neptunes-curse

[neptunes-curse]

a certain malfoy - bill weasley x malfoy!reader

summary: charlie can't wait to tell his mother about bill's encounter with you, and she reflects on you and bill's relationship when you were still students at hogwarts. wc: 1.6k+ pt.2 to "malfoy" "weasley"

Molly Weasley had been so busy worrying about her children and their friends after the Quidditch World Cup, that no one had even mentioned Bill’s romantic detour to their mother. Charlie Weasley, his older brother’s biggest pain in the ass, only mentioned it at breakfast one morning while Bill Weasley was still upstairs, barely awake.

With a mouth full of pancake, Charlie’s head snapped up, and he started chewing quicker so he could finally tell his mother “Mum, you won’t ever guess what happened to Bill at the cup!” Ginny almost laughed as a look of terror overtook the Weasley mother’s face, but Charlie shook his head as she asked “Is there an injury I’m not aware of?”

“No, no! Well, unless you consider hickeys injuries.” Ginny glanced to the side, lips quirking upwards as the twins cackled at Charlie’s comment. Molly flicked a kitchen towel towards her son as a threat, mumbling “Be nice. Wait! What did you say!?” Charlie wiped the corners of his mouth, enthralled in the attention the entire table was paying him.

“Bill had a little encounter with a certain Malfoy.” Ginny furrowed her eyebrows at her mother's gasp. It was award-winning. But Ginny didn't know what was so special about this certain Malfoy. Clearly, you'd slept with her oldest brother at the Quidditch world cup, but the history between you was a mystery to her. “They got together again!?” She whisper yelled, leaning in closer to Charlie. Ginny choked on her pancake. Again? Charlie nodded. “They were leaving the tent when we were going in. You should’ve seen the sight of them. It was like the old days.”

Ginny waited for her mother to reveal this new information, but it never came. Molly shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she remembered the days when you and Bill were unofficially dating, so much love and lust shared between you. Bill would come back home from ‘hang-outs’ with you, hickeys poorly concealed under his creased shirt, hair looking as though he had walked through a tornado. His lips would always be a darker shade of pink from the lipstick you wore that had stained his lips.

Charlie would tease Bill endlessly in front of their parents, who tried making up as many lies and excuses as he could to hide the fact that he had been having sex with someone. He never succeeded in convincing anyone. But neither Ginny or Ron knew this about their brother, shooting each other a confused look from across the table.

“Wait, so were they dating?” Asked Ron, words muffled as he chewed on a muffin. Ginny was grateful he asked before she would have to. “Oh yeah,” Started George, taking a sip of his juice. “For years.”

“Years!?” Ginny spat, feeling her eyes going wide with shock, bulging out of her face.

“Oh George, don’t spread rumours. No, sweetheart, they were never officially dating. But the signs were there. She came around often, and, well, a mother knows the signs.” Ginny's attention was caught by Harry's chuckle from where he sat next to Ron, shooting Hermione a pointed look. She turned red under his gaze. For some reason, Ginny turned red too. Her mother definitely knew about her crush on him, then.

Everyone’s heads snapped towards the stairs, where Bill’s loud footsteps were approaching. He was fixing the collar of his shirt to poke out of the top of his v-neck jumper he wore. “Does this look fine?” He panted, doing a spin in the dark jeans he wore, keeping his eyes trained on his family as he pulled his long coat over his outfit. Ginny grinned widely, putting her fork down and crossing her arms over her chest. Finally, she wouldn't be the one bugged by her brothers on relationship details.

“Where are you going dressed like that Billy boy?” Asked Charlie teasingly, leaning back in his chair. “Doesn’t matter.” He mumbled, and Ginny watched as he rushed to press a kiss on his mother’s cheek, then towards her. Ginny smiled proudly. “Have something to eat before you go, Bill.” Molly advised, a twinkle in her eye. She opted against adding ‘you’ll need the energy’.

She decided on acting clueless.

“I have breakfast plans.” He spoke, making it a point not to look at Charlie or the twins. Ginny scoffed, rolling her eyes, and she saw Bill's ears turn red when his eyes reached her. He looked away, meeting the knowing glances from his youngest brother and his friends. “And with whom might these plans be?” Pressed Ginny, finally speaking up. Bill groaned, looking at her in betrayal, turning around to face his mum again, but the question was answered for him.

The doorbell rang.

Bill’s eyes widened, and he rushed to the door, racing the three brothers who instantly hopped out of their chairs. Ginny's gaze followed the action, and she laughed quietly. Bill cursed Charlie for getting there first, swinging the door open. You stood with a bouquet of pink tulips in your hands, looking as classy as ever, and coincidentally, perfectly matching with Bill’s outfit. Ginny swallowed thickly. You were absolutely gorgeous. More so than on the night of the world cup. Perhaps it was because you weren't prancing around with your blood purist parents.

Charlie said your name slowly, leaning on the doorway. “Move out the way, Charlie!” Bill grumbled, pushing his younger brother aside. “You didn’t have to come.” He whispered, looking you up and down. God, you were beautiful.

“I know, but I wanted to give these to your mother.”

“My mo-no, it’s fine, we can-”

“Don’t be rude!” You scolded as you pushed past him and his three brothers. Ginny giggled, and her cheeks flushed as your eyes flitted over to hers briefly, a kind smile on your face.

“Have you even seen her since I’ve left?” You spun on your heels to look at the oldest Weasley, giving him your sassiest expression, eyebrows raised, an unimpressed gleam in your eyes. Your lips twitched up into a smirk.

“I had a conversation with her in a bookstore once, William. And it was lovely.”

You smiled a perfect grin when you turned back around, walking into the house and beelining straight to Mrs. Weasley, who was already making her way across the dining room to give you a big hug. “Oh, dear! It’s lovely to see you again!”

“You too, Molly. I remember you saying you liked tulips when we went to the farmer’s market together.” Ginny furrowed her eyebrows, picking up her fork again. She thought you hadn't seen Bill in years. But she had seen Bill’s eyes widen, so she assumed it was the case. You remembered that detail from when you went to the farmer’s market together in seventh year, Bill thought?

Ginny shot Ron an incredulous stare, and he returned it with a shrug of his shoulders, looking just as taken aback as her. Their mother never asked anyone to call her Molly, so the fact that you did was insane. How did you get her to like you so much?

“Have something to eat, dear.” Molly urged, gesturing to the table. “I’d love to, but Bill and I are having breakfast together.” Molly hummed, leaning on the wall. As you spun around, walking back towards Bill, the woman called your name. Your head snapped towards her, and you looked at her expectantly. Ginny's eyes travelled between the two women in the room, waiting for something to happen. “When Bill comes back home, I better not hear any of the ‘we’re just friends’ excuses, okay?”

And for the first time since they’d laid their eyes on you, Ginny Ron, Harry and Hermione all witnessed the embarrassed look on your face, mouth agape in shock at Mrs. Weasley’s words, blinking rapidly. Ron laughed and Ginny joined in, watching as Bill shot his mum a look, guiding you out the door by your shoulders. Ginny slumped down when the door had shut behind you, wanting to see more. On the other side of the wooden door, you cleared your throat uncomfortably. “I think that’s what we get for trying to be secretive before, huh?” Bill chuckled at your words, offering his hand for you to hold. You snaked your fingers into his, staring at where your skin touched.

“Yeah, maybe we can try again the proper way.”

“What, by having sex after seeing each other for the first time in, what, seven years?”

“No, by not trying to hide our relationship.”

“Let’s go on this ‘not-date’ before deciding if there is a relationship to begin with.”

“I’m moving back to England!” Bill’s words took you aback, and you froze on the Weasleys’ doorstep. The reason you two had broken up to begin with was because you knew long-distance would never work with you.

“You know, after this date, we can decide if we want to go on another one. And try again.” You swallowed thickly, pulling Bill closer to you by his jumper. Bill leaned down closer, connecting his lips to yours. You sighed in satisfaction, not letting him deepen the kiss before you pulled away.

“Well, my father will still never approve of you.”

Bill grinned. “What would our relationship even be if he did?”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing in amusement. “Whatever, Weasley. Take me to breakfast, you’ll need the energy to keep up with me when we go shopping.” Bill’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack. He had a brief flashback to a Hogsmeade trip in your last year at Hogwarts, when he had insisted for you to go with him instead of your friends. He promised he wouldn’t complain and would go into every store you wanted.

His feet were wrecked by the end of the trip.

“Shopping?” He echoed in horror.

You shrugged your shoulders. “And if you’re good, I might just take you back to mine. You’ll need energy for that too.”

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[neptunes-curse]

Dating Oliver Wood !

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Reader Summary: What is it like to date Hogwarts' best Quidditch player?

Oliver first notices you while you're in the stands at his Quidditch game.

He normally was focused, he really was. But today, for some odd reason, he just couldn't. Maybe it was pre game jitters. Maybe it was the air. Maybe it was some fucking hex. But the boy simply could not focus on warm-ups. His eyes kept wandering, studying the people on the stands, studying the other team, studying anything but the warm-up. He was frustrated. That was, until he saw you. You were beautiful. Your hair was messy in the wind, scarf thrown clumsily over your shoulder. You laughed loudly with a friend, hardly paying attention to the game in front of you. He tried to pull his eyes away. Of course, the bloody idiot couldn't do it before you glanced back at him. Your eyes locked. A pathetic blush spread across his cheeks. Then, he sped away on his broom, muttering to himself. “Oi, Wood, you sure you’re not more interested in the stands than the pitch?” "Shut yer bloody mouth, Weasley!"

He could've smacked himself with how awkward your first conversation was. Thankfully, you found awkwardness charming. In the Great Hall, he finally found the guts to approach you.

Oliver had been rehearsing what he was going to say for days. It was stupid, really, considering how he could lead the Gryffindor Quidditch team to victory, but talking to you? That was a whole different ballgame. Every time he thought about it, his palms would get sweaty, and his heart would start racing. But now, sitting across from Fred and George at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, Oliver knew he had to do something about it. His mind was going a hundred miles an hour, but when he saw you across the room, laughing with Ginny Weasley, he stood up, adjusted his sleeves (as though that would help), and tried to calm himself down. He walked over, trying to look casual, but the closer he got, the more nervous he became. You looked up, catching his eye before he even had a chance to say anything. "Oi," he started, and his thick Scottish accent sounded a bit more ragged than usual, “Didn’t think I’d be seeing ye here. Was hopin’ I’d have a wee chat wi' ye at some point." You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips. "You didn't think you'd be seeing me in the Great Hall?" You tease, snorting. Oliver froze for a second, caught completely off guard by the playful teasing in your voice. His cheeks burned a deep shade of red, and he mentally cursed himself for sounding like a bloody idiot. But the sound of your laugh, light and teasing, made his nerves twist in a way he couldn't describe. “Ah, well,” he stammered, scratching the back of his neck with an awkward grin, “Aye, didn’t expect ye to be sittin’ right here, but… that’s a good thing, innit

Eventually, the poor lad’s nerves calmed more and more with every conversation you had. It became easy to talk to you. You got closer, until finally, he asked you out.

The library was quiet, besides the scratching of quills on paper and flipping of pages. You and Oliver sat side by side at a table, both looking at transformations homework. Or you thought you both were. Oliver's hazel eyes were focused on you, looking at how your long eyelashes kissed your skin every time you looked down or blinked. He watched your delicate hands flip pages and scribble notes. You were just so genuinely pretty. He couldn't help it. Besides, homework wasn't that important anyway. You seemed to pick up on his distracted behavior, looking up at him with e/c eyes. "You okay, Ollie?" You asked sweetly. God. He almost passed out on the table. Oliver blinked a few times, trying to pull himself out of his trance. He hadn’t realized how hard he was staring at you until you caught his gaze. The warmth in your eyes only made the pounding in his chest worse. His mouth went dry, and for a split second, he couldn’t even remember how to form words. "Aye, uh.. Fine." He muttered quickly, shaking his head to clear the fog. "Jus' thinking about homework." He added, his eyes darting away. He cursed himself in his brain. He wouldn't even have believed him. Oliver tried to focus on the textbook in front of him, but his mind was far away, lost in the way you looked at him, the way your fingers delicately held the quill, the way your hair framed your face in the soft light of the library. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out, his accent thickening with his nerves. “I know I’m probably actin' like a right twit, but…” He paused, licking his lips as if he was trying to find the right words, but they just weren’t coming.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this. Nervous, unsure. But around you, everything felt different, and it was scary in the best way possible. He looked at you again, the words finally tumbling out in a rush.

“I’ve been wantin' to ask ye somethin' for a while, but I don’t know if it’s—if it’s daft or—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Would ye—would ye go out with me? Properly, like. Not just studyin’ or talkin’ Quidditch, but… y’know. A date.”

Your first kiss made Oliver realize just how hooked on you he was.

The breeze was cool, blowing your hair into your face. You and Oliver sat below the railing of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling. You were wrapped in a Gryffindor blanket, sharing it with him, your shoulders and backs covered in warmth. The stars twinkled above you, grey clouds scarce but swirling around the openness of the sky. The silence was comfortable and peaceful. "I love the sky," You broke the silence, nudging Oliver's shoulder. "It's so pretty. And peaceful. Dont'cha think?" Oliver turned his head to look at you, his gaze softening as the corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile. The way the stars reflected in your eyes, the quiet sound of your voice — it was all a kind of magic he couldn’t put into words. “Aye, it’s beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you,” he said without thinking, his thick Scottish accent thickening as he spoke, the words slipping out naturally. He immediately felt his cheeks flush as he realized what he'd said, but he didn’t take it back. Not when it felt so true. Your face flushed as red as his was, but a smile curled onto your lips. You pulled the blanket tighter to your body. His hand brushed against yours under the blanket, and despite the slight chill in the air, he felt warmth spreading through him. The moment felt so perfect, so right, and in that quiet, shared space, he realized just how close you were to him. He swallowed, his heart pounding. This was a side of Oliver that not many got to see—the side that wasn’t just the determined Quidditch captain or the goofy lad with his friends. With you, it was different. He felt like he could finally breathe “I’ve never felt more at peace than this, with you, here,” he added quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "'M not much of a tender bloke, but.. You make me soft." You nudged him again, and this time, your eyes met his in a way that made the space between you feel even smaller. The silence wrapped around you both, but it wasn’t awkward—it was the kind of silence that made everything feel like it was exactly where it needed to be. The space between you was almost nonexistent now. Oliver could feel your breath on his lips, and despite the cool breeze outside, there was an intense heat building between the two of you. Without thinking, he reached out slowly, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there for a moment, his touch warm and tender, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the yearning feeling building up inside him. And then, before either of you could second-guess it, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss was deep, filled with the emotions that had been building up since the moment he first noticed you on the Quidditch pitch. He kissed you as if he was pouring all of his feelings into that one, perfect moment — passion, affection, fear of losing you, and the absolute certainty that he’d never been more at home than in your arms. When the kiss finally broke, Oliver rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. Yep, he thought as he looked into your e/c eyes. 'M proper fucked. A shaky laugh left his lips.

Oliver's friends realize what's going on — a girl finally has Oliver in her grip. He's fallen for someone.

Fred and George, Oliver's best friends, seemed to be seeing less and less of the lad these days. Usually, they drink butterbeer until they're sick after quidditch practice, ignoring their homework and watching dumb Muggle shows instead. But lately, Oliver had been sneaking off the pitch immediately, changing clothes in a hurry, and disappearing somewhere they couldn't find him. “Next time he sneaks off,” Fred said, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face, “we should follow him. See just what he’s up to. I bet you anything it’s that lass.” "What lass?" George questioned, raising a ginger eyebrow. "The one from the pitch. He was staring at her during the match against Ravenclaw, remember?" Finally, they catch him sneaking away from class. They even catch him slipping into a Quidditch closet, a wide grin on his face. And 30 seconds later, after one little Alohomora, they catch him snogging the girl from the pitch. Real snogging. Hands in hair, rumpled clothes, against the wall snogging. George releases a playful gasp. "Are we interrupting something?" Fred asks, leaning against the wall with a massive shit-eating grin on his face. Oliver froze, his heart racing as he pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide in shock. The sight of Fred and George standing in the doorway, smirking like they'd just discovered the greatest secret in the world, made him want to disappear into the floor. The girl beside him laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, clearly unfazed by the intrusion. But Oliver? He was mortified. "What on Earth are you doing here, you right imbeciles?" He finally speaks, his face red. George's grin only widened as he leaned closer, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, nothing, mate. Just checking in. You know, making sure you’re not too busy to spend time with your best mates." He cast a teasing glance at Oliver and then at the girl. "But I see you’ve got… other priorities." Oliver muttered something under his breath, his face still buried in his hands. "Jeez, could ye leave me be? I’m tryin' to have a moment here." "Sure thing, Ollie," Fred said, giving him one last look before they both turned to leave. "But we’ll be expectin’ a story. And we’ll want all the juicy bits." Once the door clicked shut behind them, Oliver leaned back against the wall, letting out a deep sigh. "Bloody hell," he muttered, shaking his head as he looked at the girl beside him. "They’re enough to make a man lose his will to live, they are." She laughed, her hand gently resting on his. "I don’t know," she said with a smile, "I think they’ve got a point." Oliver smirked, his thumb tracing circles over the back of her hand. "Aye, they’re right about one thing," he said with a chuckle. "I’m proper screwed. But I've never been jollier about it." She leaned in for another kiss, and for the first time in ages, Oliver didn’t care who was watching.

You can’t be in a relationship with Oliver Wood without a fair helping of jealousy. Oh well — Oliver knows how to assert himself. He also scares the shit out of most blokes at Hogwarts.

The Great Hall was buzzing. For once, Ollie was actually with his mates instead of by your side. You didn’t mind — you liked a little bit of time with your girls too. They sat at the other side of the table, laughing and joking. You sat on the other end, with Ginny on one side and Parvati on the other, whispering and giggling. The only issue was the fact that the group of you tended to attract boys. And you weren’t exactly public with Oliver right now. You were taking it slow, waiting for the right moment to officialize things. You knew shit was going to hit the fan as soon as the three Hufflepuff boys, definitely on the Quidditch team, approached you. They had huge charming smiles on their faces — Cedric Diggory led them. You inwardly sighed, crossing your arms to look unapproachable, but it didn't work. "Ladies," Cedric smiled kindly. "How's it going?" You smiled back out of politeness, but you winced in your head. You knew your boyfriend (or almost boyfriend) was going to have a field day with this shit. Speaking of, Oliver and his friends seemed to quiet down slightly, their voices less easy to tune into. They had definitely noticed what was going on — you could tell without even looking in that direction. "So, Name," the third Hufflepuff boy addressed you. "Do you have a travel partner for Hogsmeade next weekend?" Your jaw dropped. You closed it. Then it dropped again. "Um—" You hear a loud laugh, definitely Oliver’s. Then, you feel a strong arm wrap around your waist, lifting you up next to him. The scent of broom polish and his cologne filled your nose. “Well, well, well,” he snorted, in his loud and proud Oliver Wood fashion. “What have we here? A little attempt to pick up some girls, lads? How cute, innit?” Oliver pressed a kiss to your head, partly as a greeting, partly as a way to conduct his show. The Hufflepuff boys all looked at each other, clearing their throats awkwardly. They were trying to find ways to diffuse the situation, not wanting it to get any tenser, but Oliver wasn't having it. If he had an issue, he 100% opted to intimidate and embarrass before he let it go. “I really hope ye aren’t makin’ a pass at a lad’s girl,” Oliver said, his voice light but his grip tightening just slightly around your waist. His Scottish brogue thickened with his irritation, something that somehow made him even more intimidating. “That would be extremely stupid of youse.” You hid your face in his shoulder, trying not to laugh. You could feel the tension radiating off him like heat, but to you, it was almost…adorable. Protective, jealous Oliver was your favorite flavor. Cedric, to his credit, raised his hands in surrender, offering an easy smile. “He didn’t know, mate. No offense meant.” Oliver's smile was broad, but there was something undeniably smug behind it. He knew damn well Cedric wasn’t usually afraid of anything. But Oliver Wood, furious and in love, was something else entirely. “No harm done,” Oliver said breezily, though his hand slid possessively up and down your arm, staking a silent claim in front of everyone. “Just remember next time — she’s already spoken for, aye?” You could hear the cackles of Fred and George from the other end of the table, obviously poking fun at the shocked and embarrassed faces painted onto the Hufflepuff crew. Cedric and the other Hufflepuffs backed off quickly, murmuring awkward goodbyes, and as soon as they were gone, Oliver leaned down, his voice quieter and warmer just for you. “Ye’ll be stayin’ right next to me from now on, yeah?” he murmured, nose brushing your temple. “Can’t have the whole bloody school thinkin’ you're free for the takin’.” You smiled into his chest. “Were you jealous?” He huffed, the sound both grumpy and affectionate. “Jealous? Naw. Just remindin’ everyone who ye belong to.” "Don't worry," you giggled. "I'm all yours." “Good,” he muttered, pressing a soft kiss behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Would’ve hated to start a fight before lunch.”

He used to only be proud of Quidditch related things. However, you are his favorite achievement now. Lord forbid you do anything worth bragging about — Oliver won't shut up about it for a week.

You finally got your N.E.W.T scores back. You almost broke a cold sweat out of nervousness. Your knees struggled not to buckle as you plopped down onto the Gryffindor common room couch, your boyfriend waiting anxiously beside you. "I know ye did just bloody perfect, lass," he reassured. "Take a breath, aye?" Your hands shook slightly as you opened the envelope, heart hammering so hard you were sure Oliver could hear it. He scooted closer, his thigh pressed against yours, one hand rubbing slow, grounding circles along your back. The moment your eyes scanned the parchment, you blinked once. Twice. And then, like the air had been punched out of you, you let out a soft, disbelieving noise. “Well?” Oliver demanded, nearly bouncing on the couch like a bloody first year. "Out with it, woman!" You handed him the letter wordlessly, your hands still trembling. He snatched it up, his eyes darting over the scores — and then his mouth dropped open. “Merlin’s beard, Name,” he breathed. “Ye smashed it! Look at this! Outstanding, Outstanding, bloody Outstanding — ye're a genius! I knew it!” You laughed weakly, the anxiety still bleeding out of you. “I didn’t think I’d do that well…” Oliver launched himself up off the couch so fast that you startled. He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you into the air and spinning you around like you weighed nothing. “That’s my girl!” he shouted proudly, loud enough that the entire bloody common room turned to stare. "Look at her, lads and lasses — smartest witch in Hogwarts, and she’s mine!" Your cheeks burned as you clutched at his shoulders, giggling. "Ollie, put me down!" He did — but only to immediately pepper your face with kisses, muttering in between each one: “So proud…so bloody brilliant…bet no one else's girlfriend's got scores like this…” For the next week — maybe longer — Oliver made it his personal mission to tell everyone about your results. Fred, George, even bloody McGonagall got an earful about how you were not only the prettiest girl in the castle, but the smartest too. At first, you tried to hide your embarrassment. After all, Oliver was worse than a proud mum at a Quidditch final. But seeing the pure, unfiltered pride in his warm brown eyes — the way he looked at you like you hung the stars — made it impossible not to melt every time. At lunch one day, you and Oliver sat with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny. Hermione proudly held her N.E.W.T scores, flashing them for everyone to see. You leaned over to get a look, genuinely thrilled for her — Hermione had worked harder than anyone else you knew, and she deserved to bask in it. “Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron said, eyes wide as he read over her parchment. "You’re a right genius." Fred and George even gave her a dramatic standing ovation, clapping obnoxiously and bowing like she’d just won the Triwizard Tournament. But before you could even properly join in the congratulations, Oliver’s arm slung around your shoulders, tugging you into his side with a beaming grin. "All due respect, Granger," he said, voice lilting with that unmistakable Scottish lilt, "ye’re brilliant, truly — but no one’s touching my girl." You groaned softly, burying your face in your hands as Fred and George immediately perked up like bloodhounds catching a scent. "Oi, Ollie," George teased, a wicked glint in his eye, "ye're worse than Mum when Percy got Head Boy." Fred snickered, elbowing Oliver. "Think we’ve heard about Name’s scores about, what, a hundred times this week?" "Aye, and ye’ll hear about it a hundred more," Oliver said cheerfully, without a shred of shame. He turned to look at you, his expression softening. "She worked her arse off. I’m bloody proud. 'Course I’m gonna shout it from the rooftops." Ginny laughed around a sip of pumpkin juice, Hermione smiled in amusement, and Ron looked openly horrified at the show of affection. You tried to glare at Oliver, but it didn't stick. Especially when he pressed a warm kiss to your forehead, whispering, "Love ye, clever girl."

You're normally a rule abiding student, you really are. But once Oliver gets a taste of cuddling, he can't help himself.

Oliver Wood is absolutely whipped for you, no question about it. If anyone were to ask, he’d deny it, but the way he looks at you, the way he dotes on you, and how he’d do anything to make you smile… it’s painfully obvious to anyone who’s watching. He’s the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, a strong, confident leader on the pitch—but the moment he’s with you, that whole tough exterior just melts. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and he knows it. He doesn’t care, though. Not one bit. When he finally finds out how absolutely relieving and fantastic cuddling is, you're on the Gryffindor common room couch. He's exhausted after a Quidditch match, his body tight and sore. The celebratory party they'd had was still evident around the common room, cups everywhere, absolute destruction and mess. Oliver is still slightly tipsy. You are too. He slumped himself in the middle of your body, arms wrapped around your middle. His head is tilted to the side, cheek pressed to your chest. Every once and a while, he leans up and presses a gentle kiss to your face. He could almost turn into a puddle, he could. Your manicured fingers scratch his scalp, running through his messy head of hair. It borderline makes him shiver. It was getting late. You glanced at the clock, sighing, and your hand stilled. "I should really be going, honey." "Nooo." He whined, his arms tightening around you. "I'll miss ya too much if you leave now. Come up to my bed for a lil'. Not too long, I won't get ye in trouble." You pursed your lips, looking down at him. His soft eyes were taking a toll on your resolve. "Please, baby?" He asked, his voice sleepy. Shit. When you reached his dormitory, you were greeted by the familiar chaos of clothes and Quidditch gear scattered across the floor, but none of it seemed to matter when you saw the look in Oliver's eyes — soft, a little vulnerable. You both curled up in his bed under the covers, your bodies fitting perfectly together. The warmth of his embrace was like a blanket of security, and the rhythmic sound of his breathing made you feel more relaxed than you’d ever been. But as you lay there, sleep starting to take over, you remembered the rule: no girls in the boys’ dorms. You weren’t supposed to be here. You sighed quietly, gently shifting in his arms. “Ollie… I should go,” you whispered, brushing a few strands of hair away from his face. Oliver’s eyes shot open, the sleepiness fading as soon as he heard you. He immediately whined, his voice soft but filled with that familiar Scottish drawl. “Nah, c’mon, ye cannae leave now,” he mumbled, pulling you closer with surprising strength. “It’s too late for that, lass. Stay. Just… stay a little longer, please?” You chuckled softly, but his grip around you tightened. “You’re not supposed to have me here, Ollie,” you teased, knowing full well he wasn’t going to let you go easily. “It’s against the rules.” His response was an almost pouty whine, and you could feel his breath tickling your ear. “Rules don’t matter right now,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. “I don’t care about the rules when it comes to you. Just stay with me, yeah? Please?” His arms wrapped even tighter around your waist, and you could feel his warm cheek pressed against your shoulder as he nestled further into you, his body like a comforting weight. “Oliver…” you said softly, but it was hard to stay firm when he was being so cute, sounding so sleepy and helpless.

“Just… a little more time,” he mumbled, his voice still slightly whiny but laced with affection. “I won’t let ye go. I swear I won’t be able to sleep without ye here now.”| You could feel his strong arms starting to become more insistent, trapping you against him as he nuzzled into your neck, his hair messy from a long day. He wasn’t letting you go. Not tonight. “C’mon, lass,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve got me all worked up now… Just stay with me.” You sighed softly, feeling your resolve begin to crumble. With him holding you like this, you couldn’t help but feel safe, and a little part of you wanted to stay too, just to be close to him, to feel the way he cared. “Fine,” you finally whispered, “I’ll stay. But only if you promise you won’t get me in trouble.” “I promise,” he replied almost immediately, his arms tightening even more around you as if to prove his point. And with that, you both drifted off to sleep, his soft, sleepy whines and tight grip keeping you right where you needed to be, and you knew, in that moment, there was nowhere else you'd rather be than in his arms.

Oliver was unflinchingly loyal. Sometimes a little too much.

Oliver was obviously an attractive guy. Six foot two, muscles meant for Quidditch, tousled brown hair, hazel eyes. Chiseled jawline, always smelled amazing, straight white teeth, pink, hydrated lips, and clear skin. He was a Hogwarts heartthrob, right next to Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory. He didn't care. Matter of fact, he didn't even notice. He was all too happy being your heartthrob to pay attention to what other girls thought of him. As long as you held his hand and smiled at him, he was perfectly happy and didn't look elsewhere. However, that didn't mean elsewhere didn't look at him. You weren't insecure. You knew Oliver would ignore it or shut it down. It truly didn't bother you that other girls found Oliver attractive, simply because he was. And he was all yours, which made you the proudest. It bothered Oliver, though. When it started coming out into the open, it appalled him. It was almost comical. It started innocently enough — a few lingering looks in the hallways, girls whispering to each other as he passed by, some even daring to approach him when you weren't around. Oliver never paid them any mind, his focus always on you. But it was when one of those girls, a Ravenclaw who was a bit too bold for Oliver’s taste, decided to go the extra mile that things started to get… interesting. Oliver’s usual cocky swagger had turned into a rare, but thoroughly entertaining, brand of genuine offense. The moment the Ravenclaw girl’s words reached his ears, he went from looking relaxed to looking like he had just been slapped with an unholy betrayal. She stood there, smiling a little too sweetly, her tone oozing charm, as she asked, “So, Oliver... maybe we could grab a drink sometime? Just the two of us?” Oliver blinked at her, clearly processing the audacity of her question. His brows furrowed as if trying to make sense of what she had just said. When it finally clicked, he let out a small, almost incredulous snort. “Oh, ye must be joking.” The girl smiled back, clearly not getting the hint. “I’m serious! You’re so talented on the pitch, I thought we might—” He shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. “Ye must be daft if ye think I’m gonna go for a drink with ye.” His voice carried a mixture of disbelief and a hint of hurt, like she’d just asked him to abandon all his principles and common sense. She didn’t seem to take offense. In fact, she raised an eyebrow as if challenging him. “Really? You don’t think you’d have a good time?” Oliver looked her dead in the eyes, his expression morphing into a mix of confusion and complete bafflement. “Och, lass, I don’t need to go on a drinkin’ date when I’ve already got the best bloody lass in all of Hogwarts,” he declared, his voice getting louder and prouder with every word. “And, no offence, but you’re not her.” He let out a small, exaggerated sigh, like he couldn’t believe he even had to explain himself. “I mean, honestly, can ye not see I’m already taken? I’m not a one-man show now, yeah? My whole heart’s already tied up. And it’s not just my heart, it’s my bloody soul, too.” The girl blinked, looking mildly taken aback as though she hadn’t expected such an intense response. She mumbled something that sounded like, “Okay, didn’t mean to upset you…” Oliver, however, was already not paying attention to her. He turned on his heel, muttering under his breath as he walked off, clearly too offended to even waste another moment on the girl. “Some people, I swear,” he grumbled to himself. “Not even a lick of decency to know when a bloke’s already taken. It’s bloody disrespectful.”

To make a long story short, dating Oliver Wood... is a whirlwind of everything. It’s a lot of loud laughs, intense passion, and a bit of jealousy that’s as fierce as it is endearing. You never know when he’s going to show up with a new surprise, whether it’s a grand gesture (because he’s so proud of you) or an embarrassing display of affection in front of his mates. He’ll claim it’s all about protecting what’s his, but deep down, you know it’s because he’s just head-over-heels in love.

It’s a constant ride of feeling like the luckiest person in the world, while also knowing that no one—and I mean no one—better even look at you the wrong way. He’s fiercely loyal, as if it’s his personal mission to make sure you know you’re his one and only. But, honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way. Because when it comes to Oliver Wood, you’re not just his girlfriend—you’re his whole bloody world.

You get an equal mix of sweet moments where he’s overly proud of you (even for the smallest achievements), and the occasional dose of “I can’t believe you’re mine” vibes. And sure, sometimes he gets a little too overprotective, but it’s all because he can’t stand the thought of someone else taking what he knows is his, in the most possessive-yet-charming way possible.

In short, dating Oliver Wood is like winning the Quidditch Cup every day—chaotic, thrilling, and full of pride—but it's your team, and your heart, that he’s ultimately fighting for.

[neptunes-curse]

all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

-

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

-

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

-

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

-

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

-

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

-

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

-

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them. 

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

-

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

-

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[neptunes-curse]

concept to chew on: “i can see you” by taylor swift, but it’s dominic x costar!reader secret relationship 👀

[neptunes-curse]

finally dominic sessa content🙏🙏🙏

i keep thinking about falling for co-star Dom…becoming more and more affectionate on/off set, spending all of your time off together…and yet you both walk around telling everyone “we are just besties lmao” because you’re both oblivious as hell

no bc i really love this idea, like being his co-star in the next movie he makes after holdovers and he has a lingering anxiety, wondering if holdovers was a fluke and he isn't actually good at his job, and then he meets you at the table read for the film and he's head over heels instantly, your smile and laugh are infectious, you've done your studying for the film and your part, a pro in every sense of the word (also helps that he thinks you're stunningly gorgeous, even in your fresh-off-the-plane sweats and cap at the table read)

your characters play a married couple, and he sees the headlines criticizing the casting decision of him at 21 and people saying he doesn't look old enough to be married and that makes the anxiety and doubt creep in even more, but he has to put it aside, and you make it easy for him to ease up

filming your scenes together, and your director is very free and easy, she lets you and dom sorta feel your own way through scenes and how your characters would act, and she's very open with "if you feel like you'd say/do something a different way, go for it" and you notice that dom seems to be doing the classic actor move of Making A Choice where he's always looking at you? but eh whatever your characters are married and he's leaning into the "good husband" trope

but you're always giggling together and cracking jokes on set, and after you wrap for the day, you will both go back to dom's trailer and accidentally cosplay as a couple, you'll cook dinner together and watch movies and more often than not, you'll fall asleep on his couch, and it happens so often that crew quickly figures out to go to dom's trailer to get you for hair/makeup

the end of filming is getting close, and you have to start doing lil interviews for promotion and for digital release as "special features", and you're asked about working with dom and you're complimentary "oh he's so good at what he does, he knows what he wants to do, very secure in his character, and other than that, dom's just a good guy, it's super easy to like him and to be pretend to be in love with him" and you later ask what dom said about you and he seems avoidant a little? "oh yknow, just that you're a good actor and a cool person and good friend" like oh! ok! cool!

once you wrap, you're immediately onto another project, and you and dom sorta lose touch, it's not planned, you just both get busy, but you reunite for the press tour and it's like no time has passed, you're back laughing and cracking jokes together, best friends forever, and dom starts being very?? outright flirty?? it used to be more lowkey but the press tour is like he's turning it to 11, he'll fix your hair for you if it's falling over your shoulder weird and mumble "beautiful as ever", and like will say something "our director was really good, she believed in us and gave us flexibility in our characters... right, baby?" and looks at you and you're like "oh! i'm baby!" and he laughs "f'course you are, you thought i was talking to someone else?"

and it becomes A Thing of how you two are flirting and everyone thinks you're definitely dating, especially when you roll up to a film festival and have a dress malfunction, your zipper breaks while you're actively on the carpet in front of the cameras, and dom doesn't hesitate for a second before he's taking off his suit jacket (blatantly violating the dress code of the film festival in the process) and putting it on you to help hide the gaping zipper in the back, and eh whatever it's a beachfront venue and it's cold and windy, you'll take his jacket

and everything comes to a head when, at the film festival, dom is once again asked how it was to work with you, and he basically rattles off andrew garfield's "she was a shot of espresso, being bathed in sunlight" speech, and you can't hold it back anymore, you HAVE to talk to him, and you do, it's terrible timing because you're minutes from going on the panel for your film but you need answers NOW, and you ask "why would you say that stuff about me?" and he's confused "didn't you... i thought you'd like it?"

"i do! but people think we're dating, and that didn't help!"

"jesus, i'm really sorry... i was just— i thought you'd understand by now, but i guess—"

"understand what??" and you're like oh crap. oh CRAP!!!

"i think i've loved you since the first day i met you" he says "but you never— and it's nothing you did wrong, it's ok that you don't feel the same way— you never said anything back so i just assumed you didn't understand so i kept putting it on thicker so you'd get it, but... i see it now, i'm sorry, i-i'll stop"

"i... dominic, i'm so sorry... but i really am just so fucking dumb, i thought you were just being a good friend and that i was reading too far into it... but i really like you. a lot. i like when you call me baby and help me with my outfit, and when you take pictures of me on your little kodak and when you let me have the last bite of your dinner, and i love how your eyes get all big and glassy when you look at me, like you're trying so hard to let me see myself as you see me... i know it's so much to ask, but—"

and he reads your mind and draws you into his body, and he kisses you like he needs to breathe, his hands firm on your waist as you card through his perfect curls, and you both get lost in it, for a moment the world is only you and him, but that ends quickly when you're being told that you have a minute before the panel starts, and you sorta laugh when you see dom's mouth tinted and streaked by your lipstick, and there's no time to fix that, so you smooth down his hair as best as possible and watch blush fill his entire face and neck and ears, and you sit next to each other at the panel, fingers locked together, grinning at each other like lovesick fools

becaue you are. and always have been. <3

[neptunes-curse]

steveeee

I need more about Steve dating a Henderson sister! Love your writing btw ;)

omg yes absolutely !! thank you so much <3

Steve Harrington Dating a Henderson!Reader - 2

headcanons

summary: more about what it’s like to date steve as a henderson sister

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (henderson!reader)

WARNINGS: swearing, brief mentions of sex

note: i just did some quick headcanons for this but if you’d like to see a longer fic of steve with a henderson!reader let me know !! these are my absolute favorites to write :)

The day Dustin finds out you and Steve are dating is arguably the best day of his life.

“Oh my god I knew it! I can’t believe you two shitheads actually kept this from me! This is the best day of my entire life.”

From then on, Dustin insists on coming with you to see Steve at least once a week (sometimes more).

Steve loves Dustin so he really doesn’t mind at all for Dustin to tag along on a few date nights.

You and Steve babysit Dustin together !! Although Dustin prefers the term “hanging out” inside of babysitting.

Steve always brings two movies with him from Family Video on these nights. He brings one for the two of you to watch with Dustin (usually a comedy or an action movie) and then other for the two of you to watch after Dustin goes to bed.

“Okay, I’m going to bed. I better not hear any weird noises. We all like to use that couch, you know.” “Dustin!”

Your mom loves Steve. She invites him to dinner twice a week.

You would never tell either of them, but you’re secretly really thankful that Steve and Dustin are such good friends. You don’t think you’d ever be able to date someone who didn’t like your brother.

“Y/N, it’s my turn to hang out with Steve!” “He’s literally my boyfriend, Dustin.” “I don’t care, I knew him first.”

Dustin is your biggest supporter. Between Dustin and Robin, you don’t think you could ever break up with Steve. It would break their hearts.

Dustin begs to teach you and Steve how to play DnD. You guys eventually cave, but it only lasts for a couple days because you are truly so awful at it.

Steve sneaks in your window some nights, which Dustin thinks is hilarious.

“Dude, use the front door?” “No, it’s more romantic this way.”

Steve gives Dustin girl advice and Dustin really tries to follow it. He wants his relationship with Suzie to be just like your relationship with Steve.

Dustin looks up to both of you so much. He really thinks that you’re the coolest people in the world.

[neptunes-curse]

can you write something for graham dunne where you’re apart of the band and secretly dating but you accidentally tell the band that you’re dating cuz you were drunk sorry if that was confusing 😭😭

I Said What?

Graham Dunne x Fem!Reader

Sypnosis: You knew you weren't meant to say anything, but you can't help it when Graham is just so comfy.

WC: 1k

Warnings: drinking, accidental confessions

A/N: The hype for DJATS has died down now but I still eat it up. I love this silly little book with my whole heart.

masterlist

Getting drunk wasn’t something you weren’t used to. Since The Six had risen to fame, parties were a common occurrence for you and the band. There was a lively buzz coming from the crowd, and the alcohol in your system made you feel fuzzy on the inside. You were sitting next to Camilla on the couch, talking quietly to yourselves as the party continued. Occasionally, your eyes would meet with Graham’s, and he offered you a small smile.

“Who are you looking at?” Camilla nudged your side teasingly.

That was the only thing you hated about these parties. Graham. Your boyfriend. The tow of you had agreed to keep your relationship on the down low, especially with the band’s newfound fame. The last thing you needed was for the whole world to know about your relationship. Unfortunately, the whole world meant everyone, including your bandmates. It’s not that you didn’t trust them. You did, for the most part, but someone could easily slip up.

“Nothin’,” you shrugged, directing your attention back on Camilla, “Tryna see if I could spot anyone slightly interesting.” “No one’s caught you’re attention yet?” she hums, “You’ve looked over that way a few times now.” 

You inwardly curse at yourself for thinking Camilla wouldn’t notice your longing stares. She notices everything. 

“No, there’s never really anyone interesting at these parties anyway.” You say, grabbing your beer and taking a long sip of it. You screw up your nose a little, the strong taste hitting the back of your throat. 

Camilla nods her head, seemingly satisfied by that response. 

»↠ ≈☆≈ ↞« 

Slowly, the party began to die down. The people left, and the house was now a complete mess, solo cups and bottles everywhere, leaving the floor quite sticky, and a prominent smell of alcohol lingered in the house. Even though the house was in desperate need of cleaning, you and the band sat on the couches, talking about everything and anything. The alcohol you drunk no longer had you feeling bubbly and talkative, instead you now felt sleepy. 

The need for sleep was getting to your head, and fast. You turn to the side, resting your head on Graham’s shoulder, allowing for your eyes to flutter shut. 

“Is my shoulder not good enough to be leant on?” Warren feigns shock from the other side of you. You opened your eyes, noticing him and the others actively staring at you. 

“No, I think I prefer my boyfriend, but thanks for the offer.” You say, smiling sweetly, before leaning back on Graham’s shoulder with your eyes closed.

“Your what?” Warren yells, his eyes flicking between you and Graham. 

Graham’s face is bright red, but you seem to out of it to realise what you actually said. 

“Shh, Warren, ‘m tired.” You groan instead, leaning in further to Graham’s touch. 

“I think it’s time for you to go to bed.” he whispers into your hair, also using it to partly hide his face.

You grumble slightly, but don’t necessarily disagree, so Graham gently says goodnight to the other band members, leading you back into your room. He places you down on the bed with ease, and he lifts up your legs to drape the blanket over you, knowing how much you hate waking up cold.

He flicks the lightswitch off, looking back at you and watching the way your chest rises and falls with each even breath you take. He smiles to himself, before shutting the door softly.

“Wanna tell us what that was about, Graham?” Eddie grins, and Graham felt his face flush.

“Well, I mean, Y/N, kinda said it all.” Graham says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“And you didn’t think to tell us?” Billy asks, and Graham shook his head.

“It’s not like that… it’s just… y’know, Y/N was worried. Rumours, all that shit. We didn’t really need anything going out to the public just yet. A-And it’s not that we don’t trust you guys! We do, but we were just getting big when we first got together, and we didn’t want someone to accidentally… slip up or anything.” Graham replies, trying to keep it together.

“I get it, don’t worry. And hey, for what it’s worth, you guys are really cute together. You got good, Graham.” Billy grins at him, and Graham smiles back.

»↠ ≈☆≈ ↞«

When you wake up the next morning, you aren’t shocked to find yourself still in your clothes from last night, makeup smudged everywhere, and a pounding headache. You get up slowly, taking a sip of the water left on your bedside table, undoubtedly from Graham. Holding your head, you change into some more comfortable clothes, an oversized shirt and a pair of leggings. Begrudgingly, you make your way out to the kitchen, hoping to find some paracetamol to stop the pain in your head. 

“Well, good morning to you, too.” Graham grins. He’s sitting at the table with Eddie and Warren, eating a piece of toast. 

“Morning,” You grumble back, searching through the cupboards for a tablet.

“Here, let me help you, love,” Graham says, getting up to help you search.

Hearing the name he just called you, you spun around fast, looking at him with wide eyes. “What?” you half-laugh, half stare blankly at him.

“You don’t remember?” Graham laughs, squeezing your side and planting a kiss on the top of your head. 

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “No…” you whisper. 

He leans down, whispering the events of last night in your ear. 

“I said what?!”

[neptunes-curse]

steve !!!!!!!!!!!!

Dating Steve Harrington and Being Dustin’s Sister

headcanons

summary: what it’s like to date everyone’s favorite babysitter as a henderson (lowkey enemies to friends to lovers)

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of canon typical violence, probably some plot inconsistencies bc i don’t remember anything that happened in season two

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (henderson!reader)

a/n: i realized that i’ve never written for steve so i wanted to do some headcanons that actually got really out of hand and long but it’s okay !! <3 send in some st4 requests if you want :) i also just posted a few more headcanons for steve x henderson!reader here so check those out if you liked this one :))

*not proofread* *no spoilers for st4*

You met Steve during his “King Steve” phase.

The two of you went to school together, you being a year younger than Steve and much less popular, choosing to spend your time studying or hanging out with your little brother and his friends.

You were the original babysitter for the party, often getting stuck watching over them during your free time because of your closeness to Dustin, in particular.

However, you were also close with Nancy so of course Steve had been introduced to you while they were together.

Initially, you weren’t very fond of Steve. The two of you often butted heads while Nancy tried to play the peacemaker.

It didn’t help that you happened to be very close with Jonathan Byers, who Steve and his friends loved to torment relentlessly. You felt a lot of sympathy for Jonathan. Between getting bullied at school and his brother’s disappearance, he was going through a lot.

Your final straw with Steve was when he broke Jonathan’s camera. Even though Steve eventually apologized and Jonathan forgave him, you just couldn’t bring yourself to see past it.

In your mind, Steve Harrington was the biggest douchebag in Hawkins.

That is, until Billy Hargrove moved to town.

Dustin introduced you to Max, who you immediately took under your wing. Unfortunately, with Max came her older stepbrother, Billy.

You were sure that the one and only thing you and Steve Harrington would ever have in common was an utter hatred for Billy Hargrove.

However, your feelings for Steve began to change after things started to go weird again in Hawkins.

When Dustin’s new pet Demogorgon, who he affectionately named Dart, started to get out of hand, he insisted on calling his new favorite person.

Unfortunately for you, this person just so happened to be Steve Harrington.

Already upset by the death of your cat, Mews, you absolutely refused to spend any time with Steve Harrington no matter how much Dustin insisted that “he’s changed!”

Your protests didn’t matter much, however, and Dustin went behind your back, calling Steve anyway.

“What’s he doing here?” “What’s she doing here?” “I live here, doofus.”

Dustin swears he could cut the tension with a knife.

As your troubles with Dart turned into much larger problems, you had no choice but to work with Steve to make sure the party stayed safe.

You and Steve eventually grow pretty fond of each other, much to everyone else’s surprise.

“Did you two just have an ACTUAL conversation? Without insulting each other?” “Shut it, Henderson.”

Steve confides in you about his problems with Nancy. He tells you about her outbursts on Halloween, where she apparently called their relationship “bullshit.” You both agree it was pretty fucked up.

The two of you even fight Demodogs together, absolutely kicking ass much to Dustin’s enjoyment.

“That was so awesome oh my god my sister is so fucking cool you kicked their asses”

Max is the first one to become convinced that you two are in love with each other. Dustin and Lucas absolutely refuse to hear it.

“Look at how she looks at him!” “Please, last week she threw soda cans at him until he almost cried.”

Nancy is also incredibly confused when she finds the two of you seemingly getting along at the Byers house.

While everyone goes to do their respective job, you and Steve are put on babysitting duty again.

Your collective overprotectiveness and downright refusal to deal with their shit makes the kids start calling you “mom and dad”

For some reason, this makes Steve incredibly flustered.

Things take a turn when Billy shows up at the Byers house, pissed off and looking for Lucas and Max.

The rumble of a car pulling into the driveway pulled everyone away from the argument at hand. Headlights flashed through the window as the kids peered out. “Shit!” Max hissed, glancing nervously at Lucas. You briefly recognized the car from school and from Max’s reaction, you could tell it was Billy’s. “Stay here.” Steve’s eyes met yours, a stern look on his face as he looked first at you and then at each of the kids. You nodded, pulling the party away from the window with an anxious feeling in your stomach. You placed a hand on Max’s shoulder, trying your best to reassure her, “Hey, everything’s gonna be fine. Steve will make him go.” Mike and Dustin crouched down, peering nervously out the window. You couldn’t help your curiosity, crouching down beside them. As you peeled out the window, Billy’s eyes suddenly met yours. You couldn’t hear the words that came out of his mouth, however, you could see the disapproving glance from Steve. “Shit! Do you think he saw us?” You weren’t left wondering for long as heavy footsteps marched across the Byers’ front porch and the door furiously swung open.

That night, both you and Steve got your asses kicked by Billy Hargrove. You couldn’t remember much of the night, being knocked out for a good majority of it after jumping on Billy’s back to pull him away from Steve.

You woke to panicked yelling. Taking a minute to adjust to your surroundings, you felt the rough swerving of the car.

“Steve, you drive like a fucking maniac.” You slurred out, bringing your hand up to touch your head. You felt the sticky oozing of blood running down your forehead as you pulled your hands away.

“Oh, hey, sunshine. Listen, don’t panic. You and Steve got your asses royally handed to you. Let me put a bandaid on that for you. You tried! That’s all that matters! You guys will get him next time, don’t worry!”

As your vision became clearer, you recognized Dustin placing a small, pink bandage over the cut on your forehead. His voice was calm. Almost, too calm.

You felt pressure on your shoulder as you turned your head to look. Steve was sleeping on your shoulder, his face battered and bruised.

“Steve? Oh, God.” “Hey, don’t worry! He’s alright! He’s just passed out right now!” “No, no, no, no, who’s driving? Steve, wake up. Who’s driving!”

As you looked up at the drivers seat, you noticed a flash of red hair. You stomach dropped as you realized Max was driving as Lucas and Mike attempted to direct her.

“Oh my god. Steve, wake up.” You nudged him awake with your shoulder.

“Huh? What’s going on?” “Steve, Max is driving.” “OH MY GOD MAX IS DRIVING”

You eventually reached your destination relatively safely. You made a mental note to yell at the kids later and to also never, ever let Max drive.

While in the Upside Down, Steve stuck close by you. Of course, he wanted to make sure the kids were okay but you had a nasty cut on your forehead and were stumbling a bit. He had asked you to stay in the car, but you refused, insisting that you were okay. He makes a point to keep a close eye on you and stay close. He doesn’t know why he’s so worried but he tries to rationalize it as being concerned for his new friend.

After everything is said and done, Steve gives you a ride home. You’re both exhausted and injured, but he makes sure you’re okay. He even offers to spend the night watching movies with you if you’re too scared to sleep, but you refuse, sending him home.

Flash forward to the summer, you and Steve have become pretty good friends and you both find a job in the new Starcourt mall at an ice cream parlor.

When you first see Steve in his Scoops outfit, you can’t help but laugh.

“Aw, Steve, don’t be like that. You look adorable in your little sailor hat!” “Yeah, yeah, you have to wear it too, smartass.”

You convince yourself that the way his cheeks flare up at the word “adorable” is out of embarrassment and absolutely nothing else.

After everything was over, you and Steve arranged to have weekly movie nights with the party.

However, with Dustin gone to camp, Mike and El spending most of their time together, as well as Lucas and Max doing the same, it’s usually just you and Steve hanging out.

You can’t help but notice the way he sits stiffly with his leg brushing yours, almost as if he’s afraid to move any closer.

You and Steve also become pretty close to your coworker, Robin. With the kids busy, Robin becomes a new member for movie nights.

skipping forward because this is getting ridiculously long

Working with Robin, Steve, Dustin, and Lucas’ little sister, Erica, the five of you infiltrate a secret Russian lab below Starcourt mall.

You, Robin, and Steve somehow find yourselves kidnapped and drugged by evil Russians.

After escaping, the three of you are still pretty out of it. You somehow end up in the movie theater, watching Back To The Future.

After the movie, you and Steve find yourselves sitting on the bathroom floor, laughing about something you can’t quite recall.

“Wait, wait, wait. Listen, I have something so important to tell you.” “What?” You’re both giggling, barely able to make it through a sentence without busting out in laughter.

“I am so in love with you.” “What?”

Everything becomes much less funny. Steve is looking at you with the most intense look you’ve ever seen in his eyes.

It’s deathly quiet for a moment as you two look at each other.

Suddenly, you both break out into more laughter, clutching your stomachs and heaving over.

“God, you’re such an idiot.” You manage to get out between gasps for air.

“No, no, I’m being so serious.” Steve is laughing so hard his face is bright red and you genuinely think he’s going to pass out.

As the laughter dies out, the two of you sit silently on the floor. Occasional giggles are passed between you before the your mind suddenly becomes clearer and the weight of his words hit you.

“Steve, you’re literally on drugs, you don’t mean that.” You try to brush it off but somehow that only makes him laugh harder. He grabs your hand, looking at you while attempting to be serious.

“I have to tell you, now, or I’ll never be able to tell you.” He explains, referring to his drugged up state.

“Steve…” He leans in, gently brushing his lips against yours as if he’s testing you. When you don’t pull away, he presses his lips more firmly against yours, smiling through the kiss.

At the end of the night, after everything is over, the Mind Flayer is gone, and both Hopper and Billy are dead, Steve meets you in the back of an ambulance.

Having already been checked and cleared by the EMTs himself, he cautiously takes a seat next to you as you’re getting your wounds cleaned. He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers almost nervously. When you look at him, he’s already looking over at you, a small smile on his face. You gently squeeze his hand, smiling back at him.

That night, Steve takes you home and, like he did the previous year, offers to spend the night with you. This time, you accept his offer, leading him inside.

[neptunes-curse]

An arranged marriage drabble for Sejanus <3

Your parents aren’t the best at keeping secrets from you, but today has been full of strange smiles and glances over the top of your head when they think you aren’t paying attention. They’ve mentioned that the Plinths were coming for dinner, and despite the fact that you find Sejanus to be a perfectly nice boy, you have a sick sense of appreciation coiling around in your stomach all day long.

The bomb is dropped after dinner, with everyone gathered in one of your many sitting rooms. You catch on before Sejanus does, and it only takes a fraction of a second before you're bolting up from the plush couch you’d been lounging on.

“You can’t be serious,” you look accusingly between your parents, swallowing thickly around the lump in your throat. When neither of them move to say anything to make you feel better, to laugh and tell you it was all a joke, you make your way to the exit of the room, the shouts of your family turned to static in your ears.

Throwing open the front door, you barely make it down one of your stone steps before you can’t see past the tears in your eyes and you all but collapse, tucking your head between your knees and wishing for everything to change. You’re so distracted by your own sobbing that you don’t realize when the front door opens again, or when someone sits on the steps next to you, until you sit up to sniffle and wipe your eyes.

“You really got the short end of the stick, huh?”

His voice is quiet and soft, the way you imagine it would sound if he was talking to a child or a wild animal.

“It’s not about you, Sejanus, I promise,” you tell him as you wipe your eyes roughly with the back of your hands, angry about crying and fearing you’ll start crying again because you’re angry.

“I know, just trying to lighten the mood,” and you can’t help the way this makes you huff, the quickest breath of laughter possible, but Sejanus notices, rewards you with a sweet little smile.

Out of all the boys you know, it’s not a secret that Sejanus is one of the best. He’s smart and kind and thoughtful, but you know the only reason your parents are essentially selling you off is because of the enormity of your combined fortunes, sole heirs to unimaginable amounts of money. Really, it’s not the worst case scenario, not even close, and you can’t help but hope that the two of you will be friends, at the very least.

“Better than Festus,” you mutter, and the boy next to you snorts, turning to look at you for the first time since he sat down. His eyes are creasing with his smile, and his gaze makes you melt a little.

“That’s not the compliment you think it is,” he retorts, and now you’re laughing too, even as you swipe underneath your eyes again for good measure.

It’s not long before the two of you are keeled over and laughing like maniacs, any time one of you speaks, it sets you off into another fit of giggles. You finally manage to catch your breath a few minutes later, your laughter fading with the setting sun, and you barely even notice that your head is resting on Sejanus’s shoulder, a strange sort of feeling settling into your chest.

Again, I love these two and I’ll happily write more for this little universe :)

[neptunes-curse]

someone asked on the background of balleona laurent in tbosas so here’s just a quick rundown of yn’s character for any of u who are reading my tom insta au

Balleona Laurent is from a wealthy well off family in the Capitol. Her family is similar to the Plinths in terms of money, however, she’s less sympathetic than Sejanus and dislikes the districts because she thinks they’re wild animals

Her and Coriolanus met when they went to the academy and they started dating not soon after—Coriolanus at first, was very excited that he was dating Balleona because it would give the Snow name a higher reputation

Balleona liked Coriolanus because he was handsome and her father approved of him

She’s often referred to as “Leona” in tbosas and she’s described as very witty and calculating, often judgemental and scary

Balleona disliked Lucy Gray from the beginning, she kind of knew Coriolanus and Lucy Gray had something but she, being the calm woman she was, formulated a plan to ensure she would be marrying into the Snow family despite Lucy Gray’s effort of cramming her way into Corio’s life

Whether Coriolanus Snow truly loved Lucy Gray remains a big question, he didn’t exactly “love” Balleona, nor did Balleona love him. They both loved the idea of each other and furthermore, the idea of power and control so that’s why Balleona ends up forgiving Coriolanus when he returns back from 12, shushing him as he tried to mutter out explanations and apologies

They do end up marrying when Snow becomes president and the rest is history

[neptunes-curse]

The tour isn’t the only thing we’re taking worldwide…….. 🌎 Been so excited to tell you all that The Eras Tour concert film is now officially coming to theaters WORLDWIDE on Oct 13! Tickets available now at https://taylor.lnk.to/TSTheErasTourFilm or on your local theaters website! 💙

[neptunes-curse]

Dating Steve Harrington and Being Dustin’s Sister

headcanons

summary: what it’s like to date everyone’s favorite babysitter as a henderson (lowkey enemies to friends to lovers)

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of canon typical violence, probably some plot inconsistencies bc i don’t remember anything that happened in season two

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (henderson!reader)

a/n: i realized that i’ve never written for steve so i wanted to do some headcanons that actually got really out of hand and long but it’s okay !! <3 send in some st4 requests if you want :) i also just posted a few more headcanons for steve x henderson!reader here so check those out if you liked this one :))

*not proofread* *no spoilers for st4*

You met Steve during his “King Steve” phase.

The two of you went to school together, you being a year younger than Steve and much less popular, choosing to spend your time studying or hanging out with your little brother and his friends.

You were the original babysitter for the party, often getting stuck watching over them during your free time because of your closeness to Dustin, in particular.

However, you were also close with Nancy so of course Steve had been introduced to you while they were together.

Initially, you weren’t very fond of Steve. The two of you often butted heads while Nancy tried to play the peacemaker.

It didn’t help that you happened to be very close with Jonathan Byers, who Steve and his friends loved to torment relentlessly. You felt a lot of sympathy for Jonathan. Between getting bullied at school and his brother’s disappearance, he was going through a lot.

Your final straw with Steve was when he broke Jonathan’s camera. Even though Steve eventually apologized and Jonathan forgave him, you just couldn’t bring yourself to see past it.

In your mind, Steve Harrington was the biggest douchebag in Hawkins.

That is, until Billy Hargrove moved to town.

Dustin introduced you to Max, who you immediately took under your wing. Unfortunately, with Max came her older stepbrother, Billy.

You were sure that the one and only thing you and Steve Harrington would ever have in common was an utter hatred for Billy Hargrove.

However, your feelings for Steve began to change after things started to go weird again in Hawkins.

When Dustin’s new pet Demogorgon, who he affectionately named Dart, started to get out of hand, he insisted on calling his new favorite person.

Unfortunately for you, this person just so happened to be Steve Harrington.

Already upset by the death of your cat, Mews, you absolutely refused to spend any time with Steve Harrington no matter how much Dustin insisted that “he’s changed!”

Your protests didn’t matter much, however, and Dustin went behind your back, calling Steve anyway.

“What’s he doing here?” “What’s she doing here?” “I live here, doofus.”

Dustin swears he could cut the tension with a knife.

As your troubles with Dart turned into much larger problems, you had no choice but to work with Steve to make sure the party stayed safe.

You and Steve eventually grow pretty fond of each other, much to everyone else’s surprise.

“Did you two just have an ACTUAL conversation? Without insulting each other?” “Shut it, Henderson.”

Steve confides in you about his problems with Nancy. He tells you about her outbursts on Halloween, where she apparently called their relationship “bullshit.” You both agree it was pretty fucked up.

The two of you even fight Demodogs together, absolutely kicking ass much to Dustin’s enjoyment.

“That was so awesome oh my god my sister is so fucking cool you kicked their asses”

Max is the first one to become convinced that you two are in love with each other. Dustin and Lucas absolutely refuse to hear it.

“Look at how she looks at him!” “Please, last week she threw soda cans at him until he almost cried.”

Nancy is also incredibly confused when she finds the two of you seemingly getting along at the Byers house.

While everyone goes to do their respective job, you and Steve are put on babysitting duty again.

Your collective overprotectiveness and downright refusal to deal with their shit makes the kids start calling you “mom and dad”

For some reason, this makes Steve incredibly flustered.

Things take a turn when Billy shows up at the Byers house, pissed off and looking for Lucas and Max.

The rumble of a car pulling into the driveway pulled everyone away from the argument at hand. Headlights flashed through the window as the kids peered out. “Shit!” Max hissed, glancing nervously at Lucas. You briefly recognized the car from school and from Max’s reaction, you could tell it was Billy’s. “Stay here.” Steve’s eyes met yours, a stern look on his face as he looked first at you and then at each of the kids. You nodded, pulling the party away from the window with an anxious feeling in your stomach. You placed a hand on Max’s shoulder, trying your best to reassure her, “Hey, everything’s gonna be fine. Steve will make him go.” Mike and Dustin crouched down, peering nervously out the window. You couldn’t help your curiosity, crouching down beside them. As you peeled out the window, Billy’s eyes suddenly met yours. You couldn’t hear the words that came out of his mouth, however, you could see the disapproving glance from Steve. “Shit! Do you think he saw us?” You weren’t left wondering for long as heavy footsteps marched across the Byers’ front porch and the door furiously swung open.

That night, both you and Steve got your asses kicked by Billy Hargrove. You couldn’t remember much of the night, being knocked out for a good majority of it after jumping on Billy’s back to pull him away from Steve.

You woke to panicked yelling. Taking a minute to adjust to your surroundings, you felt the rough swerving of the car.

“Steve, you drive like a fucking maniac.” You slurred out, bringing your hand up to touch your head. You felt the sticky oozing of blood running down your forehead as you pulled your hands away.

“Oh, hey, sunshine. Listen, don’t panic. You and Steve got your asses royally handed to you. Let me put a bandaid on that for you. You tried! That’s all that matters! You guys will get him next time, don’t worry!”

As your vision became clearer, you recognized Dustin placing a small, pink bandage over the cut on your forehead. His voice was calm. Almost, too calm.

You felt pressure on your shoulder as you turned your head to look. Steve was sleeping on your shoulder, his face battered and bruised.

“Steve? Oh, God.” “Hey, don’t worry! He’s alright! He’s just passed out right now!” “No, no, no, no, who’s driving? Steve, wake up. Who’s driving!”

As you looked up at the drivers seat, you noticed a flash of red hair. You stomach dropped as you realized Max was driving as Lucas and Mike attempted to direct her.

“Oh my god. Steve, wake up.” You nudged him awake with your shoulder.

“Huh? What’s going on?” “Steve, Max is driving.” “OH MY GOD MAX IS DRIVING”

You eventually reached your destination relatively safely. You made a mental note to yell at the kids later and to also never, ever let Max drive.

While in the Upside Down, Steve stuck close by you. Of course, he wanted to make sure the kids were okay but you had a nasty cut on your forehead and were stumbling a bit. He had asked you to stay in the car, but you refused, insisting that you were okay. He makes a point to keep a close eye on you and stay close. He doesn’t know why he’s so worried but he tries to rationalize it as being concerned for his new friend.

After everything is said and done, Steve gives you a ride home. You’re both exhausted and injured, but he makes sure you’re okay. He even offers to spend the night watching movies with you if you’re too scared to sleep, but you refuse, sending him home.

Flash forward to the summer, you and Steve have become pretty good friends and you both find a job in the new Starcourt mall at an ice cream parlor.

When you first see Steve in his Scoops outfit, you can’t help but laugh.

“Aw, Steve, don’t be like that. You look adorable in your little sailor hat!” “Yeah, yeah, you have to wear it too, smartass.”

You convince yourself that the way his cheeks flare up at the word “adorable” is out of embarrassment and absolutely nothing else.

After everything was over, you and Steve arranged to have weekly movie nights with the party.

However, with Dustin gone to camp, Mike and El spending most of their time together, as well as Lucas and Max doing the same, it’s usually just you and Steve hanging out.

You can’t help but notice the way he sits stiffly with his leg brushing yours, almost as if he’s afraid to move any closer.

You and Steve also become pretty close to your coworker, Robin. With the kids busy, Robin becomes a new member for movie nights.

skipping forward because this is getting ridiculously long

Working with Robin, Steve, Dustin, and Lucas’ little sister, Erica, the five of you infiltrate a secret Russian lab below Starcourt mall.

You, Robin, and Steve somehow find yourselves kidnapped and drugged by evil Russians.

After escaping, the three of you are still pretty out of it. You somehow end up in the movie theater, watching Back To The Future.

After the movie, you and Steve find yourselves sitting on the bathroom floor, laughing about something you can’t quite recall.

“Wait, wait, wait. Listen, I have something so important to tell you.” “What?” You’re both giggling, barely able to make it through a sentence without busting out in laughter.

“I am so in love with you.” “What?”

Everything becomes much less funny. Steve is looking at you with the most intense look you’ve ever seen in his eyes.

It’s deathly quiet for a moment as you two look at each other.

Suddenly, you both break out into more laughter, clutching your stomachs and heaving over.

“God, you’re such an idiot.” You manage to get out between gasps for air.

“No, no, I’m being so serious.” Steve is laughing so hard his face is bright red and you genuinely think he’s going to pass out.

As the laughter dies out, the two of you sit silently on the floor. Occasional giggles are passed between you before the your mind suddenly becomes clearer and the weight of his words hit you.

“Steve, you’re literally on drugs, you don’t mean that.” You try to brush it off but somehow that only makes him laugh harder. He grabs your hand, looking at you while attempting to be serious.

“I have to tell you, now, or I’ll never be able to tell you.” He explains, referring to his drugged up state.

“Steve…” He leans in, gently brushing his lips against yours as if he’s testing you. When you don’t pull away, he presses his lips more firmly against yours, smiling through the kiss.

At the end of the night, after everything is over, the Mind Flayer is gone, and both Hopper and Billy are dead, Steve meets you in the back of an ambulance.

Having already been checked and cleared by the EMTs himself, he cautiously takes a seat next to you as you’re getting your wounds cleaned. He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers almost nervously. When you look at him, he’s already looking over at you, a small smile on his face. You gently squeeze his hand, smiling back at him.

That night, Steve takes you home and, like he did the previous year, offers to spend the night with you. This time, you accept his offer, leading him inside.

[neptunes-curse]

Girlhood is abruptly switching from this to this and then back again

[neptunes-curse]

Dating Steve Harrington and Being Dustin’s Sister

headcanons

summary: what it’s like to date everyone’s favorite babysitter as a henderson (lowkey enemies to friends to lovers)

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of canon typical violence, probably some plot inconsistencies bc i don’t remember anything that happened in season two

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (henderson!reader)

a/n: i realized that i’ve never written for steve so i wanted to do some headcanons that actually got really out of hand and long but it’s okay !! <3 send in some st4 requests if you want :) i also just posted a few more headcanons for steve x henderson!reader here so check those out if you liked this one :))

*not proofread* *no spoilers for st4*

You met Steve during his “King Steve” phase.

The two of you went to school together, you being a year younger than Steve and much less popular, choosing to spend your time studying or hanging out with your little brother and his friends.

You were the original babysitter for the party, often getting stuck watching over them during your free time because of your closeness to Dustin, in particular.

However, you were also close with Nancy so of course Steve had been introduced to you while they were together.

Initially, you weren’t very fond of Steve. The two of you often butted heads while Nancy tried to play the peacemaker.

It didn’t help that you happened to be very close with Jonathan Byers, who Steve and his friends loved to torment relentlessly. You felt a lot of sympathy for Jonathan. Between getting bullied at school and his brother’s disappearance, he was going through a lot.

Your final straw with Steve was when he broke Jonathan’s camera. Even though Steve eventually apologized and Jonathan forgave him, you just couldn’t bring yourself to see past it.

In your mind, Steve Harrington was the biggest douchebag in Hawkins.

That is, until Billy Hargrove moved to town.

Dustin introduced you to Max, who you immediately took under your wing. Unfortunately, with Max came her older stepbrother, Billy.

You were sure that the one and only thing you and Steve Harrington would ever have in common was an utter hatred for Billy Hargrove.

However, your feelings for Steve began to change after things started to go weird again in Hawkins.

When Dustin’s new pet Demogorgon, who he affectionately named Dart, started to get out of hand, he insisted on calling his new favorite person.

Unfortunately for you, this person just so happened to be Steve Harrington.

Already upset by the death of your cat, Mews, you absolutely refused to spend any time with Steve Harrington no matter how much Dustin insisted that “he’s changed!”

Your protests didn’t matter much, however, and Dustin went behind your back, calling Steve anyway.

“What’s he doing here?” “What’s she doing here?” “I live here, doofus.”

Dustin swears he could cut the tension with a knife.

As your troubles with Dart turned into much larger problems, you had no choice but to work with Steve to make sure the party stayed safe.

You and Steve eventually grow pretty fond of each other, much to everyone else’s surprise.

“Did you two just have an ACTUAL conversation? Without insulting each other?” “Shut it, Henderson.”

Steve confides in you about his problems with Nancy. He tells you about her outbursts on Halloween, where she apparently called their relationship “bullshit.” You both agree it was pretty fucked up.

The two of you even fight Demodogs together, absolutely kicking ass much to Dustin’s enjoyment.

“That was so awesome oh my god my sister is so fucking cool you kicked their asses”

Max is the first one to become convinced that you two are in love with each other. Dustin and Lucas absolutely refuse to hear it.

“Look at how she looks at him!” “Please, last week she threw soda cans at him until he almost cried.”

Nancy is also incredibly confused when she finds the two of you seemingly getting along at the Byers house.

While everyone goes to do their respective job, you and Steve are put on babysitting duty again.

Your collective overprotectiveness and downright refusal to deal with their shit makes the kids start calling you “mom and dad”

For some reason, this makes Steve incredibly flustered.

Things take a turn when Billy shows up at the Byers house, pissed off and looking for Lucas and Max.

The rumble of a car pulling into the driveway pulled everyone away from the argument at hand. Headlights flashed through the window as the kids peered out. “Shit!” Max hissed, glancing nervously at Lucas. You briefly recognized the car from school and from Max’s reaction, you could tell it was Billy’s. “Stay here.” Steve’s eyes met yours, a stern look on his face as he looked first at you and then at each of the kids. You nodded, pulling the party away from the window with an anxious feeling in your stomach. You placed a hand on Max’s shoulder, trying your best to reassure her, “Hey, everything’s gonna be fine. Steve will make him go.” Mike and Dustin crouched down, peering nervously out the window. You couldn’t help your curiosity, crouching down beside them. As you peeled out the window, Billy’s eyes suddenly met yours. You couldn’t hear the words that came out of his mouth, however, you could see the disapproving glance from Steve. “Shit! Do you think he saw us?” You weren’t left wondering for long as heavy footsteps marched across the Byers’ front porch and the door furiously swung open.

That night, both you and Steve got your asses kicked by Billy Hargrove. You couldn’t remember much of the night, being knocked out for a good majority of it after jumping on Billy’s back to pull him away from Steve.

You woke to panicked yelling. Taking a minute to adjust to your surroundings, you felt the rough swerving of the car.

“Steve, you drive like a fucking maniac.” You slurred out, bringing your hand up to touch your head. You felt the sticky oozing of blood running down your forehead as you pulled your hands away.

“Oh, hey, sunshine. Listen, don’t panic. You and Steve got your asses royally handed to you. Let me put a bandaid on that for you. You tried! That’s all that matters! You guys will get him next time, don’t worry!”

As your vision became clearer, you recognized Dustin placing a small, pink bandage over the cut on your forehead. His voice was calm. Almost, too calm.

You felt pressure on your shoulder as you turned your head to look. Steve was sleeping on your shoulder, his face battered and bruised.

“Steve? Oh, God.” “Hey, don’t worry! He’s alright! He’s just passed out right now!” “No, no, no, no, who’s driving? Steve, wake up. Who’s driving!”

As you looked up at the drivers seat, you noticed a flash of red hair. You stomach dropped as you realized Max was driving as Lucas and Mike attempted to direct her.

“Oh my god. Steve, wake up.” You nudged him awake with your shoulder.

“Huh? What’s going on?” “Steve, Max is driving.” “OH MY GOD MAX IS DRIVING”

You eventually reached your destination relatively safely. You made a mental note to yell at the kids later and to also never, ever let Max drive.

While in the Upside Down, Steve stuck close by you. Of course, he wanted to make sure the kids were okay but you had a nasty cut on your forehead and were stumbling a bit. He had asked you to stay in the car, but you refused, insisting that you were okay. He makes a point to keep a close eye on you and stay close. He doesn’t know why he’s so worried but he tries to rationalize it as being concerned for his new friend.

After everything is said and done, Steve gives you a ride home. You’re both exhausted and injured, but he makes sure you’re okay. He even offers to spend the night watching movies with you if you’re too scared to sleep, but you refuse, sending him home.

Flash forward to the summer, you and Steve have become pretty good friends and you both find a job in the new Starcourt mall at an ice cream parlor.

When you first see Steve in his Scoops outfit, you can’t help but laugh.

“Aw, Steve, don’t be like that. You look adorable in your little sailor hat!” “Yeah, yeah, you have to wear it too, smartass.”

You convince yourself that the way his cheeks flare up at the word “adorable” is out of embarrassment and absolutely nothing else.

After everything was over, you and Steve arranged to have weekly movie nights with the party.

However, with Dustin gone to camp, Mike and El spending most of their time together, as well as Lucas and Max doing the same, it’s usually just you and Steve hanging out.

You can’t help but notice the way he sits stiffly with his leg brushing yours, almost as if he’s afraid to move any closer.

You and Steve also become pretty close to your coworker, Robin. With the kids busy, Robin becomes a new member for movie nights.

skipping forward because this is getting ridiculously long

Working with Robin, Steve, Dustin, and Lucas’ little sister, Erica, the five of you infiltrate a secret Russian lab below Starcourt mall.

You, Robin, and Steve somehow find yourselves kidnapped and drugged by evil Russians.

After escaping, the three of you are still pretty out of it. You somehow end up in the movie theater, watching Back To The Future.

After the movie, you and Steve find yourselves sitting on the bathroom floor, laughing about something you can’t quite recall.

“Wait, wait, wait. Listen, I have something so important to tell you.” “What?” You’re both giggling, barely able to make it through a sentence without busting out in laughter.

“I am so in love with you.” “What?”

Everything becomes much less funny. Steve is looking at you with the most intense look you’ve ever seen in his eyes.

It’s deathly quiet for a moment as you two look at each other.

Suddenly, you both break out into more laughter, clutching your stomachs and heaving over.

“God, you’re such an idiot.” You manage to get out between gasps for air.

“No, no, I’m being so serious.” Steve is laughing so hard his face is bright red and you genuinely think he’s going to pass out.

As the laughter dies out, the two of you sit silently on the floor. Occasional giggles are passed between you before the your mind suddenly becomes clearer and the weight of his words hit you.

“Steve, you’re literally on drugs, you don’t mean that.” You try to brush it off but somehow that only makes him laugh harder. He grabs your hand, looking at you while attempting to be serious.

“I have to tell you, now, or I’ll never be able to tell you.” He explains, referring to his drugged up state.

“Steve…” He leans in, gently brushing his lips against yours as if he’s testing you. When you don’t pull away, he presses his lips more firmly against yours, smiling through the kiss.

At the end of the night, after everything is over, the Mind Flayer is gone, and both Hopper and Billy are dead, Steve meets you in the back of an ambulance.

Having already been checked and cleared by the EMTs himself, he cautiously takes a seat next to you as you’re getting your wounds cleaned. He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers almost nervously. When you look at him, he’s already looking over at you, a small smile on his face. You gently squeeze his hand, smiling back at him.

That night, Steve takes you home and, like he did the previous year, offers to spend the night with you. This time, you accept his offer, leading him inside.

[neptunes-curse]

[neptunes-curse]

i only have eyes for you. -> g.dunne

WARNINGS: some profanities but nothing not expected in canon

SYNOPSIS: You bit Graham at preschool when you were three years old. The rest, they say, is history. word count: 3,471

TROPES: Friends to lovers, slowburn, hidden relationship

NOTES: Written for this request! Hope you guys enjoy :)

Y/N L/N: You know, I don’t remember the first time I ever met Graham. Sometimes it feels like he was always just a fact of life, that he’d always been there and he always would be. 

Graham Dunne: She bit me the first time we ever met. First day of Pre-K 3, and I stole the plastic giraffe she was playing with, and she bit me. I don’t know what happened, but by the time both of our mothers arrived at the school, we’d gotten past the biting thing and were best friends. 

1958

“Oh, Graham Cracker,” you sang, flying down the front steps of the elementary school, your hair, tied up in little red satin ribbons, streaming behind you. Graham was at the curb, pulling his red Schwinn bicycle carefully out of the bike rack. He had gotten it from his mother for his ninth birthday, and it quickly became his prized possession. It was shortly before Halloween, and you were sinking deeper into a Pennsylvania autumn, deep red leaves bigger than your hand falling in droves from the Maples in front of the building and twirling in the breeze around the figure of your best friend. 

Graham turned at his nickname, grinning and raising a hand to wave when his pale eyes lit on you. His curls had grown a little too long, unruly, you noted, caressing the collar of his brown corduroy jacket. 

“Walk home together?” he asked, once you came to a stop in front of him on the sidewalk. You adjusted the straps of your school bag on your shoulders, pulling the sleeves of your jacket down against the cold. 

“But you biked,” you said, motioning to the Schwinn. He’d had it for a good few months now, but it still gleamed like it was brand new. This didn’t surprise you– you often saw him sitting on the front stoop, bike leaning against his knees and a polish rag in his hand.

“I’ll walk it home with you,” he shrugged, and before you could respond he started down the sidewalk, leaving you no choice but to fall in step beside him. 

“I want to check out books on the Titanic tomorrow when we go, so you’ve got to help me find the good ones,” you informed him. The next day was Thursday, and the two of you had spent every Thursday afternoon since first grade at the library. Each week you had some new topic you wanted to read up on, and Graham, who was far less interested in even opening a book, seemed perfectly happy to follow you around the stacks, carrying your ever-growing pile of books for you as you scoured the shelves for the ones you wanted. 

“Titanic is boring,” Graham said. “You should check out books about sharks. Or raptors. You know, other things that like to bite.” 

“Don’t start with that,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “You bite your best friend one time, and suddenly it’s the only thing he ever talks about.” 

“I have a scar!” he shouted, waving his pale wrist in your direction. The scar in question was miniscule, barely a millimeter where one of your sharp baby teeth had managed to break the skin in the incident. 

“That just means you always have a reminder of me!” 

1961

“It’s not a big deal, goose,” Graham told you. Rolling your eyes at the nickname (“Geese like to bite, like someone else I know.”) you turned to where he was sprawled out on your bed, cheek squished against your blankets as he, in turn, watched you pace in front of your closet. At twelve, he had finally passed you in height, and considerably so. His hair was still a little too long and shaggy, but now it was a choice of style rather than his mother being too busy to take him for a haircut. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said patiently, turning back to the closet. “It’s middle school, Graham. I can’t walk in there looking like a lamb.” 

Yours and Graham’s first day of middle school was looming a few days in the distance, and you’d been worrying yourself sick over making the right first impression. You didn’t want to look too young, still stuck in elementary school, but you didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard, either. You envied the ease at which Graham seemed to be making the transition; with his considerable growth spurt and the new, sharper edges of his cheekbones and jaw, he could still wear his usual corduroy pants and pullovers and still look older, new. 

“You’ll be the best-dressed girl there, whatever you choose,” he responded, and the authority in his voice almost made you believe him. 

“And what makes you say that,” you said instead, hand on your hip as you leveled him with a look. 

“You’re the best everything girl in this town, you oughta know that by now,” he attempted to shrug in his horizontal position. You turned back to the closet without a word, hoping against god that Graham hadn’t seen the blush blazing in your cheeks. More and more often lately, Graham’s words invoked that reaction in you. You brushed the observation away, collecting yourself before nonchalantly turning back to him. 

“If that’s the case, why don’t you pick out my outfit?” you asked. 

“If it means we can go do something else after, then sure,” he said, picking himself up off the bed. He crossed the room to your closet in two large, easy strides, peering at the options over your shoulder. 

“This one,” he said after a minute of deliberation, pulling a red pleated skirt and sweater set out, holding them in front of your face. “You always look best in red.” 

You took the hangers from him, taking in the nonchalant but sincere look on his face. You didn’t quite know what to do with these compliments that Graham gave so freely, at random. You were getting to the age where some of the kids at school were going steady, or at least copying what they thought their older siblings were doing when they were going steady. You were sure you didn’t feel that way about Graham. Mostly. You had no idea what it meant to feel that way, anyhow. 

“Well, red it is, then,” you said, hanging the chosen outfit up on your closet door. “Let’s bike downtown to get ice cream.” 

1963

“You promised me, goose.”

“I thought you were joking! That’s so much time and effort, and it’s summer.” 

You and Graham were walking a lazy, winding path through the neighborhood. It was an unusually sweltering June, and school just let out for the summer. You’d had absolutely no plans for how to spend the next few months, until Graham reminded you that, back in the winter, you had promised you would let him teach you how to play guitar. 

“Why would I be joking?” Graham asked, looking at you strangely. 

“I don’t know, because that kind of thing is going to take a lot of time,” you shrugged. It’s not that you thought that Graham didn’t want to spend time with you more. It’s just that things had changed. In some ways, you had always known it was bound to happen: you couldn’t be Graham’s only best friend forever. Over the last year, he had gotten a lot closer with Eddie Roundtree and Warren Rojas. You had no problems with them– you quite liked them, actually, both were funny and kind and always said hello to you in the hallway even though you yourself weren’t friends with them– but they took up so much of Graham’s time these days. You felt stupid about it, but the truth was you felt a little jilted. Jealous, maybe. You missed your Graham Cracker. 

And now there was this: Graham insisting on teaching you guitar. A skill that would require practice every day. Hours and hours a week. Inadvertently, Graham was pledging hours and hours to you over the course of these languid, humid months. You put up a fuss, but you knew that you would have agreed to whatever Graham wanted to do, just to get the time with him. 

“Okay, fine. If you want to so badly,” you relented, and Graham let out a little cheer. 

“I’ll give you my old guitar until we can get you something better,” he said. “Come over my house tomorrow morning, we’ll start right away.”

1967

“So, we’re really doing this? Forming a band?” 

You were sitting on the back steps of the Dunne house, peering up at the two Dunne brothers standing in front of you. Warren was sitting on the steps with you, Eddie standing on your other side and leaning against the railing. Over high school, Warren and Eddie had gone from being Graham’s best friends, to yours, too. They slammed into your life with a fun, somehow easygoing relentlessness, Eddie showing up to teach you how to play a song he loves on the guitar, Warren staying with you all night the first time you got high and it sent you into an awful panic attack. If you were going to form a band, you guessed that these four would be the best to do it with. 

“Yeah, why not?” Graham asked. 

“Hell, you’ve convinced me,” Warren said, dissolving into laughter. You shook your head fondly at him; he was higher than space. 

“Alright, let’s do it,” you nodded, locking eyes with Graham as a grin spread across his face. 

Graham Dunne: Oh, sure, I remember exactly when I realized I had a crush on her. We were eight. It was the dead of winter, last day of school before Christmas break. A huge snowstorm had swept through the night before, and I was waiting out in the cold by the bike rack so we could walk home together. She came out wearing this navy blue coat and matching hat, and she contrasted so much against all that snow. I mean, she was striking. I didn’t know what beautiful was, then, but I was thinking it of her. That never really left me, not the whole rest of the time we were growing up. 

Y/N L/N: I don’t think I ever knew I liked Graham as more than a friend, not even all the way through high school. It just never occurred to me that I could like him like that. He was Graham, my Graham, the little boy I had bitten when we were three and who had been my best friend ever since. My brain couldn’t compute changing the way I felt about him, even if my heart had already made up its mind. All that changed, of course, after we got to Los Angeles. 

“Hey, we’re going to the market, you wanna come?”  Warren leaned against the doorframe to the living room, Eddie and Karen idling in the hall behind him. You and Graham were in the living room, him stretched out across the couch watching television, and you sprawled on the floor on your stomach, flipping through a copy of Rolling Stone Magazine. 

“No, thanks guys,” you smiled up at them, before returning to your magazine. 

“I’m good here,” Graham responded, too. Warren shrugged, and the three of them headed down the hall. You kept your eyes on the magazine, waiting to hear the front door close and the van start up. 

As soon as you heard the van peeling out of the drive, you stood and practically tackled Graham on the couch. He laughed, large, calloused hands coming to grip your hips and steady you. Your knees went to either side of his waist, hands splayed across his chest as you looked down at him. 

“Graham Cracker,” you grinned, and he rolled his eyes at the nickname. Beautiful eyes, you always thought. Like sea glass, or tide pools, or the Pittsburgh sky on a perfect August day. Mesmerizing even when he was rolling them at you in exasperation. Especially when. 

“Goose,” he acknowledged, smirking at his own use of your annoying nickname. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting to it, instead carrying on with what you were going to say. 

“We’re alone,” you said, adopting the most innocent voice inflection you could manage. 

“That we are,” he nodded his head against the arm of the couch. 

“You gonna do something about it?” 

“Hmm, maybe,” he said, pretending to think about it for a moment before tugging you forward by your belt loops. You laughed, head falling back even as the rest of you fell forward, and Graham began pressing kisses to the exposed ridge of your collarbone. You murmured his name, still laughing, and ducked your head down to capture his lips with yours, listening satisfactorily to the hum of contentment he let out. 

You had all made it out to Los Angeles about a month ago, and things had changed between you and Graham almost immediately. You don’t know what did it– the thrill of change, the possibility of your future, the brand new city– but suddenly you saw Graham in all his glory, not just your life-long best friend, but a man who was sweet and caring, bashful, strong, beautiful. Everything. He had always been everything to you, you just hadn’t been able to see it. And as soon as you could see it, there was nothing to stop you from attaching to one another and never letting go. 

You kept it all on the down-low, of course. Nobody else needed to know, and that’s how you both felt. The rest of the band catching wind of the change in your relationship would only lead to teasing, or them eternally poking their nose into stuff that really really was not their business. Keeping it just between you meant getting to revel in it alone, not to mention the inherent thrill of sneaking around. 

“Let’s go up to your room, hmm?” you said breathlessly, detaching your mouth from his just long enough to get the words out. 

“Sounds good,” Graham said immediately. In one swift motion, he stood from the couch, gripping your thighs and picking you up with him as he stood. You linked your arms around his neck, trying not to giggle like an idiot at the thought of how easy it was for him to lift you. Graham didn’t look it at first glance, but fuck was he strong. 

He carried you up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom, tossing you on the bed and kicking the door closed with his foot. You sat up, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt as soon as he was close enough and tugging him down onto the mattress with you. Just as Graham’s fingers went to the button of your shorts, you heard the front door swing open and the low murmur of voices. 

“Honeys, we’re home!” Warren shouted and then laughed at himself. “Market’s closed, we’re going out to the diner instead.” 

You sighed, closing your eyes and flopping back against the pillow. Graham dropped his head, curls tickling the skin over your breastbone.

“They really have great timing,” you muttered, unable to stop the laugh that escaped you. 

“We could just tell them, you know,” Graham mused. “That way we could stay home and pick up where they interrupted.” 

“Oh yeah, do you wanna be the one to say ‘we can’t come to the diner with you ‘cause we were about to bone’, or shall I?” you asked, raising an eyebrow and Graham laughed, rolling over to lay on his back next to you. 

“Alright, you got me there. Let’s go,” he said finally, standing up from the bed. You followed him out the door, bounding down the steps ahead of him. A minute later Graham followed, joining the rest of you in the living room. 

“Finally,” Eddie exclaimed, “I’m fuckin’ starving.” 

* * *

Six months into living in Los Angeles, and you and Graham had gotten a little careless. Well, actually, you’d gotten way too confident. If the rest of your friends hadn’t caught you yet, you figured, there was little chance they ever would. And now with everyone working so hard all the time, it seemed that nobody had the time to stop and think about how the two of you sat practically on top of each other in the living room, or the way you were always standing flush against one another’s sides. The hints were all there, but no one was picking them up. 

“I want to take you out,” Graham said. The two of you were sitting on the beach, watching the sun dip lower and lower past the horizon after a long afternoon of surfing. Or, rather, of Graham trying to teach you how to surf, and you only starting to catch on right at the end. 

“What do you mean, Dunne?” you asked, turning to face him. His nose and cheeks were red with a little sunburn, the faintest spray of freckles cropping up in the area. His eyes were almost supernaturally light in the golden glow of sunset. 

“I want to take you on a date,” Graham said. “And a real one, not one where we just happen to be hanging out alone. I want to take you to dinner, I want to offer you my jacket when it gets chilly as we leave, I want to bring you flowers, all of it.” 

“Okay,” you said slowly, turning over the warm images it brought to mind. “Well, let’s do it. Let’s go someplace fancy to eat. I’ll wear a dress and those earring you got me– you remember, those gold hoops you gave me after graduation?– and I’ll steal your jacket and kiss you under a streetlamp and take you home with me. We can do all of it.”

Graham pulled you in close and you rested your head on his chest. He smelled like sea salt and coconut sunscreen and the briny breeze sweeping in from the dock down the beach. 

“If we do that, the jig is up,” he said after a minute. “They’ll find out.” 

“So let them find out,” you sighed. “Let them freak out, let them tease, because I know they will, but one day they’ll get bored of it and move on and all the while we can go on a hundred fancy dates. I want that for us.” 

Graham angled his chin down as you looked up, catching his eyes and the surprised, apprehensive look on his face. “You do?” 

“Yeah, what did you think? I know we’ve been sneaking around, but it’s not because I wasn’t sure of us. You’re it, Graham, you have been since we were three years old,” you told him earnestly. 

“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for, like, two decades,” Graham said, laughing in relief as he pulled your face in for a kiss. 

* * * 

The date had been everything you ever imagined it would be and more. You wore a slinky red dress and matching heels, the hoops Graham had given you years ago flashing amongst the strands of your hair whenever the light hit. Graham took you to a beautiful restaurant, the kind with little lamps on each of the tables, where patrons smoked cigarettes from golden cigarette cases through mother-of-pearl cigarette holders. He draped his jacket over your shoulders on the walk back to the car, and, as promised, you kissed him in the dim yellow glow of a streetlamp. 

You came home, both a little drunk off of expensive champagne, Graham’s arm wrapped securely around your waist as you stumbled over the threshold and into the house. Everyone else was sitting in the living room when you got back, ogling you curiously as you walked in. 

“And where have you been?” Karen asked, the first to break the silence. 

“On a date,” you said simply. 

“With who?” Warren asked. 

The two of you pointed to each other. 

“Wait, are you fucking serious?” This came from Billy, who had untangled himself from Camila in order to sit up and process the situation. “The two of you finally figured your shit out?”

“Oh, man, I never thought you’d have the balls to ask her out,” Warren laughed, tipping his head back against the back of the couch. 

“Oh, shut up, Rojas,” Graham said, rolling his eyes. 

“I figured you’d been dating when I met you in elementary school,” Camila said, smiling warmly at the two of you. “I’m glad that’s finally true.” 

“Thanks, Cami,” you grinned. “Now, uh, we’ll see you guys later.”

You pulled Graham away from them and to the stairs, ignoring the teasing and jeers emanating loudly from the living room. 

[neptunes-curse]

hi m!!! what do you think about bf!pete getting his wisdom teeth out? and the reader taking care of him?? hed be so funny lmao xxD

-🧸

pairing: bf!peter parker x reader w/c: 750 a/n: hi anon!! thnk u for requesting i had sm fun writing this! :)

you’re sat at the dentist's office, cooped up in those uncomfortable chairs while you anxiously waited for your boyfriend’s surgery to finish.  

when peter ranted and moaned nonstop over his constant toothache, may decided enough was enough, and took it upon herself to set an appointment for her nephew. he wasn’t too keen on the idea. peter wasn’t afraid of anything ninety-nine percent of the time. dentists, however, wasn’t one of them. 

“can’t you stay here with me?” 

“stay? baby, no they’re gonna be drilling in your teeth.”

“but i-”

“and it’s gonna be bloody and nasty and i don’t wanna have to see all that.”

you turn towards him, only to come face to face with the boy’s horrified look, his eyes are wide and skin pale, mouth open in shock. you cringe at your response.

“but,” you stand, “you’re gonna do amazing, you’re gonna sit here and let the dentist do his magic.” you smile and lean down to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead.

“y/n/n, wait but-” you drop his hand on the way out, “bye, love you baby! be good!”

“y/n!”

two hours later swing by when a woman in navy scrubs comes to get you, announcing that peter is out of surgery. 

you knew that he would be high out of his mind on laughing gas, you just didn’t think it would be this bad. 

when you enter, the dentist is off to the side, looking over charts, packing a care bag for his patient.

peter’s head lulls towards your touch on his shoulder and slowly blinks at your presence. 

“hi baby, how you feeling?” you give him a beaming smile.

your boyfriend does his best to muster the same grin, but the amount of gauze in his mouth makes his rosy cheeks puff out, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth.

peter takes a moment to stare at you, “woaahh” he languidly slurs his words, “you’re so pretty.” 

you giggle at the comment when the boy gasps in horror, “wait, wait, i have a girlfriend, and she’s-” he looks up at you worriedly and slaps his forehead, “i’m in trouble.”

you can’t help but let out a laugh, he’s so dopey. 

your fingers touch the bottom of his chin gently and lift his head, “i’m your girlfriend, silly.” 

a loud gasp escapes peter as his face turns ecstatic, “get out!” you giggle at his reaction, the dentist glances over at you two and offers an admiring smile.

“so do we have sex?”

the awkward silence in the room kills you. 

your face blushes, as you shake your head and clear your throat, “peter, no.”

“no?!” he sighs in disappointment, “aw man.” your boyfriend pouts at the floor, “what have i been doing with my life.”

“oh my god, pete,” when the dentist turns away, you whisper and offer him a shrug, “sometimes we do.”

the delight on his face returns and his eyes go wide, “really?!”

the boy seriously has no filter.

as you’re packing his things, peter pauses and pokes his cheeks, “wait y/n,” he pauses, “my face kinda feels weird.”

you look around and hand him a mirror from the counter, “oh my god…” peter gingerly touches his face as you kneel down at him, “what’s wrong, baby?”

“my face… it’s so fat!” he’s got tears in his eyes and whining with a jutted bottom lip, “y/n,” sniffle. “will-” sniffle. “will you still love me if my face is so fat?” 

you roll your eyes and smile at his antics, “of course, i would.”

he seems pleased with your answer because he’s back to smiling. you go back to packing his things. “hey, mr dentist,” he woozily slurs, the gauze is practically spilling out his mouth, “d’you know i’m spider-man?”

you mentally facepalm at his obliviousness and mutter, “jesus christ.”

you turn to the older man who’s chuckling at his mental state and shrug, “he also thinks he’s luke skywalker from star wars.”

“but i am!-” “okay bug boy, lets go.”

“where we going?”

“home, sweetie.”

he gasps eagerly and raises his eyebrows at you, “to have sex?”

“oh my god.”

soon after the dentist explains and hands you everything he needs to recover, you guide peter to the car. 

he’s extremely dramatic. 

he’s got his hands around your shoulders, dragging himself on the floor, acting like he can’t walk - which he definitely can.

“peter, i know you can walk. c’mon help me out,” you beg.

“no, i can’t" he moans, "carry me,” he demands.

“what? no,”

“why not?”

“because you’re too heavy.”

and he’s crying all over again, “i knew it! you hate me 'cause you think my face is too fat!”