the stairs first on high alert. Felix is a step behind, armed with a house shoe. “What happened!?” Chan, ever the dad figure asks. His eyes scan the room before landing on Imani. His breathing calms when he sees she’s unharmed. “I brought a shoe! Where’s the bug!?” Felix exclaims after. You and Imani look at each other before you burst out laughing. The two men turn to each other puzzled. “It’s nothing, we’re fine.” Imani states trying to deflect their eyes from the paused screen. You glance behind you to the tv and notice the chiseled abs paused on the screen. You realize your mistake as you make it. Felix’s eyes follow your movement and he proceses what happened. You feel your face flush as his gaze heats. “Channie-hyung look.” Chan turns his attention to turn screen and he scoffs. “Oh, so this is what’s got you both screaming.” You and Imani open your mouths at the same time to explain, but the sight in front of you leaves your mouth agape.

Felix has his arms stretched above his head stretching his back. His shirt rides up just enough for you to see a sliver of his abs. He put his arms down and begins approaching you. Once he’s close enough he grips your chin and leans in close. “It’s okay to get excited. But don’t forget who gets you screaming every night baby.” He kisses you deeply and his tongue dips in for a taste before he pulls back. He takes in your dazed expression before winking at you and heading back upstairs.

#skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids #bang chan #christopher bang #skz #skz stay #felix x reader #lee felix #stray kids felix #stray kids imagines

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curiositydooropened · 9 months

Text

Wildfire • Ember

When Hawkins opened up and slowly slipped into the Ether, you were there on the front lines. Now, nearly two years later, after the tragic loss of your best friend, you're left without a partner and a rage building inside you like a wildfire. When you're given the option to retire or partner with your rival, Steve Harrington, you struggle to put aside your differences for the sake of the world.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 11,315

Warnings: enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slooooowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Two: Spark

---

THEN

March 1988

A strong forearm caught your waist, ripping you backward and back to reality. The ringing in your ears faded to the crackle of fire, the roar of an engine, the gut wrenching wails of heartache. You resisted the force at your ribs, rooted to your spot, slack jaw tightened, hands clenched into fists, but they were stronger. You were lifted off your feet, kicking, clawing at the air, desperate to reach the figure thirty feet in front of you. Your best friend lay there, pale skin to asphalt, shock of red hair caked in mud, a pattern of thick black veins across freckled features. Your nostrils filled with the acrid stench of charred flesh. Your mouth tasted of blood and ash and bile.

“She’s gone,” Harrington’s voice roared in your ear, chest pressed to your back as he wrestled you toward the Getaway. “We’ve gotta get out of here. We can’t risk infection. Let’s go!” He loosened his grip to hoist himself into the truck bed, extending a hand to help you up.

You had every reason to stay, every reason to hold her head in your lap and scream and sob and apologize for what happened to her, for what you did to her.

Harrington yelled your name, drawing your attention back to him. His skin was stained black around the edges, coated in grime and oil slick with sweat. His jaw was clenched, hand still extended, and you noticed the flash of his eyes into the bed behind him.

Wheeler was there, and Byers, both staring at you wide-eyed, jaws clenched. Wheeler’s hair had never been bushier. The circles beneath Byers’s eyes never deeper. And in their arms, Robin buried her face and muffled her sobs in the crook of an elbow, blue eyes flooded, tear stains streaked through ash and char across freckled cheeks and down her chest.

What had you done?

You swallowed.

Then, Robin reached a hand out, beckoning, commanding, begging for you to get in the truck. Her fingers trembled.

Something deep, something hidden, subconscious, compelled you to grip Harrington’s forearm and allow him to hoist you into the truck bed, and with two slams of Byers’s fist to the roof, you were off, nearly teetering off the side as you found your seat on a wheel well. Fingers found your palm, wet, and you glanced up to gape at Robin, throat filling with too much emotion to make sound. But she held your gaze, those soulful blue eyes locked on yours so you couldn’t look away, couldn’t watch the figure of your best friend’s lifeless form fade into the horizon.

—

FIVE MONTHS LATER

August 1988

The smoke from Hopper’s cigarette wafted passed the bottle brush mustache and receding hairline until it hit the yellowed ceiling of his office and permeated the room in a thick fog. The smell, acrid and unfiltered, reminded you of your paternal grandmother’s kitchen, and it mixed with the spice of sweat from the boy perched beside you.

Harrington sat too far forward, broad shoulders hunched, apparently fresh from the gym. You spotted the wet patch staining his t-shirt between his shoulder blades and under his arms. Beneath an elbow, his hairy thigh bounced at an unrelenting pace. You thought his sneakers might rub a hole through the linoleum flooring, clear to the Upside Down.

It took everything in your power not to slam a hand down to his knee to stop the anxious movements, your own hands clamming with sweat. You restrained, remaining poised, stoic, as you peered over Harrington’s shoulder while he rubbernecked the paperwork Hopper leafed through.

A photograph had been paper clipped to the inside cover of a forest green envelope. Two faces, pinched in stifled laughter, stared back at you, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. You recognized yourself and your best friend, full of innocence and zest and life. Hop’s meaty fingers slammed the folder shut. You swallowed.

“What’s going on, Hop?” Harrington finally vocalized, his voice a little strained.

Hopper didn’t acknowledge him, merely stared right through the younger man to make eye contact with you, steely blue with a hint of mischief you’d maybe once appreciated. Now it made your blood run cold. “You passed your psych eval. Flying colors.”

You could feel your heart in your chest, taste the smoke on your tongue.

Harrington’s movements stopped in your periphery.

Hopper leaned back in his seat, the metal groaning beneath his frame, and he scattered a few ashes into a full-to-the-brim ashtray. “And, as I’m sure you’ve heard, Buckley retired last week.”

Your heartbeat halted. You wet dry lips, ventured a glance Harrington’s direction.

He rolled his eyes, looked away, caught. A scoff spilled from his mouth.

You hadn’t known. You hadn’t spoken to Robin in months. How could you, after what you’d done?

Hopper continued before you could respond. “So I’ve called you here with good news.” Again, mischief. The man seemed as jolly as ole Saint Nick, downright chipper. “You’re going back out there, kid.”

You’d been asking for months, begging on bended knee, desperate for a taste of that sickly sweet air, for ash in your lungs and sweat on your brow. You’d worked your ass off for months, and yet the news, matched with the look on his face and Harrington’s presence bittered the taste of relief in your mouth.

Again, the commander spoke before you could open your mouth to respond, his words strained through smoke blown upward. “The two of you need to log a hundred training hours starting tomorrow. After that you’ll be trialed, and you’ll undergo a double psych eval. You know the drill.”

As his words set in, with the curl of his upper lip, your words finally burst forth, spilling from your before you could hold them back. “Are you fucking insane?”

Slow on the uptake, Harrington’s arms swung out in front of you, and droplets of sweat from his temples splattered against your cheek with the velocity of his head shake. “No, no way. Absolutely not.”

Hopper sighed, sitting upright again to punch out the butt of his cigarette. He shuffled the papers on his desk once more, tossing them onto a nearby filing cabinet with a hearty thwack. “Knock it off.” A meaty finger pointed directly into Harrington’s face, and the boy merely gaped at it, all sass, no action. “You two will do this because I know how bad you want back out there.”

“Besides,” Hopper made eye contact with you again, over Harrington’s shoulder, and the mischief had burned to pity, “no one else has gone through the shit that the two of you have been through.”

It hurt too much to look at him, eyes bleary and throat lumped, so instead you stared at the back of Harrington’s head, where his hair stuck up at odd angles, where it met the collar of his t-shirt. A part of you, small, wondered what exactly he’d been through, if he’d held Robin while she wept, if he cried too. A much bigger part of you tasted the anguish as it burned in your lungs. You blinked away the emotion and tried to swallow back the disdain. He’d never understand, never know what you’d been through.

“The good news is, you’ve got a hundred hours to learn to like each other. I want you closer than the fucking Sinclairs. You hear me?” Hopper broke the tension with another groan of his chair while he reached to another stack of file folders in a little metal inbox. “Bad news is, we’ve got northbound spread and my two best Scorchers have been out for months.”

You glanced at the map behind Hopper’s head, black spreading north to the lakes, vines creeping ever closer to Chicago, Green Bay, too far. No one was safe.

“We’ve all got work to do. So get the hell out of my office,” the receiver of his phone rang when he picked it up, pressing the plastic to his cheek while he began punching numbers.

Harrington was up first, an exaggerated sigh falling from his lips while his slender frame made for the door. His jaw and fists tensed, brows furrowed, and he glanced at you before eliciting an eye roll that would make Wheeler envious. He turned the handle and the smoke escaped from the top of the door in a pool above the bounce of his hair.

You matched his sigh, peeling yourself from the vinyl chair backing to exit the office. You caught a few of Hopper’s grumblings over the phone in snippets before he called your name. When you turned on your heel, he held the phone between large hands and kept a crease between his brow.

“I know you can do this,” he nodded, “Munson said - “ He was cut off by the voice on the phone and waved you off before he could finish his thought.

He’d said enough to get your blood pumping. You grit your teeth and exited, ready to make a B-line from Hop’s office to the War Room to enact revenge on one Edward Munson.

Only, one meathead stood between you and the stairwell, hands poised on hips, lips upturned into the bitchiest snarl you’d seen since junior high.

“What?” You barked, no longer having time for him when you had flatter asses to chew. You slipped past him, barely, into the well, the slap of your sneakers echoing up and down tens of floors.

“I work out in the afternoons,” Harrington responded, long legs keeping pace.

“Yeah, no shit,” you gestured to his get-up, sweat stain on his tee now dried to a normal shade of blue.

“So, sparring mats at 2?”

You halted your mission at the floor you needed and barred him from exiting before you. The heavy door swung closed against your hip, and you crossed your arms over your chest with a snort. “No, no way. I run in the mornings and then do weight training. We’ll spar at 5.”

“Absolutely not,” Harrington offered a sour laugh.

“Scorchers drop at 4.” You hoped he didn’t notice your confidence falter. It’d been so long, months, you didn’t know if they’d changed it without you, accommodated others.

“Fine,” he seethed. “Can you swim?”

You rolled your eyes. “Relevance? No water in the Upside Down.”

“Seventy percent of the gates are in bodies of water. If we get stuck on the other side, our best way out is up.”

You hated that he had a point, hated the ice that filled your stomach at the thought, hated the way your mind flashed back to that place, that time, wondering if there were any gates you missed.

“So we should split our hours evenly between the gym, swimming, and scorch.”

Your mouth went dry, considering the heft of a fuel pack, the trigger beneath your forefinger, the acrid smell of burned flesh, the screams.

You stumbled back against the door, but the steel didn’t sway under your weight. Harrington’s oversized hand was holding it closed, his face inches from yours, dark eyes observing your features with scrutiny.

“How’d you pass your psych eval?”

You blinked back at him, chill ever-present at the base of your neck. “Excuse me?”

He stared down at you like he could see her too, like he felt her lingering thirty feet behind him, fire red hair and a crooked smile - uncanny. His nostrils flared like he smelled her too, hair on fire, skin bubbling.

You felt frozen against the steel door, stuck under his gaze, avoiding eye contact with the nightmare over his shoulder, the expanse of grey and red just beyond.

“Nevermind,” he sighed, releasing the door and giving you a few feet of space.

You stumbled when the door swung wide, but caught your footing along with your breath to watch him run two hands over his face, scrubbing at tired eyes.

“Mats at 5.” He clenched his fists and made his way up a few steps, presumably headed back to his dorm.

“Fine,” you shot back, hating the rasp in your voice, the saliva filling your mouth.

He halted his movements, wrapping his knuckles against a metal railing before turning back to face you. “Do me a favor? Tell Munson I’m busy tonight.”

You wanted to retort, say something childish about not being a messenger pigeon, but the words stopped at your tonsils when you saw Harrington glance once more down the corridor, down to where you’d seen her, Vicki, mouth agape, hand outstretched, before he clambered up the staircase, leaving you all alone.

—

Munson hadn’t been in the War Room, but you’d managed to distract yourself by listening to a strategy lecture being bounced off a bunch of trainees. You’d disguised yourself well-enough to be called upon to offer a few ideas, and were pleased when the instructor awarded you with praise.

High from your distraction and the news that you’d be out there again, fighting, burning, doing what you were meant to do, you’d almost forgotten about Eddie entirely until you’d punched your meal card for dinner and found his in your cargo pocket.

“Have you seen Munson?” You asked the girl manning the machine, and she glanced around the room with pursed lips. With a sigh, you punched his card and loaded both arms with tonight’s slop and two cold beer cans.

You took the climb to the dorms two-at-a-time and wrapped your knuckles against the cold steel of his door until you heard a muffled commotion on the other side.

“Eddie, it’s me!” You called, shifting the weight on the orange dinner trays to be easier to hold in two hands. You heard the buzz and waited for the door to swing open before you allowed yourself to step inside, placing both trays on a rickety card table that had been set up just inside.

“Sweetheart, to what do I owe this honor?” Your friend’s walker squeaked against linoleum at his approach, and you looked up to see that Cheshire grin spread across pale features.

“Brought you dinner,” you gestured to the stew and steamed vegetables partitioned on a styrofoam plate. “We got mystery meat and I hope that’s corn, and your favorite: sawdust mashed potatoes.”

He laughed that familiar, boisterous laugh, and shook the hair from his eyes. “As delicious as that sounds… I’m going out with Steve.”

The mention of his name sent reality spilling back into your mind. You bit back the initial sting of betrayal and moved to fill yourself a glass of water from Munson’s room sink. The countertop was piled with dirty mugs, cigarettes, nudie mags. You waited to chug an entire cup’s worth of water before you responded. “Harrington’s busy.”

“How do you know?” He asked, voice thick with the cafeteria food you knew he couldn’t resist.

“He told me.” You explained, crossing back to pull out his chair for him.

Eddie didn’t move. He just stared at you, hands gripping the handles of his walker, brown gravy on the corner of his mouth. A mouthful went down with a gulp, and he blinked back at you.

“Had a meeting with Hopper today.” You elaborated, helping Munson from his walker to his chair, carrying his weight with ease.

“If you poisoned me, they’ll know it’s you,” he pointed out, poking through the sludge with a spork. “You have a track record.”

“Fuck off,” you growled, joining him at the table.

He held his hands up in surrender, a bit of corn careening your direction. “Okay, too soon. I’m sorry.” He snickered anyway.

You poked at your own meal, annoyed that you couldn’t stay mad at him, despite his betrayal. He was all you had left, the only one that understood.

“So Hopper demanded you two kiss and make up,” Eddie reached across the table to crack the tabs off each of your beer cans. “And then what happened? Don’t spare the gory details.” He clinked the two cans together, and slurped the bubbles loudly from the top of his own.

You picked yours up with a sigh, adjusting the tab to align with the printing on the aluminum. “Nothing yet. We’re sparring first thing tomorrow.”

“Ooooh, can I watch?” He cackled.

“Absolutely not.” You took a sip, the bubbles tingling your nose with a sense of nostalgia for what once was. You remembered early mornings at the mats, dripping with sweat, pinned and pinning, Munson taking bets left and right. You’d pinned them all: Wheeler, Byers, Harrington, Buckley. You took another drink.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Eddie touched you, a hand to your forearm, calloused fingertips and sad brown eyes. God, you hated that look.

“How long have you known about Robin?” Your voice came out a croak, sounds your mouth hadn’t made in months.

He turned back to his meal, shrugged broad shoulders. The downturn of his lips gave it away. He’d known for months. “I didn’t think she was serious.”

The betrayal stung. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t my place.” He shot you a pointed look, sass that rivaled Harrington’s. “You should have heard it from her.”

You weren’t here for a lecture. You snapped back, spooning yourself some potatoes. “But it was your place to tell Hopper to pair me with Harrington? When you know what I’ve been through with him?”

Eddie slammed his can so hard against the table bubbles fizzed from the top.

You startled, dropping your spork back to your plate. Gravy dribbled across your chest, up your forearm.

“You’re the one who wanted to go back out there,” he pointed an accusatory finger your direction. “Your lucky I didn’t tell Hopper to bench your ass.”

You scoffed, licking beefy juice from your fingertips before standing to retrieve a roll of paper towels. “Like that’d stop me.”

“Yeah,” Eddie laughed wryly. “I know it wouldn’t, and since I can’t get my legs working enough to come after you, I had to find the next best person.”

You looked up at him from the mess you were mopping and noticed the fondness in those big brown eyes, the crease carving itself beneath pepper speckled bangs.

“I mean, think about it. Roles reversed, who would you partner me with?”

Although you’d never admit it aloud, Harrington was the most capable fighter in your motley crew, second only to yourself. He was a tactical master, and his heart was unmatched. He worked with speed and precision, efficiency, and you’d never seen another person go that cold in the face of the evil you’d seen.

“Besides, haven’t you two already fucked? Just stir up some of that old sexual tension and make peace with each other.”

You smacked him with your spork as hard as you could, just over his left eye, and he swatted your arm away with a voracious laugh. You fought back the warmth spreading up your throat and to your ears, drowning more memories in a gulp of beer before they could surface fully.

“Speaking of fucking,” Eddie changed the subject, eyebrows waggled beneath his curtain bangs. “I talked to Sandra today.”

You smiled into your sweet corn, the gentle buzz of relief settling over your shoulders. “Don’t you talk to Sandra every day?”

“Well, sure,” And Eddie Munson proceeded to tell you about the exciting escapades with him and one of America’s Finest.

And although you chewed, and laughed, and swatted at his arm, you couldn’t help but feel the tug of nostalgia just behind your molars. The memories that fizzled their way to the surface, of girls touching and laughing and nose-to-nose, cheek-to-cheek. Of dares. Of too much beer and too little pizza. Of arm-wrestles turned to leg wrestles, turned to sparring matches on dorm room floors. Of the freckles that lined faces and moles that cast a constellation across cheekbones and collar bones. Of breathless laughs and wandering touches. Of heat like wildfire, that fanned your skin and spread. Spread like vines and decay and smoke and ash.

—

Harrington beefed up, shoulders impossibly square, chest broad, centered on the balls of sneakered feet. And alongside the wall of muscles, he’d grown relentless. You swung again, and again, and again, huffs of disdain escaping your lips with each stuttered breath, and your fists were caught, forearms blocked, shoulders checked. He worked lithely, without effort, all defense, prepared, like he’d been studying, but not just the fight, studying you.

You’d sparred before, sure, dozens of times over the past two years, and you’d always managed to pin him. Your fights would end in cackles from onlookers and sweat wiped from his upper lip. You’d pull him upright with a grin on your face and pride fluttering beneath your ribcage.

Now, all mercy had been removed, any friendliness left his dark eyes cold. His jaw flexed, arms crossed over his chest while he waited for you to take a drink of water, quenching the dryness at your throat. He even dared that signature Harrington eye roll, which had the water dribbling from the corners of your mouth and down your throat, a soothing damp.

“What?” You snapped, chest heaving, plastic water bottle crunched beneath your fingertips as you sprayed more into the back of your throat.

“I didn’t say anything,” he responded, arms still crossed.

You swished before your swallow and set your bottle next to the oversized cushion of the grey vinyl mats. The floor had already been sneaker-marked and sweat stained. You bounced on the balls of your feet, trying to bring feeling back into the numbness of your wrists and knuckles.

Harrington readied himself, squared his stance, but remained limp. Honestly, he looked a little bored.

You grit your teeth and rounded to the right.

He mirrored you, arms up, patient.

You took a deep breath through your nostrils and released with a right hook.

He dodged, caught your wrist, shoved you to the other side of the mat.

You stumbled, caught yourself, took another deep breath, steadied yourself.

“Again,” he called you, gesturing for you to go again, to come at him, arm’s swinging wildly without making purchase for the thousandth time.

You were exhausted. You’d been exhausted for months, but memories crept along dorm walls the night before, and that familiar face smiled back at you from the far corner, ever-present, watching, waiting. You hadn’t sparred since then, hadn’t struck another human, hadn’t found purchase. Not since then.

You shook it off, rounded to the left. “What’s the matter, Harrington?” Your voice brought some life back into his eyes, interest piqued. Yes, this was better, this was safe. “Scared to hit a girl?”

You swung left, and he dodged, but you felt the hairs on his cheek prickle your wrist. You swung right, but he’d predicted it, catching both wrists and pulling them up and over your head.

His face was inches from yours, glistening with sweat and rough with stubble. The bags under his eyes were more prominent from this distance, and you wondered if he’d slept at all himself. “I want you on the offense before I even consider teaching you defensive moves.” He shoved you back again, readying his stance. “Again.”

“Teaching me?” You balked, resting your hands on your hips to catch the breath that had slipped away. “I seem to recall pinning your ass on the regular.”

He grimaced at that, upper lip upturned in disgust, and he shrugged, gesturing to the ground between you. “Feels like you’ve lost your touch.”

You swung wide, angry, fist flying through the air toward his chest.

He caught your forearm. “Looks like I can still count on you to be hot headed.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, stepping back into a ready position. You hated that he was right, hated how he always managed to find his way under your skin.

“Take a breath,” he took a step to your left. You countered. “Anticipate me anticipating you.”

You kicked out, knowing he’d expect another swing, but he caught your calf at his waist and held it there, pushing you backwards until you’d nearly lost balance, hopping on one leg.

“No,” he grit his teeth. “Come on. You’re being predictable.”

“Let go of me,” you wrestled your ankle from his grasp, nearly falling on your ass in the process.

“I know your moves,” he explained, voice unnervingly even. “You’re a one-trick pony.”

You released a grunt, threw elbows at his opposite side, and he managed to grab you around the ribcage, holding you tight to him, your back to his front, two feet off the ground as you struggled under a vice grip. You struggled, wind nearly knocked out of you.

“We aren’t moving on until you can take me down.”

“Fuck off,” you gasped.

He released you.

You stumbled back to your water bottle, taking a few breaths until the blur left the peripheries of your vision. You gulped between gasps, trying to strategize, trying to ignore the heated emotion prickling at your throat, behind your eyes. You couldn’t look at him, feeling like a child scolded by a school teacher, and what gave him the right?

“Did she use it against you?” His voice came softer than before, just behind your left ear. You could barely hear it over the rushing of your pulse in your skull.

You swished, swallowed, took a moment for his words to sunk in before you turned to face him. “What?”

“Your predictability. Did she use it against you?” Harrington stood with arms crossed over his chest again, the shield he bore.

Your mind flashed to that night, flames fanned your face, all encompassing heat, structure engulfed around you. You’d gone for a hit, frantic, not in your right mind, panic icing your veins, and she’d caught your fist, just as your new partner had. Vicki’s eyes were just as cold, just as dark, a black void where your friend used to be.

You swallowed, blinked back tears, and tried to ignore the figure growing in the corner of your mind. Harrington came back into focus, arms folded, shoulders square, sweat staining the collar of his t-shirt a dark grey.

With steady breaths, you crossed the mat to him until you were close enough to make out the pulse in his throat, a steady beat beneath a chiseled jaw. He stared down his nose at you, contempt across features you’d once swooned over.

You felt the emotion start to well, blinked back anything that threatened, avoided his frigid gaze for half a moment, and when you glanced back, you noticed the most minute indication that he’d softened. His shoulders relaxed, chin tilted downward to look at your properly, and you remembered that everyone has a weakness.

You sucked in your cheeks and willed a single tear to fall, just one, a hot bead that mixed with sweat as it streaked down the plane of your nose and rested, salty on the bow of your upper lip.

Harrington’s eyes were wide, brown, soft. His nostril flared, in pity or disgust, it didn’t matter which. You’d hooked him.

You turned your back to him, allowed your shoulders to shake with your exhale.

A sound of indignation fell from his lips, a warm breath cast upon the small hairs on your neck that sent goosebumps down your spine, and then you felt it. The softest of touches to your wrist, fingertips to calm your pulse points.

You took the opportunity, grappled his forearm and sent him flying over your left shoulder until a large body hit the mat with a satisfying thud. While Harrington gasped to earn his breath back, you pinned his shoulder beneath the toe of your sneaker, holding him to the mat. You wiped the tear from your nose with the damp collar of your t-shirt and stared down at him.

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” he spat, shoving your foot from his chest to sit upright.

With a sigh, you grabbed your water bottle and retreated, shoes scuffing the linoleum. “Same time, same place tomorrow, Harrington. Bring your A game. ‘We aren’t moving on until you can take me down.’” You mocked him as you sauntered off to the showers.

You paused momentarily when passing the double doors that exited the gymnasium into a gravel parking lot. Rusted vehicles were cast in the tangerine light of golden hour. And just beyond, under the cover of dense woods, you swore you could make out Vicki’s proud smile, engulfed in flame.

—

“How are things with Mr. Harrington?” Linda asked as though she knew the answer, and Hell, she probably did.

You were sure the exhaustion dulled your features, if not the dark circles under your eyes then the bruises that skated your arms and legs. One shone in browns and yellows on your temple from where you’d taken an accidental elbow. You’d been lectured for that for not ‘watching your space’. That man was lucky you hadn’t throttled him right there on the mat, pulse echoing against your skull.

“Fine,” you lied through your teeth, something you’d grown accustomed to in this cramped office.

Linda, the government appointed therapist, walked from houseplant to houseplant, watering until they’d overgrown the room like vines in an alternate dimension. Blinking fluorescents cast green across the walls, painting her pale skin, making you feel more sick than you felt when you entered on a weekly basis. It used to be three times a week, but you were let off on good behavior.

“How did you feel when you learned that Ms. Buckley retired?”

Your stomach churned, sickly green, and you shifted in the uncomfortable metal chair. It creaked beneath you. “I’m happy for her,” you maintained your voice, swallowed back a waver. “She weighed her options and chose a path that feels right for her.”

Linda hummed from overtop a spider plant, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

You settled in your seat.

“Did it make you question whether or not you’d chosen the right path for yourself?”

The fluorescents buzzed, and you squeezed your eyes closed, pinching the junction of your nose. Your temple began to throb again, and the muscles of your shoulders tightened. You were so tired, run-through, up too early all to get your ass kicked and up all night, contemplating whether or not you made the right choice.

“No one would fault you for wanting a little peace of your own. It’s not cowardly to want space from the things haunting you.”

The monotone of her voice was like nails down a chalkboard.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I won’t find peace as long as the Ether’s still spreading.” A mantra you’d repeated time and time again, face pressed into a pillowcase to avoid the screams of horror plaguing your mind, to shield your eyes from the dense, damp expanse of forest.

“Yes, there’s no doubt you’re dedicated to your cause.” Her tone seemed clipped, almost as if she’d picked up some of Harrington’s sass in their sessions. She set her tiny watering can atop a large wooden desk and moved to sit in the rickety chair across from you. “I just think it’s healthy for you to consider a contingency plan. What would you do if it all ended tomorrow? You’re on the sparring mats and they announce it’s done, they’ve got him, the Gates are closed. Then what?”

You stared back at her, green blurring your vision as you mulled over her question. You’d never actually considered it, never thought what you might do should the fighting cease, should the fuel in your tank run out and you’d have to put away your worries altogether.

“What do you think Vicki would want you to do?”

That stung. Each time her name was said aloud felt like a slice, death by a thousand cuts. You closed your eyes again, tried to will away the nausea, the smell of charred flesh, the screams.

You took a deep, calming breath and imagined a simpler time, soft hands massaging the worry from your scalp, thighs around your shoulders as you pressed tired muscles into the cushions of a threadbare couch. Sweet laughter echoed around you, the wafted smell of popcorn, truths shared under the flashes of a television screen.

Linda’s timer beeped, an alert that your hour was up. She let out a sigh as you bolted upright from your chair. “Think about it this week and get back to me.”

“Unless it all ends tomorrow,” you promised, flashing a grin that you know exposed too much enthusiasm.

She muttered something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like, “we can only hope.” Before she stood to usher you outside. “Have a good rest of your day.” She chimed, always the most chipper exchange of your interactions.

You saluted and B-lined for the stairwell, in desperate need of a meal and an ice pack for the knot between your shoulder blades.

—

The dorm hallways were eery at night, the hustle and bustle of young adults silenced, lights out. Occasionally, a bluish glow would leak from beneath doors, but otherwise the halls were lit only by glowing red EXIT signs and the circle of your torch. You snuck past the common area on tiptoe, terrified of waking the occasional trainee who had fallen asleep during movie night, not interested in asking questions. You skirted around a corner instead, to the stairwell, and began your descent on the balls of your sneakered feet.

Your backpack slumped against a sore back with each step, full of supplies you weren’t even sure you’d needed, scrounged up from a supply closet Eddie snuck you in to loot.

In your hurry downward, you took a wrong turn, exiting the stairwell too early, and stumbled upon too many offices with dust on desktops and upturned chairs. The stillness of this floor reminded you of there and then, everything twisted with vines, particles peppering the air.

Nearly tripping yourself backwards, you kept one eye on your reflection in the glass, and made your way back to the stairwell to continue your run, a little more blind, a little more panicked. Two, three, four floors down you saw an indicator. The exit door was propped open on a brick. The window at a eye level exposed a long, pitch black hallway, and the very end sparkled in a pale blue glow.

You swung the door open and ran, no longer minding the slap of your feet against the flooring, only wanting to be somewhere light, somewhere where you knew you wouldn’t be alone. You almost skid through double doors, humidity smacking you in the face, and you managed to stop inches from where the floor opened up, dark water rippled against aquamarine tiled walls.

“You’re late,” a voice startled you, and you teetered further on the edge, turning to shine your flashlight directly into Harrington’s eyes. He grimaced, shadowing his face with his hand. His hair was already wet, throat beaded in water, droplets dampened and discoloring a red t-shirt.

You clicked off the torch and let your arm fall to your side, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. The only illumination was from the depths of the pool, recessed lighting that glowed cyan. “It’s dark in here.” You voiced your grievance, shrugging your backpack off your shoulder and toeing out of your shoes. The tiles were frigid beneath the balls of your feet.

“It’s dark out there.” He explained and rounded the oversized pool to grab a handful of items from his own rucksack. “Are you ready or do you need to…?” He gestured to you, voice echoing off the rippled water, even soft.

You managed a few steadying breaths. You weren’t nervous, per se, but a certain anxiety fluttered beneath your ribcage. You hadn’t swam in years, not since summers spent at Hawkins Pool with Vicki. You thought she’d dragged you down there to gawk at Harrington in all his glory, red trunks and tank top and whistle and sun kissed skin. She admitted later it was Heather Holloway she’d always had her eye on. The memory of squirted sunscreen and the quench of lemonade on your tongue had your fists clenched.

The splash of something heavy cutting the surface startled you back to reality, and your eyes scanned the wake to see what it was. Your heart raced in your chest.

“We’re going to start with the shallow end,” Harrington explained, shifting your attention back to him. You watched as nimble fingers began undoing the buckle of his watch. He toed out of his sneakers.

“I can swim,” you retorted, self-defense growing second-nature between the two of you.

He ignored you, tugging at the back of his collar to pull his t-shirt up and over his head. That soft patch of hair from his navel to the hem of his shorts stood on end beside the gnarled roots of scars that brought your own battle wounds to shame.

He stepped to the edge of the pool, upcast in pearly blues, and dove in. The arch of his lithe frame was perfect in silhouette, minimizing the splash and the ripple as he went in fingertips first to break the surface. You watched the shape of him approach before his head broke through, hair in his eyes, mouth agape to refill his lungs. He scrubbed chlorine from his eyes and pushed wet hair back out of his eyes.

“I dropped a brick at the shallow end, and you need to retrieve it,” he said, sidling up to the pool’s edge at your feet. “This isn’t about whether or not you can swim. You need to be able to get all the way to the Gate and all the way back up from it. This is about form and breath work.”

His voice was the softest you’d heard it, patient. It was the way he talked to the kids, without the snark and the sass of someone pretending to be irritated with them. It was unnerving.

“Can you dive?” He asked, combing his fingers through his hair to keep the front bits at bay, cowlick at the front fighting against him.

“Yes,” you snapped, although no, you weren’t sure you ever really had. Maybe at swim lessons in the third grade, but how in the Hell were you supposed to remember the basics now?

You took a step to the edge before remembering your clothes. You hadn’t brought extras, and you weren’t keen on sneaking back to your dorm sopping wet. With an sigh, you released the button from the fly of your pants, pausing the moment you realized Harrington was watching. “Do you mind?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled and turned his back.

You hated the static that prickled the stubble on your legs as you pushed your shorts down broad hips and thighs. You hated that it clung to the water’s edge, buzzed in your ears, fanned your chest with warmth as you lifted your tank top from over your head. You hated the lump your felt in your throat, exposed in underpants and a sport’s bra, not having owned a bathing suit in four years.

“Okay,” you managed, voice thick, ready for the cool plunge to your heated skin.

Harrington turned back to face you but kept his gaze at ground level, slapping a wide palm to the tiled edge. “Step all the way up here, toes over the edge. Remember you want your thighs to power you, but you need your fingertips to break the surface first. Arms over your ears. Don’t stop until you can touch the bottom.” He spouted instructions too fast, moving to the side to give you room to position yourself for your dive. “The brick’s on the far end. Once you’ve gotten it, kick until you’ve reached the surface. Your lungs won’t let you go anywhere but up.”

You couldn’t really hear him anyway, not over the buzzing of pool filters and the rapid heat rate in your ear. He made some minor adjustments to your stance, but you were on autopilot. And when you thought you heard the word ‘go’, you dove in.

You felt a little awkward, but determined, the third grader in you stiffening. The water hit warmer than you anticipated, the stale underground air keeping everything tepid. When you were submerged, you kicked, lungs straining in a held breath. The faint pool light shined behind your eyelids, too anxious to open your eyes to the blur and sting of chlorine. You just ventured for the bottom, the plaster and tile that you knew would come.

Only it didn’t. You kept kicking, and it was as if the bottom had fallen out, as if the world was swallowed whole, and panic fluttered once more at your chest. You opened your eyes, searching for a bottom, but everything felt too far. Then, a black shape entered your periphery, long, hulking, slender like a vine. Releasing bubbles, a startled scream exiting your lips, you kicked for the top, the sides, seeing the sparkle of the surface and begging for relief for the ache in your chest.

Oxygen filled you, damp and sputtering at the moment your fingertips reached the lip. Panic stricken, you clung to the wall, knees scraping against plaster as you gasped for deeper breaths.

“That was good,” Harrington called from somewhere behind you.

You peered into the dark mist against the sting of your eyelashes. You released a shaky exhale. “I didn’t get it.”

“I know, but your survival instinct kicked in. That’s important.”

You felt uneasy about his comforting words, tones you hadn’t heard spill from his lips in almost a year. You rubbed at bleary eyes.

“Come to the center and tread,” he commanded, softness replaced with the sass you were used to on the mats. “No walls in a lake.”

You grit your teeth and pushed off from the wall.

Harrington had you tread water until your muscles burned, until that familiar hatred for one another stung in your chest and bit in exchanged words, at least then you felt more comfortable. You managed to dive properly a handful of times, making it farther and farther across the pool which each go until you’d retrieved the brick without coming up for air. He took it from your proud hand and tossed it to the deep end.

Your lungs burned and your thighs ached, and he timed your held breath from the side of the pool, feet dangled in the water, broad shoulders slumped. You felt the heat of competition, the dopamine of getting better and better each time. Your final try, brick dumped beside him to scrape against the cold flooring, you wiped water from your eyes and had to fight back the smirk of success you felt itching at the corners of your mouth.

Harrington sighed and slid into the water beside you, bobbing with his head just above the surface. He was close, too close, and you could just make out the freckles across the bridge of his nose in the blue light, the scar etched into his lower lip.

“I’m going to pull you down.”

You blinked back at him, seriousness in his voice tickling your nerves. “What?”

“There are things in those Gates that will try to latch onto you, to pull you into them. I’m going to pull you down, and I need you to fight me off.”

You knew he spoke from experience, you’d heard stories of the things he’d done. The idea of a large, black vine sent a chill down your spine, any competitive adrenaline replaced with cold, exhaustion, fear.

“Go tread water.” He nodded back to the center of the pool, the expanse at which you’d finally warmed up to, a challenge you’d taken so lightly turned stone cold.

You did as he asked, pushing off from the wall until you found yourself in the center once more, legs kicking and arms pushing at the water around you, keeping you afloat. Your muscles ached with fatigue. Your entire being did, eyelids weighed by the sticky atmosphere.

Harrington’s head dunked and a chill shot through you.

You weren’t sure if it was fear, the underlying unease you’d felt around him for almost a year now, that rivalry that turned whispered truths into snapped remarks. Maybe it was this unknown, this fear that he knew who you were, knew what you’d done, and now he’d convinced you to relinquish control. You gulped, glanced around, continued to tread. You could make out the shadow of him, just below the surface, streamlined and agile.

You thought of him enacting revenge, on pulling you down and holding you in his vice grip. Hell, you’d do it if you were him. You’d thought about it already, imagined the swift crush of lungs as you held yourself beneath the surface.

A creak sounded in the far corner of the room, and your eyes snapped to the double doors. They swung slightly, fog from the pool seeping through the cracks where tile met linoleum floors. You swam forward to catch a better view. You thought you saw a light just down the hall, the flash of red and orange, the crackle of lightning.

You wanted to call out, but panic had settled too deep into your bones, and all at once a thick hand had found the meat of your thigh and you were being dragged downward, down, down, down. You gasped a deep breath, but couldn’t take your eyes from the swinging double doors, from the face that stared back at you from behind a window, wide-eyed in terror, just before you were submerged entirely.

The vine had a vice grip around you, and when you kicked, your opposite ankle was also grappled. You squirmed and fought, not-enough air choking at your lungs. Your toes felt the breadth of something wide, a chest, and you tried to push off of it, but down, down, down you went. Your arms struggled toward the surface. Familiar flames fanned the shoreline in oranges and golds, the smell of acrid smoke filling your nostrils, burning your lungs, blearing your eyes.

You fought and fought, but she was staring back at you, that sickening smile on her face, and you knew you’d fought long enough. It was time to let go. You had no other choice.

Your back hit something hard, a crack that jolted the water from your lungs. You sputtered, eyesight dark around the edges, coughing in an attempt to expel whatever remained. You rolled on your side, hair strewn in tendrils beneath your mouth, body numb, mind numb. You weren’t sure where you were, only that it was freezing, and your muscles all began to spasm in an attempt to warm up.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” A familiar voice called out, garbled under the thunder of your pulse in your skull.

You willed your eyes to open, to focus on the sparkling water beneath you, the cyan lights. Harrington’s face was inches from your own, eyes dark, a crease between thick brows.

“Fuck!” He ran a hand down wet features, and you tried to regain any semblance of what had happened before he’d tossed you like a rag doll onto the side of the pool. He swam to the nearest ladder and pulled himself out.

You rolled onto your back, stuttered breath gathering momentum again, and stared at the dark ceiling of the indoor pool. You were here, and you were training, and… You glanced sideways at the double doors. They were still, hall dark just beyond. You lifted a weak hand.

Harrington crouched at your side, pressing a wide palm to the curve of your throat, forefinger finding your pulse. He clicked the fingers of his other hand in front of your eyes, trying to get you to focus.

Annoyed, you swatted him away and tried to sit up.

“Will you slow down? You hit your head.” He spat, pinning your shoulder gently to the tiled floor.

You did feel a pulse where his hand reached to cup your skull, and you reached back with shaky fingertips. The wetness was warmer there, knotted into the hair near the crown. You pulled your hand back to see your fingertips smudged with crimson. You winced.

“Shit,” Harrington stood to procure something from across the room, his red t-shirt, and he shoved the material under your head, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. It just made the dull throb worse. “Can you talk?”

His fingertips found your pulse again, large palm splayed out across your collarbone, honeyed eyes searching your own. His body was warm, ribcage pressed against your hip, and you wanted to curl into him, your teeth chattering.

“‘M cold,” you croaked, the sound producing another fit of coughs that burned like hellfire at your chest, rocketing you nearly into his nose.

He grabbed your wrist and placed your hand firmly to the t-shirt soaking your blood and stood to pull something from his bag on the floor.

Your coughs sent you sideways again, spewing more liquid onto the ground beside your head. The tiles had begun to swirl with blood.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” His grip on your shoulder rolled you back to make eye contact. The room clouded around him, and you squinted, feeling your eyelids grow heavy. “Shit. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

Your body rattled. It took too long to process that he had wrapped you in a towel and was trying to warm your arms with the friction of his hands. Exhaustion crept into your bones, a slip of warm darkness that you could find in his embrace, safety.

“Whoa, stay awake. Come on, let’s get you up. We have to take you to the Med Bay.”

Your head throbbed as he pulled you upright, and you winced, pressure loosening on your skull. You groaned and tried to think through the fog, although exhaustion fought to win.

Strong hands wedged themselves beneath your armpits and hoisted you upright, and you struggled to get your legs to carry your weight beneath you, but they did. Your body obeyed as your head throbbed, and you felt a trickle of warmth cascade down your spine while Harrington scrambled to grab the rest of your belongings.

You stared back at the double doors, wincing as your torch lit up, light reflecting off of their insulated windows. “There’s someone out there.” You croaked, swaying on weak knees.

“It’s just the flashlight,” your partner snapped from beside you, one arm gripping your bicep, the other placing the ice cold metal of your flashlight into your weak hands. “Hold this.” His other hand met the t-shirt at the back of your skull to keep pressure.

“No,” you swallowed, throat raw, coughs emitting with each attempt to speak. “I saw them. I panicked.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he scoffed, leading you slowly out of the room and into the black hallway beyond. “Hopper’s going to fucking murder me.”

You shined your light toward the stairwell, crisp white against a grey background. You saw no movement, heard nothing but the soft patter of your feet against the floor.

“Nope, elevator. I’m not carrying you up fifteen flights of stairs.” Harrington steered you the opposite direction, toward a massive elevator on the North side of the building. It was old. The pulley system too loud against the thundering in your skull once the doors pulled themselves open.

You allowed him to lead into the square box, eyes wincing against the overhead lighting. You let him hold you upright against the railing on the back wall, relaxed easily into his hold, one hand catching on his forearm.

He leaned forward to press a button, and just as the door slid closed, you saw a face, glowing blue in the light from the pool, eyes dark and smile menacing.

—

For the first time in two years, you’d managed to fall asleep the moment your head hit the pillow, and what would have been the best night of sleep in your life involved a nurse coming in at every hour to wake you from your slumber. Your body ached, and your eyelids were heavy, and with every soft prod, you wished you had the strength to lift your fist and strike at the woman with brute force.

You were released after twenty-four hours, lactic acid stiffening your joints and ten times crankier than before, and you limped from the med bay up the stairs to your dorm for some peace and quiet.

Each dorm unit contained a bed, a closet, a sink and countertop, an aluminum table and chairs. Some people had couches, others managed lazy boys and a television set. Your new room had been kept at a minimum: bedding stark white, trash can piled in the corner, belongings shoved into a green duffle bag in the corner. The only bit of personality was tucked away beneath the covers of a photo album on top of your bedside table. You hadn’t opened it in months.

You shrugged out of your military issue clothes, peering at your reflection in the mirror above the sink. Your body, though stronger than you’d ever looked, was covered in bruises and scars. A long burn mark painted your left side, puckered skin. With a sigh, you pulled a tank top and sleep shorts from your duffle and stepped in, considering a shower when you’ve woken up.

You crawled from the foot of your bed to the pillow, sheets just as scratchy as those in the medical ward, but the mattress was far squishier. Your muscles begged for the rest, too stiff around the shoulders and thighs. You sighed and buried your face into the pillow, the throb in your skull only slightly subsided.

Then, you heard a knock at the door.

The red numbers of your alarm clock indicated you’d slept for three hours. The ruckus in the hall indicated everyone had finished their breakfast. You groaned and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, grabbing your second pillow to shove over your head, blocking the sun pouring in from an overhead window and the squeak of sneakers outside.

Knuckles wrapped a little harder. Your name was called along another few words muffled under the fluff of your pillow.

“Go away!” You called into the abyss, and something in the back of your mind reminded you of the gruff man with the oversized mustache. You groaned and rolled, painstakingly, out of bed.

The knocking returned, and you limped as fast as you could, calling over their yells for you to hurry up. You grit your teeth past the pain in the back of your head and swung the door open to expose Eddie Munson, hair pulled back into a ponytail, grin etched across sunken features. “Morning, Sunshine!”

You had half a mind to slam the door back in his face.

However, he raised his hand, shaking some poppy seeds off an everything bagel, and your stomach growled in response.

You snatched the bagel from his hand and stepped aside to let him stumble in, walker almost too wide for the doorways.

“Rumor has it Harrington carried you into the Med Bay in your underpants,” he said loudly before you had a chance to shut the door.

You caught the snicker of trainees, and you shot them death glares before slamming the heavy panel into it’s place.

“Glad to see you two made up.” He pulled a cup of cream cheese from his pocket, and it clattered on your table beside a plastic knife. You helped him sit, both of your legs shaky on the descent. The table teetered under his weight, but he managed to remain upright in his chair. “Did he have to pound a concussion into you though?”

You rolled your eyes, tried not to imagine a world in which his teasing could be factual, and shoved your thumb into the seam of your bagel to open it. “As much as I hate to pop your little fantasy bubbles, Edward, that’s about the farthest from what actually happened.” You seated yourself across from him and popped the top of the cream cheese container to start your spread.

“So tell me what actually happened.” Eddie said, voice eerily even, “Because overhearing a total stranger say something about your best friend being held over night in medical is not how I wanted yesterday to go.”

You looked up from your spread and into big, brown eyes. Eddie Munson was known for his jokes, his pleasant demeanor, his incredible ability to strategize. He wasn’t known for his temper, but you’d seen it a handful of times, patience tested, that burn behind his eyes.

You shirked under his stare, sealed the lid back on an empty container, took too big of a bite. You wedged the creamy goodness into one cheek, licking the corner of your lip to respond, hoping to sound more nonchalant than you felt. “It really wasn’t a big deal. We were training in the pool.”

“This place has a pool?” He leaned forward, brows creased, arms folded across a slender frame.

You shrugged, swallowed. “Yeah, lower levels. Anyway, we were underwater, and…” You thought for a moment about what happened, everything blurred under the waves, the pressure in your chest, Harrington’s large hands gripping your thigh, the face staring back at you from the doorway.

“And what? You went bonk?” Eddie snapped.

You blinked back to him and shrugged. The taste of garlic had turned to ash in your mouth. You tossed the remnants onto the tabletop and wiped poppyseeds off on bare thighs. They rolled onto the chair, the ground around you.

“You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?” His voice was quiet now, and when you snapped to meet his gaze, he was staring at the scrapes in the linoleum tabletop, knife wounds that had peeled through styrofoam. “Because I get it, you know? I’ve been there, too. After all those people I hurt…” He trailed off.

You reached across to grip his knuckles in your hand, pulling him to look at you. “Eddie, that wasn’t you. That was him. We all know it.”

“And what happened to Vicki wasn’t on you.” He responded, nostrils flared, strong hand gripping your own.

You swallowed back the lump growing in your throat. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” you said, and you wondered if you’d meant hitting your head in the pool or getting lost in the woods, getting Vicki flayed, pulling the trigger, watching the flames dance, hearing the screams.

You thought of the face above the water, the glow beyond the doors, this fear building in your chest like an ember of something you couldn’t put your finger on, this dull pulse you felt when everything else went away. You looked at your friend, dark hair and dark eyes and made a choice. “Eddie,” your voice shook. “I can still see her.”

He squeezed your hand, nodded. “That’s normal. It’s a trauma response, I think, like a phantom limb.” He patted his thigh, and you recalled the mechanics of a prosthetic ankle beneath the hem of his pant leg. “What did Linda tell you?”

You picked up your bagel again and tore it into halves. “I haven’t told Linda.”

Eddie breathed your name like a warning. “What do you mean you haven’t told Linda?”

You dropped your bagel again and buried your face in your hands. The back of your head had begun to throb, and your eyes ached and crusted with sleep. “Eddie, come on. I had to get back out there, and you know I wouldn’t have passed my psych eval if the shrink knew I was hallucinating on a regular basis.”

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

“Eddie, you can’t tell anyone,” you reached out to grip his hand again. “Please, please. I’m sixty hours from reassignment. I just got a new partner.”

“Does he know?”

You scoffed, tried to mask your eye roll by throwing your entire head back into a stretch. The pounding on your head increased, and you had to cradle your head in your hands once more.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why have you now dragged me into this?” Eddie hissed, and when you peered through your fingers, you saw his stance mirrored yours, hands in his hair, annoyance stretched across thin features.

And you debated keeping it from him, hiding that fear that had fanned the flames in the back of your mind for months now, but it was surfacing, each day coming closer and closer to having you by the throat. “Because I saw something else at the pool, someone else was there with us,” you let out a ragged breath. “And I don’t think it was…” Your throat caught on her name. “Her.”

His expression dropped, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. He glanced around your dorm room, crossing his arms over his chest before he looked back at you. “What are you talking about?” His voice trembled.

You shrugged, shook hair from your eyes. “I don’t know, Ed. There was someone else down there. I saw the door swing open. I could see a face staring back at me from over the surface. There was someone in that room, and when I came to, they were gone.”

“Did Steve see them?” Your friend frowned, leaned toward your once more.

As if on cue, a loud knock wrapped at your bedroom door. You both startled upright, your heart beat racing in your chest. “Who is it?” You called, hands gripped the tabletop to stop them from shaking.

“Steve,” came the short response, muffled through the thick door.

“Steve who?” Eddie joked, lifting himself from his chair with some difficulty, any worry or hurt erased from the expression on his face. You hurried to help him before using one hand to open the door.

“Sorry, I can come back,” Harrington’s features were etched in that signature scowl, dressed in uniform, bright orange breakfast tray loaded under one arm.

“No, no,” Eddie waved him off. “I was just leaving. You can have her.” He leaned to press his lips to the shell of your ear before whispering, “we’ll finish this later.”

You squirmed under the heat of his breath, and Harrington stepped aside to let Eddie through and into the hallway.

“Be gentle with her this time, will ya?” Eddie’s mouth split into a grin.

Your eyes nearly rolled back into your skull, and you flipped him the bird. “Fuck right off.”

Once your best friend had cackled his way down the hall, sneakers and walker squeaking, and a familiar, anxious buzz had settled into your bones, you gestured for Harrington to enter your little apartment. You closed the door behind him and felt suddenly self conscious of the trash piling up and over the can, the dishes dirty in the sink, the cream cheese smeared across your tabletop.

“You should be resting,” he chided, sliding the orange tray onto the table beside your breakfast.

“Eddie brought me food,” you explained, as though you needed an excuse.

“A bagel isn’t food. You need protein and electrolytes, vitamins.”

You glanced at the plate he brought: bacon and eggs, roasted potatoes, a glass of milk, a small orange. “Thanks, Dad.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arm over your chest, suddenly aware of the breeze against your bare thighs, the pebbling of your nipples beneath a thin tank top. You swallowed.

“How’s your head?” He asked after a long moment’s pause, vowels stilted like he’d forgotten how to be nice to you. You suppose you both had. It’d been so long.

You swallowed back an innuendo, shrugged, reached to itch at the bruised skin around the scab. “She said it just a minor concussion. Should be good to get back to work by Monday.” You felt yourself shift on uncomfortable feet, the air buzzing with that odd static you felt in the pool.

Harrington nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his tactical pants, rocking on the balls of his feet.

You felt sick, knowing it’d come to this, that you’d been brought to awkward conversations and niceties. You used to be close, dangerously close. You used to be able to reach out and touch him, to push that stray hair out of his eyes. You used to make jokes, to laugh. You released a scoff, shook the memories from your pounding head. “Look, we don’t have to do this.”

He looked up at you then, jaw clenched, broad chest steadily rising and falling.

“You don’t have to pretend to care about me. They partnered us up because we both want to get back out there. We have sixty hours of training left. The rest of the time doesn’t need to be spent together. You can be my drill sergeant and after training, we go our separate ways.” You confirmed, crossing to your duffle bag to retrieve a sweatshirt. You shoved it aggressively over your head and put your arms through, sick of feeling scrutinized under his gaze.

“Drill sergeant?” He seethed, rounding the table to meet you near the foot of your bed.

“Oh come on, Harrington,” you rolled your eyes. “You’ve been chewing my ass like fucking beef jerky since we left Hopper’s office. You’re acting like you’re training me for the Olympics, and I’m letting you, by the way, because it’s easier to keep the peace and take your bullshit than argue with you.”

“Oh, right,” he scoffed. “You’ve been ‘keeping the peace’. Please, explain to me the fight-back I get on everything I say. Enlighten me, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” you shoved at his chest.

He didn’t budge. “Push through me.” He instructed.

You grit your teeth and did as he asked. The heels of your hands made contact and had him stumbling back a good five feet.

He caught himself on your chair. It creaked under his weight. “Good.”

“Shut up,” you stood at full height, clenched your fists at your sides, ready to swing.

“Did you ever consider that I’ve been bossing you around because I don’t know if I can trust - ” He swallowed, broad chest heavy, eyes scanning your features.

“What?” You narrowed your eyes, fear crawling up your esophagus, burning in your throat.

“…you.”

All of your fears confirmed, that you couldn’t be trusted, that it was all your fault Vicki got lost, all your fault she was flayed, all your fault you couldn’t handle her, couldn’t take her, all your fault she died. All your fault your friends abandoned you. All your fault you lost him, too.

Flames fanned your skin. Your eyes glazed over, your hands trembled. You tried to reason with him, with yourself. “I didn’t mean for… any of it. I didn’t ask for it to happen.”

“But it did.” His tone was dark, low, unyielding.

You glanced back at him in time to see his hand run through his hair.

He released his shoulders in a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re better on the field than off. I was really just coming to see when you’d be ready to get back on your feet.” He wrapped his knuckles against the tabletop.

You shivered under his frigid monotone.

“We should start with Scorch on Monday. I think we’re supposed to get a heatwave, so let’s try for the evening again.” He was commanding, cold, walking to your bedroom door.

“Okay,” you managed. Your neck ached from the whiplash of the encounter, of the last week of your life, the last year.

“Get some rest.” He said before exited, a command.

When the door clicked closed, you let out a yell of frustration, swatted at a nearby chair until it tipped to the ground, clanging loudly as the metal bounced.

---

Chapter Two: Spark

[A/N: I've honestly been working on this fic for so long. It's my baby. I've grown too attached. And I honestly cannot wait to share it with the world. Thanks so much for reading xo]

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington wip #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington enemies to lovers #eddie munson #robin x vickie #stranger things fic

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beautifulbuckys · 2 years

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Can’t Stay Away (1)

Out of all of the wizarding kids Harry’s best friends could’ve been, why did it need to be a Weasley?

George Weasley x Reader

A/N: Hello! I’m back to writing! I’ve been in a huge Harry Potter phase recently. So...I’m doing some come back writing with a multi-part story! Enjoy!!

Warnings: Some swearing, enemies to lovers. Some back and forth between characters! No use of Y/N

Out of all of the wizarding kids' Harry’s best friends could’ve been, why did it need to be a Weasley?

Don’t get me wrong, the Weasley’s are a lovely family. Molly treats me with warmth as she would another daughter. Arthur would send me owl after owl questioning me on muggle happenings. Whenever I could see Charlie and Bill it was always pleasant. Percy would be tolerable at best. Fred constantly dropped flowers off in my dorm room yet always denied it. Ron confided in me and trusted me with anything regarding Harry. Ginny was almost like a little sister to me, I’d braid her hair and she showed me how to sew.

George?

Where do I begin?

Since we began our first year, he found a way to get under my skin. Literally. Once a spell he meant to cast on Filch backfired and lead me to the uncomfortable feeling of movement under my skin for 3 weeks. A time after that, he’d stained my silk scarf gifted to me by Harry when we were small. If you add on the act that he’s loud, disruptive, unruly, and barbaric; he’s a total unlikeable package!

The worst of it? The time he broke my pearl necklace during a failed escape from Snape after a prank. He’d collided with me right by the corridor closest to the Great Hall. Our chests collided violently and he pushed himself away. Unfortunately taking my necklace with him. The same necklace that my Mom had gifted to me when I was around 3. The last thing I had to remind me of her. The closest thing I had to her.

Fred had begged and pleaded with me to forgive George. Damage was done.

And since, I haven’t had a pleasant experience with him. Yet I find myself at the Weasley’s crumbling house every summer. It’s become a routine since we left the Dursleys. I’d room with Ginny, while Harry would stay with Ron. It worked out perfectly. Ginny and I would find ourselves sitting in the glowing sun helping Molly with the gardening. I found it quite peaceful. Us three stuck together a lot considering the amount of testosterone that lived in the Burrow. We’d sit in the same corner of the wobbly, patchy wood dinner table that sat in the middle of the cramped dining room. We’d share tea and Molly would educate us on the proper ways to crochet or knit.

Harry was surrounded by the lively Weasley boys. I never see them repeating a single task during the day, always onto something new. They’ll have practice quidditch matches during midday. Harry and Ron always manage to be on the same team, much like Fred and George. They’d move onto roughhousing near the garden patch, leading to a solid scolding done by Molly. I’d never missed the few occasions the boys would disappear for hours, only to return muddy and worn.

Today was no different.

“Oi, boys! What have I said about you lot wrestling in the mud! I absolutely refuse to clean this laundry. Fred and George. First to the showers! You’re helping us with dinner this evening!” Molly shouted at the returning group from just behind a small berry bush sitting outside the kitchen window.

Fred scoffed, throwing his pale arms into the air. “Mum! We were having fun, Harry learned some new moves!”

Nevertheless, the twins disappeared inside.

“I don’t know what I’ll do with those two boys. Always dabbling into trouble.” Molly turned to me, pushing a small ginger back curl with her forearm.

The sun was just beginning to set, creating a soft pink and orange hue in the sky. Whenever sunsets like this happened, they made me smile. Orange was a happy color. It reminded me of the Weasley family no matter the hassle they added to your lives. The Weasleys were my found family. Whenever a tough day happened and a sunset like this followed, I couldn’t help but picture the zany family bouncing in the sky.

I barely realized I was spacing out before a tall figure appeared to the right of me.

George.

I looked over to my left, where he stood next to me. He was wearing a periwinkle tee that wasn’t shy highlighting the slight muscle tone in his arms. George’s fiery hair was messy and wet. Some pieces clung to his forehead, while others stuck up like bedhead. Small freckles dusted his nose, adding a pop of color to his otherwise pale face.

“What’s got your focus?” He spoke softly. The kitchen was bustling with life, a few Weasleys and Harry running to help with supper. I was assigned to snap the ends of the fresh green beans we had grown. George picked up a few from the pile in front of me and began assisting.

“Nothing too important.”

“Seems it.” He pushed.

I tilt my head slightly in his direction. His tall frame is balanced on the aged kitchen counted by his hip. George’s legs were crossed, his patched white ankle socks slightly revealing themselves from underneath his discolored red pajamas.

“What’s it to you, Weasley?”

The sharp corners of his mouth perk into a smirk. “I can’t help but notice I’m the only one you call Weasley. I live in a house full of Weasleys. Yet Ron is Ron. Percy is Percy. Bill is Bill. But I’m Weasley.” I finally turn my head fully in his direction. His smirk is still prevalent on his face. I wanted to smack it off of him.

“Congratulations.” I sassed.

George snapped an end of a green bean off, tossing it in his mouth. “Someone is awfully snippy today,” He whispered. “Harry get some mud on your scarf?” The smirk he had been wearing never left his face. It sat, proud. What an asshole.

Thankfully, Molly had swiped me away to set the dinner table. The table, obviously repaired to expand its area, was rough and bumpy. There were a few times I’d assisted Harry and Ron with splinters they gained from the old piece of furniture. It was wobbly. What some would consider run down, I’d call it well loved. The original table dawned a dark oak color. The staining darkened the color and once made the woodwork shine. The first addition to the table was some leftover wood from Molly’s garden boxed. It was a birch slab nailed onto the original table. When a table cloth covered the table, a large dip was noticeable due to the level difference. The legs were also constructed with scrap pieces, causing one leg to be longer than the other. Yet, it still held the original charm the initial table was blessed with.

Molly had handed me an emerald green table cloth to cover the rugged surface. The various sets of worn china decorated the tabletop. Small ivory plates decorated with cornflowers were scattered on the table. While Arthur and Molly’s seats had the older, cream and rose plates they loved. Molly’s mother had gifted the couple with this set of dinnerware after their wedding. It definitely didn’t go unappreciated.

As the family settled down for dinner, conversations varied from Harry’s dream last night to Ron’s rat eating a hole through Percy’s special prefect robes.

“That damn rat needs some bloody training. He’s the worst behaved Weasley! And that’s counting Ron! Do you have any idea how much those robes cost?” Percy whined, gripping his chipped metal fork. His thin eyebrows furrowed, causing a horrible wrinkle on his forehead.

Ron shoved a slab of chicken breast into his mouth. “The school gave them to you.” He spoke with his mouth full. Thin pieces of chicken slipped out of his mouth while speaking.

Percy glared at Ron.

“They’re priceless.”

I giggled at Ron’s antics, him joining me. Percy began ranting about how his position of power made Ron jealous and that’s why he sent Scabbers to go chew a hole in the hood of the robe. While rambling, he flailed his frail arms into the air; nearly smacking Fred in the process. Fred dodged the hit dramatically while scoffing.

“Oi, can you watch where you’re swinging those muscles? I get you’ve been doing 5 push-ups every night but spare us from your fury,” The older twin snickered. The dim yellow lights of the Burrow cast a shadow down his face. His brow bones shadowed his chocolate eyes. From this angle, he could’ve been mistaken for one of those cheap muggle Halloween statues.

Percy didn’t take this comment lightly. He shut up quickly and began rapidly eating his food. Occasionally, he’d mumble something under his breath and glare at Ron.

“Dear brother I think you hurt poor Percy’s feelings!” George gasped. He raised his hands to his cheeks and feigned a shocked expression. Slight chuckles could be heard from Ginny beside me. “I demand at once that you apologize to my esteemed relative. If you don’t, I fear your food may be coming out from the other end!” George’s fake expression was replaced by a boyish grin. If you looked closely, you just see the tiniest dimple on both corners of his mouth.

“Thank you, Geor-” Percy began.

“My brother cannot help the brute strength that he gets from being part cyclops! It already ruins his self-esteem enough that he looks like one. Do not begin to make him fear using his true strength around those he’s supposed to feel safe around.” The entire table of Weasley’s erupted in laughter, excluding Molly. Ginny’s face could match her hair color. I could’ve sworn I saw tears falling from the corners of Fred’s eyes. I laughed too, I can’t lie about that. I’ve always found Percy to be tightly wound and in need of a serious laugh every once in a while.

As I wiped the falling tears from my face, I glanced across the table. George was staring right at me. We made brief eye contact before I broke it, bringing my eyes to the meal in front of me.

Shit. I laughed at George Weasley’s joke. I broke my front.

Dinner otherwise was rather peaceful. Of course, Molly scolded both twins for picking on their older brother. Arthur included himself in the punishment too. I’m assuming it was to cover up the fact that he slammed the table laughing in reaction to the conversation. Molly definitely saw it though. She was just letting him off easy. Percy left the table the second he finished his plate. As he stomped up the stairs, Ginny heard him grumbling about how Fred and George would soon get a reality check. Soon after that, a nearby door slam shook the Burrow.

As the evening continued, members of the Weasley family dropped like flies. Ginny was the first to go to bed. Eventually, Fred and Harry followed. Molly and Arthur disappeared without a word. Ron sat with me by the fireplace for a while.

The familiar warmth of the Weasley fireplace was always comforting to me. I spent hours tutoring Ron and Harry on charms homework during cold winter nights by the fireplace. I experienced my first heartbreak here. 2nd year, after Clarence Hillbox broke up with me the day before the summer break. Molly sat with me all day, comforting me and telling me about Arthur’s first fight.

“He had shattered my father’s vase! He was meeting my family. He tried teaching my younger brother the wonders of muggle ‘baseball’. Somehow in the mix, a ball flew in the opposite direction straight through the den window! Completely shattered the family heirloom that had been in the family for over 800 years!”

I sniffled. “Did he make it up to you? Or your Dad?”

Molly’s familiar smile appeared on her round face. “Well, he tried. He took me to a muggle pottery barn to paint a new one. He paid for the costs, and let me do anything my heart desired. He was the one to pick it up from the barn and brought it to my Dad. Obviously, he was still hurt but he appreciated it.”

Ron and I sat in silence for a while, staring at the yellow and orange flames that danced on the charred logs. Then I felt the couch dip to my right.

“Hope I’m not interrupting something.” The loudest, and younger of the twins broke the silence.

Silently, Ron stood up and left the room. Not a ‘goodbye’ or a ‘goodnight’ left his mouth. His soft footsteps could be heard above my head, walking quickly to his room. Great. Now Weasley and I are left alone.

I clear my throat, “Not exactly. My scowl must’ve been present on my face, as his face dropped slightly once he looked at me. “I was just hanging out with your brother. Obviously, he had other plans. So now I’m left alone.” My hands were fidgeting with the hems of my sleep shorts. There were a few frayed strings that stuck out from the sides.

“But I’m here.”

“Take the hint, Weasley.” I groaned, pulling the sides of my shorts out in frustration. He chuckled softly, turning his head to look at the fire. However, his arm had other plans. It snaked its way behind the back of the plush couch. His pink knuckles sitting inches from my cheekbone. I turned my head slightly, to see exactly how he was sitting. As he obviously wasn’t getting up. His broad-shouldered form sat comfortably on the seat. His left ankle was balanced on his right though, legs forming a perfect 4. Due to his arms being raised, his shirt lifted a little. A small blue boxer line peeked out from under his pajama bottoms.

“I can’t stand you.” He said.

I frown. “Yet you can’t seem to leave me alone.

“Touche.”

And for the first time ever, I didn’t want to smack George Weasley across the face.

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