finitedog

[finitedog]

Daggers & Daffodils Chap.31

dagur x reader

If your name starts with k and you're my mutual (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE): do not read this

Thanks for the kind words, everyone, fortunately the data set was destroyed from the scrape! Got me in such a good mood I sped up the process on this one a little.

I haven't been this motivated and excited to write for D&d in years. To the point that I even drafted a concept for a Viggo fic. But that's for much later. This chapter has a dream sequence in the beginning so sorry if anyone gets confused. Also, this chapter is THE delulu fan service chapter.

edit: I quite literally finished the entire chapter. then had the damn draft deleted. Thankfully my beta reader saved about over half of it but sorry for the delay.

Soft. 

It's the best description for the feeling of your hair wrapped in his hand. A small strand, gently stretched and curled around his index and middle fingers. 

The summers of Berserk, much like her people, burned hot and shined bright. The sun fills the entirety of the room despite the early hours, casting a golden sheen onto your still peacefully resting form. 

He had mentally begged for this moment. When his home would become yours. It was strange, he hadn't been home in years, but nothing could pry the pride he felt for the rough yet beautiful island. Maybe that's why he loves you so much, you remind him of home. 

Dagur, careful not to tug against your scalp, unwinded the strand from his fingers, raising them to his face. 

No matter how long you bathed you still smelled like your herb garden. When he was younger it used to tickle his nose. But now, just a faint whiff of basil made his mind race with you.

Dagur wasn't a humble man. So, he had no difficulty in calling it his greatest gift to you yet. It took months to finish, and it would have taken longer if Dagur hadn't put the fear of Odin into those poor builders. 

But oh, did it pay off. The way you wrapped your arms around his neck and thanked him before scurrying away to play with your new collection. The way you were now more than content to spend your days within the safety of your shared home. The way you whispered sweet nothings into his ear as he laid his head in your lap on the lush grass. 

It was only right that his final betrothal gift outshone all others. 

Dagur's eyes dropped to the many small gold ringlets and more sentimental trinkets Heather had braided and pinned into your hair on your wedding day.

Dagur was almost confident the reason that he could never imagine the wedding itself was because it would be impossible for his unconscious mind to imitate. But this was a blessing enough. 

"You're staring" your eyes didn't open, but the smirk in the corner of your mouth struggled not to reach your ear. 

"Hard not to" a scoffed laugh breaks your attempt to remain at rest. 

 You were looking at him now. Only him. Bliss. 

 He made no attempts to hide the pleased sigh when your hand reached for his face. "Then I'll have to let you do it more often". The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as your fingers lightly combed and scratched the small unshaven stubble across his chin. 

The way your eyes glazed over with thoughts of your own left him giddy. Would you like it if he grew it out? He loved the way your eyes roamed over him. 

Your interest was apparent when he found you on the reaper. He knew you still loved him. The way your breath would hitch when he leaned in, your face would turn pink when he did anything ‘scandalous’. 

"You have that stupid smile again. What are you thinking?" You chastise, slowing your movements into long smooth tracings along his jaw. 

 "...my wife" it was said entirely to himself. A silent reverence at the mere idea. 

 you gave him a look, expectant and waiting "...Yes?". 

 His heart stopped. Or it felt like it did. 

That was it. The final straw. The crack in the wall. The bludgeon to the head. The chase was fun at times he'll admit. But not anymore, he's done playing. This was meant to be his years ago. Stolen from him because his brother decided he wasn't what was best for you anymore. Dagur wants his wife back. And by Thor, not Hiccup or any of his little riders were getting in the way of that. You were waiting for him. 

Basil, mint, and something sweet invaded his senses as you pressed yourself into his chest, gold and beads jingling lightly, resting gently and cool against his skin. 

"You keep leaving when things start getting good" he attempted to joke, but it came out bittersweet and tired. 

"Hurry up and find me then" 

 A part of it drove Dagur mad. To see such a tangible and pure vision of heaven only to have it stolen from him as a sharp stabbing pain in his rib jolted him awake. 

"Get up, we're here" Dagur's hand twitched violently as he woke. Though when he registered the source of his unwanted wake-up call he quickly set aside his rampant thoughts of brutal murder looking up to the crossed armed form of his sister. 

"You know. You catch a lot more flies with honey than vinegar" Heather scoffed as he rose slowly. Rolling his shoulder. 

"Well, you're not a fly. You're a flea, who needs to hop to it and get out" she said dryly, despite how ridiculous it sounded. Dagur huffed a laugh, it was good to see he wasn't the only one in the family with a sense of humor. Hiccup was a lost cause for more reasons than one, you had your moments, and dear old mom and dad weren't exactly coming up with one liners anymore. 

..... Damn it 

The air tightened as the tired yet playful expression on Dagur's face dropped. Heather held her ground, finally having gotten to understand him enough to not shift uncomfortably. 

Dreaming again. 

Dagur had been ecstatic when Heather had approached him about reconnecting as siblings and rebuilding their tribe. She hadn't expected him to believe her so readily.

 Sure, he had said he would welcome her with open arms when she came crawling back, but she didn't expect him to be there with LITERAL open arms. 

But he did, even as the crew fixed her with sharp and threatening glares, he warned every. Single. One of them that anyone who so much as bothered her would answer to him. 

She learned about his... Routine early on. The same recurring dream. Not his only one mind you, but the only one that mattered in his mind. 

He described it like the world was giving him a vision. Warning? 

It took all of Heather's willpower to keep a neutral expression as he raved about the garden thing he was planning and something about Basil. 

She was becoming fairly confident that she could fairly predict her brothe- Dagur! 

She really had to not make a habit of doing that. 

It made the most sense that to stay undercover in his good graces it was best to feed into his delusions, as guilty as it made her feel towards you.

Though you did lie to her about being engaged with her brother. Calling it even seemed fair. And in truth, now that she was in her right mind and had time to calm down, she knew it wasn't you or any of the rider's fault.

She would have kept that detail to herself too. 

It's why she was doing this. Firstly, it was to avenge her village and get close to Viggo. But knowing she could keep an eye out for the riders made her feel strong. Like she could finally keep the people she cares about safe.

"Same dream?" Dagur didn't answer, not at first.

"Are you going to be able to do this? " That finally got his attention. His face twisting in mock offence. 

"Oh, ho ho I can handle myself against hiccup and his little" he cleared his throat, "riders" he said changing his voice to be higher and nasilier in a mock imitation of Hiccup. 

 "I'm not talking about the other riders" she presses, being stern.

"..." She thought for a moment before deciding to continue "she could get hurt if you're not careful". 

 "I'm always careful-" 

 "No, you're not" she dead panned, pushing her luck. 

"Every time you make a move on Hiccup, Toothless, or the dragon eye. Something goes wrong".

Dagur kept his temper, but he was still put off by his sister's insistence. He honestly didn't get irritated with her often.

"Hiccup and his little riders will be halfway across the archipelago with that blabbermouth Johann. We just need to grab the undefended dragon eye and wait for them to come back and spring an ambush" it was said, remarkably casual despite the sinister twisted smile he wore. Likely finding amusement in how she began to pace 

 "You couldn't have told me that sooner?"Heather couldn't help the bubbling anger in her chest. The entire plan was last minute (to her at least), and she hadn't been given enough time to warn you all. To make things worse Ryker was always hovering, keeping a close eye on how many messengers and terrors were on hand. He didn't trust her, that was obvious. 

"Hey, you're the one all stressed out about meeting Viggo, though it would do you some good to relax for a change". 

Knowing Hiccup, he never would have ignored trader Johann's distress call. That means that much to her dismay, Dagur's plan was brilliant. If Ryker wouldn't listen, he was her only hope for calling the whole thing off. 

"I just think this all feels off" she moved to avoid eye contact. Dagur's light demeanor dropped. Replaced with skepticism. 

"You're not scared, are you?" she rolled her eyes. "Hardly, I just don't need you getting excited over little miss Haddock and screwing this all up" she went on the offensive. 

She failed to notice the way pupils got deadly small, and his back straightened while she was turned away. "With the plan to double cross Viggo still so vague, maybe we should leave her and the others alone for a bit?". 

"I'm bringing my wife home" he said matter of factly. 

 "Your wife? Dagur, stop being crazy. You're not even married. You can stand to wait a couple-" With a sharp turn her breath hitched at the imposing form of her brother. 

 "I'm bringing my wife home" Neither moved. Forcing herself not to swallow the thick tension and saliva in her throat she put on the best smile she could. 

 "Ok. Just a thought" Shit, she pushed it too far. 

He stared at her like a wolf looks at a sheep. Calculating and dangerous, challenging her to look away. 

"Pfft" his mouth and nose twitched as Dagur tried and failed to stiffen the bubbling laughter growing in his chest. 

Heather looked at her brother mortified. She takes it back; she doesn't understand him at all.

Dagur nearly choked and cried, ribs burning as a hand clutched the side of his face like it would fall off. Thankfully this seemed to keep him from registering the abject fear, confusion, and disdain pooling from his sister, "The look on your face!".

She needed to get the Hel out of here already.

 -------- 

Ruff is gone. Tuff is overstimulated. Astrid is entering battle mode. And Scabbard's tail is starting to make your neck itch. These are the four things you allow yourself to process at the moment, in fear of a mental breakdown.

"Ok what's the plan? We need to get my sister back" Tuff was breathless from running up the stairs. Astrid was holding herself together firmly, swiftly scanning over the map of the edge before jotting down an SOS message and handing it to you, "first thing is back-up. Scabbard is our fastest Terror so we can only hope this message reaches the auxiliary team".

You press your head against your sweet angel of terror before with a slight jostle tossed her into the air towards Berk. 

"How do we know she'll get there in time?!" Tuff asks, struggling not to bounce off the walls with his jittery movements. 

"We don't" 

"Well, how do we know they'll get back here in time?"

"We don't"

"There is a terrible lack of clarity in those answers!" Astrid put a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. 

 "It's all going to be ok, Tuffnut. We're going to hold down this edge, defend this base, and we will get your sister back, okay?". 

"There is no possible way we can defend the edge against an all-out attack with only one flyable dragon. But maybe we can slow them down until help gets here of, we use our spears and arrows sparingly--" 

 "Wait! I know an even better way to slow them down" Astrid tried to cut him off, but Tuff put his foot down, "no you need to hear this, Astrid!". 

She looked at you for a moment as if looking for backup. The conversation from earlier sounded in her mind. And with a sigh she told him to continue. "Ok, well, as you know, tricking is my area of expertise. I'm kind of the official edge trickster. What if we tricked them into thinking there are more of us than there are".

Tuff began to ramble, jumping into action and listing countless inane and wild ideas. While she did wince more than twice. You could see her push down any snide comments and move to prepare.

"Would you be able to make something?!" Tuff was now right in your face, ignoring personal space. 

"Like?--"

"Acid! Poison? Acidic Poison!" you tugged him out of your bubble by the ear. 

"I'm a doctor, Tuff. Not an Assassin" He paused.

"I thought you were a witch. I didn't say anything about an assassin" giving you an unconvinced onceover. before slowly backing out of the clubhouse without turning his back to you.

Poison was absolutely out of the question. But maybe Tuff was on to something. Ok two things. The Ziplines he set up were a miracle on your feet. 

Back in your hut you rushed to test a theory. Silver Tongue growled in a low bellow and hiss to the dreaded root.  

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm not supposed to have this near the huts, but I need to be sure of something".  Grinding root, boiling extract, refining, you set yourself to work. The dragon root that had done this to him was a cruel and vile tactic for cowards. But something about Tuff calling you a witch that made you think. 

'Hiccup does reckless things all the time when he has an idea'

Carefully, you slide the bottle towards Silver Tongue.

"So? How do you feel?" your breath hitched as he began to twitch eyelids flickering. 

'nononononono---' his twitches stopped in favor of chuff-like coughs.

"I'm so sorry! I thought I did it right-" splat

Wet. And then the unmistakable sound of amusement from your dragon.

This rotten eel brain just sneezed on you, and to top it off, he also splashed the bottle contents on you.

"Ugh you're disgusting!" he mimicked your outrage with garble noises.

"You're lucky I'm just glad you're ok" it worked, a neutralized dragonroot, gods above you would be so ecstatic if you weren't so tired.

Actually, now that you were thinking of it, you weren't this tired a few moments ago. You could faintly make out the sound of concern from Silver Tongue before you hit the ground. 

Why was your body so heavy? I mean, you 're supposed to get rest anyways. What was the harm in resting for a bit? Not too long, just enough to rest your hand a bit.

Freja above you thought you closed the curtains. The sun was blinding you...

The sun?

Ignoring the foggy headache, you sat up blearily. You fell asleep! A large head shoved itself into your chest.

Silver Tongue. He still smelled like salmon and sea bass.

"Sorry" it sounded pathetically drowsy and yawn-like, "I guess this can be useful too".

A sleeping drought this effective would certainly go for a good price, and you wouldn't put combat use out of the question. Especially since it seemed to be ineffective against dragons. 

Dragons.... SILVER TONGUE

Fully awake you took in the gravity of your situation. 

Silver Tongue wasn't going to be able to be moved to the pens. That was the harsh reality of his condition. You couldn't move him this close to a likely attack. Gods above, they probably needed you. You swiftly closed all your windows and doors, sure to lock your compost bin, shed, and garden gate.

"Tuff you genius" ignoring the slight sting from your bandaged hand you held firm on the handle of the zipline. 

"Y/N! About time that you got here" Astrid yelled from the catapult. Tuff was manning the ballista taking out a ship.

"Slept in" Tuff let out a jealous huff before his eyes caught on the half empty bottle strapped to your waist. 

"Acidic poison! I knew it! An assassin in our midst! Someone warn the chief!" he was cut off by a loud boom. A fiery boulder smashing into one of the hunters' ships. 

"Perfect aim as always Astrid" She held back the pride you undoubtedly gave her.

"it's not over yet".

 -------- 

First you shot down ships until you ran out of ammo, next were the fire lines. Careful not to start a forest fire, but enough to deter them from the side of the mountains with underground tunnels. You spent what must have been ages managing the south side of the island rolling logs onto hiking hunters. 

Currently, you sit on the ground, cleaning and rewrapping your hand for the third time. The cut was closed still, thankfully, lightly scabbed over, but the friction from the bandages and rushing around the edge left it pink and sore. Astrid had sent you off to wait in the clubhouse while she launched her final defense.

Tuff meanwhile busied himself, carving a path into the floorboards as he listed more and more wild ideas.

Now it was his time to shine. 

Some held promise, the ziplines were already amazing. But others were... on the more alternative wave of thinking. But as someone who grew up with Hiccups innovation and Dagur's mood swings you were more than trained in dealing with it.

The sun was setting. That meant limited daylight, decreased visibility, and doubtlessly another attempt to break past your defenses. 

"There you are!" Tuff called as Astrid dismounted, somber and defeated, "Listen I've been thinking a lot and--".

"It's over Tuff. We tried but there's just too many of them. My plan didn't work" for a moment so one said anything. Before Tuff broke into a big smile, "I found the Dragon Eye. Someone buried it".

Astrid swiped it from his hand, "I did that, to keep it from the hunters".

"You want to be captured and tortured by crazed Dragon Hunters, or listen to plan Tuffnut?" Astrid gave a look the closest to fear you've ever seen her make.

Relenting she sighed, "What do we have to lose".

 --------

For once the anxiety that had plagued you all day had been temporarily replaced. Mind you, with guilt. But also... satisfaction. 

"Ropes soaked with monstrous Nightmare gel? I wouldn't have thought of that" Astrid complimented Tuff.

"I really hope this doesn't become a complex" you held back a smile at the choked and scared realization of the hunters. In one swift move, Stormfly ignited the ropes dangling down the sides of the cliffs. Sending the invaders crashing down into the water.

wait a minute, they were starting to get higher.

"What's next?" Tuff gave Astrid a sly grin. 

"You're gonna love this"

Tuff was quick to rush towards the Docks. Astrid looked at you carefree and excited for the first time in weeks, "If it works, I guess" and took off after him.

Something was nagging the back of your brain.

"It's fine just pick four things to focus on", you closed your eyes;

One. 

          The Wind- inhale-cool against your skin, picking up speed; a sign of rain, hailing from the north

Two. 

           Hand Pain- exhale-stinging, constant, getting worse, probably not the best thing to focus on right now

Three 

            Crashing Waves-inhale- just faint enough to make out.....

Shit!

Your hut! If the hunters managed to climb this high, it wouldn't be much further until they could reach your hut. You ran to the nearest zipline as fast as you could. 

Halfway down the line a sharp pain shot from your palm to your spine, sending you plummeting downwards. 

Crack

Burning, your hand was burning. The bandages wrapping it were tattered and practically gone. The wound was reopened. No doubt about it; it would scar.

That wasn't what scared you most, the growing cool and wet feeling growing across your abdomen felt like a question you didn't want answered.

With shaky fingers, you dragged a hand across the damp cloth and raised it to your nose.

Met with a familiar and pungent odor you quickly took them away from your face and stripped off your coat and apron.  

"Just the drought" ignoring the sting, you balanced yourself and stood.

"Can't even take your own advice. And you call yourself a doctor" you chastise trying to slow your breathing.

not now. Just a bit longer.

"Four things. Then I'm back home";

One.

Moonlight, bright enough to walk without need for a torch-inhale- you pulled yourself onto a path above you that would lead to the main path

Two.

Sweet herbal oils, scent still staining your hair and invading your senses- exhale-You swapped paths twice, finding your staircase and bracing your knees for an uphill battle, literally

Three

waves faint, but still loud enough to hear from the hut- inhale-you run up the last of the stairs, hut in plain sight now

Four

The creak of the open gate in the wind- you don't breathe- there's someone in your garden

______

Thanks for finishing the chapter. Special thanks to my two beta readers!

OK so update.

To celebrate over 40k reads across all platforms I have some oneshots planned,

Some will be cannon to D&D, others will be au's such as

Dagur x yandere/reader (role swap au)

The Summer Dagur tried to kidnap you to Berserk (canon)

Requests are open!

Taglist

~~~~

@demogorgon-master1

@mj-jabami

@alicee-carter

@amearla

@milenaester14

@jellystar-star

@generouswolfdetective

@yumeimiotsutsuki

@sp4rklinghe4rts

@finitedog

@meowcat52

@actuallyshard

@tribridd

@oldhalloweentape

@sc3ne-k1d

@angelbaby191

[finitedog]

Enemies to lovers, but only one of them thinks they're enemies. The other has been entirely obsessed since the beginning.

Only acceptable way for me to read this trope

[finitedog]

track one: i wanna get off

“Yeah, well,” you throw your leg over his. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re a rockstar.” Steve rubs your thigh now. Up and down, slowly, in soothing rhythms. He turns to you, close enough that your noses brush. Your breaths mix, his air becomes yours, and Steve squeezes the skin beneath his palm.  “I could never forget you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost don’t hear it. But you’re watching his lips. Your ear is pressed over his heart. The swell of his chest anchors your chin. You hear Steve’s promise because it would be impossible not to, and you believe him for these very same reasons as well. 

Summary: a friend from college offers you a job and a place to live. its pretty hard to turn down. free concerts, you get to do what you love, and steve harrington will be your roommate. its a shame hes too pretty for his own good.

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, steve is a slut (endearing), mentions of drugs (argyle)

Words: 15.4k

Before you swing in: SHES HERE !!! MY BABY !!!! ever since writing lonely hearts club ive been craving more band aus and then joe covered gasoline by haim fundamentally altered my brain so naturally i blacked out and outlined an entire series surrounding rockstar!steve so ,,, here we are lmao. this series is different from come home. steve is a bit edgier, more rough and mean but also still the same charming asshole. later there will be some excessive alcohol use and this is a slowburn of weird twisted feelings and messy situationship so ,,, prepare for that !

enjoy :)

-

The usual Sunday morning crowd has staked its claim in the cafe by the time your boots click softly on its tiled floors. Baristas call out names belonging to men in wool jackets and women with small children bundled beneath layers of scarves. 

Freshly fallen snow lines your own wool jacket and falls to the tiled floor when you take it off, draping it across the chair of the first empty table you find. It’s a bit further back in the shop than you would’ve preferred, but it will have to do. Setting your scarf across the other seat in front of you, claiming the chair for yourself, you catch a barista’s eye and smile as you walk to the register. 

You order a black coffee, no milk, only sugar, and a simple vanilla coffee for yourself. The barista tells you the drinks will be ready in a few minutes and you thank her. Heading back to your seat, you hope that you’ve correctly remembered Jonathan’s coffee order.

The last time you saw the man had been at your graduation back in May. You’ve loosely kept in touch since then through sporadic phone calls and gallery openings. Both having majored in photography and the visual arts, your friendship had been built upon red rooms and empty film canisters gallery halls. 

Now, as snow falls and coats New York in pristine white, he’s asked you to meet for coffee. The sudden proposal admittedly confused you, though you accepted the invitation without any hesitation. 

The barista calls your name right as Jonathan stumbles through the cafe’s door. His skin is flushed from the cold and snowflakes ravage his messy brown hair. Hearing your name, Jonathan grabs the drinks from the pick-up counter, spots you sitting in the corner, and quickly makes his way over to you. 

He places the drinks down, wincing when a few drops spill onto the table. “Sorry.”

You wave his apology away and stand, pulling him into a quick hug. “Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “I got you black coffee with sugar. I hope that’s alright?”

“God, of course it is.” Jonathan sits down and takes his scarf off. “You didn’t need to get me anything, you know.”

“Figured you’d be running a little late.” You tease gently, fiddling with the straps of your camera. 

“I’m only five minutes late. I’d consider that a new record in my book.”

“And would Nancy agree?” 

You have fond memories of Nancy from your few interactions with her. She had been majoring in journalism and was in the running for a position at the New York Post the last time you spoke with her. 

“No, probably not.” Jonathan snorts, now taking a sip of coffee. He sets the cup down and then leans over the table, arms bracing his weight. He raises his eyebrows at you. Smiles. “So, catch me up. What’ve I missed?”

“Nothing much,” you admit. “Still doing freelancing.”

“I thought you hated freelancing?”

“Oh, I do. The pay is shit and the clients are almost always shittier. Theater majors are really annoying about ‘capturing their good side’.”

Jonathan frowns. “You’re way too talented to be stuck photographing wannabe actors.”

Now it’s your turn to snort. “We live in New York, Jonathan. We’re surrounded by wannabe actors desperate for camera time.”

“It still feels like a waste of your talent.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” You wink at him playfully. “What about you, though? I think you were everyone’s favorite street photographer at the studio.”

Jonathan blushes at the praise and looks down at his coffee. “Well,” he clears his throat and looks back up. “I’m actually in a band now. A drummer.”

Your mouth falls open. “You’re kidding, right?”

It’s hard to imagine Jonathan Byers as anything other than a photographer. He was arguably one of the best in your class. His work was beautiful with such a natural edginess to offset the delicate scenery. Your professors raved about him whenever they could. His senior thesis gallery was such a success that the school had to prolong its exhibition dates an extra week. 

Jonathan laughs at your disbelief. He’d been expecting it. “I’m serious, Y/N. Sure, I love photography, I always will, but…”

“Music was your first love.” You finish for him, remembering the times you were in his apartment with soft rock records filling the silence as the two of you developed film together. 

“And I don’t regret it.” Jonathan’s fingers tap against the table. A nervous habit he was never able to break, and now you suppose that maybe he was never meant to break it. He shifts slightly in his seat, coughs as a sudden unease settles over him. 

You tilt your head at him. “Why do you look like you’re about to walk into a confessional with a priest?” 

“Christ, Y/N.”

“Correct. He’s who you usually confess your sins to.”

Jonathan sputters out a laugh and his shoulders fall, relaxed after being drawn tightly together moments prior. “Alright, you got me. I didn’t ask you to coffee just to catch up.”

Intrigued, you forward. “If you’re about to ask me to take engagement photos for you and Nancy, please know that I’m too broke to offer you a friend’s discount.”

“We aren’t engaged,” Jonathan’s face is even more red now. “Not yet, at least. But what if I asked if you were interested in being my band’s photographer?”

Your eyes widen slightly. “I’d ask you to elaborate.”

“Look, my band, we’re good, Y/N.” Jonathan tells you, eyes alight more than you’ve ever seen them before. “Sure, we’re still relatively small and you definitely haven’t heard any of our music, but we’re consistently booking three gigs a week. I mean, we can’t pay you any better than freelancing can, but we’d definitely be less shitty than your other clients.”

“Jonathan…”

“I’m not just asking you because you’re painfully talented.” Jonathan shakes his head. “I’m asking you because you were my closest friend in college and we always had fun working together. You have to admit, we made a good team.”

You throw a napkin at him. “Way to guilt trip.”

“I’ll say whatever if it means you say yes.” 

And Jonathan’s sincerity is almost overwhelming. You’re hesitant, but not because you don’t believe him or the offer doesn’t interest you. If anything, you’re actually incredibly interested in being a band’s photographer. Portrait photography was never your favorite medium, and the mundanity of it is slowly driving you insane. 

You’re hesitant because you really, really need money. Freelancing, as unreliable and shitty as it is, at least guarantees enough money to cover rent. But being a photographer for a band no one’s heard of? Not so much. 

“As much as I want to say yes, I meant what I said earlier. I’m too broke, Jonathan. I have to sneak out the backdoor of my apartment building to avoid my landlord because she’s days away from evicting me.” Your head rests in your palm, sighing. “It’s grim.” 

Jonathan, however, doesn’t seem to think that your current financial situation is bleak. If anything, he perks up and fucking smiles at what you’ve said. 

“I’m sorry,” your eyes narrow at him. “But why are you smiling while I’m talking about getting evicted?”

Jonathan flinches at your brewing anger and quickly tries to explain himself. “Sorry, I just-it’s kinda a perfect dilemma?”

“You have five seconds to explain before hot coffee falls in your lap.”

“My bandmates are looking for a roommate!” Jonathan blurts out, unconsciously covering his lap with his hands. Surprised by his own outburst, he clears his throat and lowers his voice to a more neutral tone. “That’s why your dilemma is so perfect. I can talk to them for you, set up a time for you to meet them.”

Seeing that he has your attention now, Jonathan holds a finger up. “But only if you agree to be our photographer.”

Your head spins. It’s almost too perfect of a circumstance. The flesh on your lip stings as you bite down on it, uncertain. You’re tempted. Unbelievably tempted, but you don’t want to say yes just yet.

“Did I mention that they live in the same building as me?” Jonathan smirks, knowing the effect his words will have on you.

His apartment building is gorgeous. Positioned perfectly in the East Village with Tompkins Square a block away and lush green grass in the communal outdoor area reserved only for residents. You’ve complained to him a million times about how you’d kill to have as much outdoor space as he does in your own apartment building. 

That, and it’s one of the few remaining goddamn rent controlled buildings in Manhattan. 

“You’re evil, Jonathan Byers.” You stick your hand out and he laughs, knowing he already has you before you’ve shaken on the deal. “I better not regret this.”

“You won’t.” He promises. 

– 

A few days later you’re checking your watch nervously every few seconds. The silver on your wrist reflects in the moonlight. Small hand on the seven and long hand on the five, you curse under your breath. They’re still not here.

“Y/N!” A feminine voice, familiar, surprises you as two bodies round the corner. 

Recognizing Nancy’s lithe figure and Jonathan’s awkward footsteps, you greet them, relief flooding through you. “Oh, thank god. Thought I was getting stood up.”

Nancy looks pointedly at her boyfriend. “Blame him. We would’ve been here ten minutes earlier had he not insisted on popping into a record store on the way home.”

“It was worth it.” Jonathan holds the record up. The Talking Heads bright and alive in the dim dusk light. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“Save the apologies for later. We still aren’t sure if I have a place to live after tonight.” You remind him. 

Nancy rolls her eyes at the two of you before grabbing your hand. “C’mon,” she says, now opening the apartment building’s door. “In less than twenty-four hours this will be your home, too.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

Jonathan pokes your side to shut you up and you swat his hand away. A doorman tips his hat at you and the others as you walk past, his smile kind and warm. The apartment’s lobby is the same as you remember it being. Plush sofas pushed against a soft white wall. A grand mirror across from the elevator that has a few scuffs in it, yet is charming nonetheless. Simple, though elevated enough that you can’t help but feel that you don’t belong here.

Inside the elevator Nancy presses the sixth floor. When she sees your slight confusion, she laughs. “We may live in the same building, but they’re two floors below us.”

“Mike says it’s physical proof that he’s better than Dustin.” 

You turn to Jonathan with a slight frown. “Mike is Nancy’s brother, right? And he lives with you guys?” 

Nancy nods encouragingly. “And Dustin is one of his friends from high school”

Jonathan pokes his head between the two of you. “And soon to be your roommate.”

“Hopefully.” Your tight lipped smile looks more like a grimace. Your stomach twists with every floor you ascend. You try to remember all the names you’ve been told. There’s Dustin, Mike’s friend. Then there’s… Rachel? Robbie? You think you remember Jonathan mentioning someone named Stephen.

Already the names are floating around your head. There are so many of them to remember. New faces you’ll be meeting tonight and desperately trying to impress. And you’ve already forgotten half of them. 

The elevator comes to a stop. Nancy and Jonathan step off, but you’re rooted to the floor, unable to move. “Please tell me this is a good idea.”

“It’s a wonderful idea, Y/N.” Nancy reassures you, grabbing your hand and gently pulling you from the elevator’s closing doors. Her eyes trace over your tense figure and she smiles sympathetically. The hand she isn’t using to hold yours plucks lint from your jacket, smoothing over its folds. “I promise you’ll love them.”

You really want to believe her. “And ‘them’ being…?”

“Dustin, Robin, and Steve.” Jonathan supplies. He’s smoothing your jacket down as well. The couple frets over your appearance in the narrow hallway and you almost feel like a lost child under their nurturing gaze. 

“Dustin, Robin, and Steve,” you repeat under your breath, over and over again. Their names roll over your tongue and you like how the weight of it feels. “Okay, I can do this. I’m fine. This will be totally fine.”

Jonathan nods eagerly and then shoves you towards a door at the end of the hall. In faded gold plating reads 6B on the door’s purple frame. There’s a cheesy floor mat that greets you in cursive lettering.

“Ready?” Nancy asks you.

You inhale, close your eyes, and exhale the remaining fear from your bones. Opening your eyes, you nod at her. 

Three soft raps against the door. There’s shuffling on the other side. Voices talking to one another. A set of footsteps running towards the door before a girl your age swings it open and lunges into your arms as if you’re lifelong friends.

“You’re here!” She exclaims happily, arms clasped tightly over your neck. You stumble back at the sudden embrace.

Jonathan sees your obvious overwhelm. “Ease up there, Robin. You can’t kill Y/N yet.”

The girl, Robin, you remind yourself, quickly releases you. Her freckled cheeks blush a pretty pink that matches the faded pink streaks in her choppy hair. “Sorry,” her blue eyes are wide and youthful. “I just-Jonathan and Nancy have been blabbing about you for weeks now and it’s just crazy that this is finally happening! I mean, you’re real! You’re here!”

She’s speaking a mile a minute and you’re trying your best to keep up with her, but you’re still nervous and deeply overwhelmed now and all you can say is, “Your hair is really pretty.”

“Thanks,” Robin’s bashful smile is beautiful. Her fingers tangle through her shoulder-length hair. “It was Steve’s idea. He helped me dye it.”

“Steve sounds nice,” you say, trying to keep the conversation going as Nancy and Jonathan watch the two of you quietly.

Robin laughs as if you’ve said something funny. She doesn’t say anything, though, and instead grabs your arm to pull you inside. She hardly gives you any time to look around the apartment before she’s talking a mile a minute once again.

“This is the kitchen,” she waves her arms out with a flourish, giggling when your jaw drops. There’s more counter space than you ever thought possible in a New York apartment. A kid, maybe a few years younger than you, is taking pizza out of the oven. “And that, my dear and new friend, is Dustin.”

“Nice to meet you.” Dustin sets the pizza down before giving you a thumbs up. “Pizza?”

Jonathan and his brother Will are already grabbing plates and cutting into the still hot food before you can even say yes. Jonathan hands a slice to Nancy while Will passes a plate to you. You thank him kindly, recognizing him from Jonathan’s senior thesis photos.

The moment you have your food, Robin yanks you away again.

“This is the living room.” Giant floor to ceiling windows that you definitely can’t afford replace the walls that should be in their place. The entire skyline of lower Manhattan winks back at you. 

“No fucking way…” 

A scrawny kid, maybe Dustin’s age, who looks a lot like Nancy snorts from the sage green couch that wraps around the area. “Isn’t it obnoxiously nice? I hate it.”

Robin flicks his head. “Ignore him. He isn’t relevant to our tour.”

“I take it he’s Mike?” You ask, again being at the will of Robin’s strong grip as she parades you through the apartment. 

The decorations, though minimal, make the place feel like a home. There’s art hanging on the walls. Photographs of faces you recognize, though most are people you don’t. Belongings strewn throughout the space that tell you there’s stories and love within these walls. 

“Unfortunately,” Robin stops in front of a set of doors. “We only keep him around because we like Nancy. Anyways, here’s the bathroom.”

Though small, it’s nice, and you nod appreciatively. Satisfied with your response, Robin flings open another door. Inside are piles of screws and wires belonging to various unfinished technical exploits and it takes you a moment to realize that there’s even a bed in this room. 

“Dustin’s room?” You guess, remembering the City College of Technology logo that was on his hat. 

“Correct,” Robin then opens another door, this time revealing a room full of rosie pinks and deep purples and blues. A keyboard rests on a bed. There are vinyls everywhere and pink hair dye spilled on the small desk. “My room. Admire her while you can. I deeply hate people in my space.”

You laugh. “Noted.”

Robin slams the door and turns to the next one, though she hesitates. “Technically, Steve also really hates people in his room, but the douchebag is late even though he promised he’d be here on time so,” she opens the door. “Voila.”

While you want to respect the wishes of the roommate you still have yet to meet, curiosity wins. You peek inside. The room is a mess of guitar picks littering the floor. You see a dark blue acoustic guitar in the corner, its edges almost midnight black, and an unmade bed full of vinyls. On the walls are photos. Some are of bands that you’re familiar with. Most aren’t. In between it all, however, are photos who you can only assume are Robin and his other friends. 

There’s a desk shoved to a corner that has pen marks and papers with messy writing scrawled on them. Everything inside the room is used, worn, though somehow there’s still a sense of calm within the chaos of it all. 

“None of you are neat freaks, huh?” 

Robin winces. “No, but I promise we’re clean. Scout’s honor. Please just ignore the blatant oxymoron of our rooms.”

You laugh and shake your head, telling her it’s fine. Robin beams once again and takes your hand one last time to guide you back to the kitchen. Everyone is gathered around the counter, pizza in their hands as lazy conversation fills the room. 

And even though an hour prior you were afraid that you were in way over your head, you fall into conversation easily with everyone else. Dustin is charismatic and asks for your thoughts on the apartment. Will’s soft spoken nature is comforting. Mike is witty and enjoys that you play into his jokes. A little later a young girl named Max appears and she’s just as enigmatic as her red hair and asks you a million questions about photography.

Robin doesn’t stop poking your skin and clothes and fretting over you the entire time. You adore her within minutes. 

“Alright,” you say after finishing the last of the pizza. “Tell me. Who’s in this alleged band I’m putting all my blind faith in?”

Dustin throws his head back and groans. “God, don’t get them started.”

Mike hits his shoulder. “Dude, shut up.”

“We call ourselves the Februarys.” Jonathan ignores the boys bickering. 

“The Februarys?”

“Guess which rocket scientist thought of it.” Dustin snarks. 

Mike hits him again and you raise your hands in surrender. “Hey, I like it. It’s a bit odd, but interesting. Unique.”

“You’re perfect. Have I ever told you how perfect you are?” Robin throws her arm over your shoulders. “Anyways, I play the keyboard. I’m good with my fingers,” she wiggles them at you with a sly wink, “and sometimes lend my voice to songs if Steve allows it.”

“He’s the lead vocalist,�� Jonathan explains. “He also plays the guitar, but he mostly just likes how cool it makes him look.”

“It doesn’t, by the way.” Mike rolls his eyes. “Not unless it’s an electric guitar, which I do play.”

You raise your eyebrows in shock. “Aren’t you a little… young to be in a band?”

Loud cackles tumble out of Dustin and Robin while Jonathan tries to hide his own snickers behind Nancy’s amused smile and Will’s soft laughs. You look around with wide eyes, terrified you’ve said the wrong thing, when Max crosses her arms at you. 

“Find someone who can play the bass as well as I can. I dare you.”

Her unwavering confidence in her ability leaves you breathless. Your uncertainty crumbles the moment her knowing smirk spreads across her face. She knows she’s good. She doesn’t need your approval.

“My apologies, Mayfield.” You nudge your shoulder against hers. 

Mike scowls. “Do I get an apology, too?”

“No,” you and Max say at the same time. 

This time everyone laughs and you’re amazed by how easy this is. Talking to them, laughing and teasing them with the shared understanding of respect. You’ve been welcomed into something warm and precious, friends who seem to have years stretching between them. 

A series of clicks and the scraping of metal before the front door swings open. A man stumbles inside, cursing and swearing under his breath when his foot catches on a stray shoe and he nearly falls. It’s a cacophony of sound and discarded energy and Robin watches it all with a bored frown.

“You’re late.” She greets the intruder.

He hunches over, hands on his knees. “Give me a second,” his breaths are heavy and brown hair falls in his face. He brushes it aside haphazardly with a practiced habitual ease. “Christ, I ran ten blocks to make it here on time.”

“And yet you’re still late.” Robin turns to you, frown etching her soft features. “I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

Hearing your name, the guy’s body suddenly snaps up from its prior hunched posture. Brown eyes land on you. Curious, excited, and then slowly interested. They travel up your body once, twice, then a third time. He fixes his hair again and smiles at you. “Is this our new roommate?”

“Possible roommate.” You correct him, a hint of a smile back at him. “You must be Steve.”

His smile widens. “The one and only.”

Strong jawline, doe eyes that are soft enough to be vulnerable, yet teasing. Hair that’s just long enough to curl over the nape of his neck. Classically handsome, Steve’s delicate features are juxtaposed by the silver nose ring that catches the light, by the matching latch earrings that parallel the moles that line his neck and jaw. 

Steve knows he’s beautiful. And he knows how to use it to his advantage as he drapes an arm over you, grabs a piece of pizza from your plate, and sits in your chair that is already too small for one person. It forces him to be pressed tightly against you. His jeans dig into your waist, his thick silver bracelet on his wrist cools your heated skin. 

“Hi, beautiful,” he winks at you, taking a bite of the food he’s stolen. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Robin gags and everyone else rolls their eyes at Steve’s exaggerated charm. They’ve seen this before. They’re used to his theatrics and need to be the center of attention for every girl he meets.

“Steve’s a bit of a flirt, if you couldn’t tell.” Jonathan shoves his friend away from you with a slight eye roll. “If he gets too much, just spray him like a cat.”

You watch Steve, studying him. He’s charming and beautiful, putting on a show for you, and underneath the performance is a shallow surface. He’s exalted by the attention. It’s not that his actions aren’t genuine, but they border on fictitious. 

The fictitiousness is intriguing. 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” to everyone’s surprise, you pull Steve back into the chair. He makes a startled sound, caught off guard by your forceful hands, and completely infatuated with them already. Pleased, you pinch Steve’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, handsome?”

You feel him lean into your touch, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s studying you the same way you’ve been studying him. A pause, your fingers linger on his cheek. Just before you exhale, Steve grabs the hand that strokes his face. His grip is loose on your wrist. He kisses the inside skin that’s the thinnest, veins beating. 

“You’ll move in tomorrow.” He murmurs against your skin. “And your first gig with us is Friday.”

It isn’t a question, and you don’t correct him. 

Already it’s been decided. 

– 

The heater in your apartment broke a year after you moved in. Your landlord promised she would fix it come winter, but as pockets of snow fill the window’s ledge, your hands are numb from the brisk air and lack of heat. 

Packing is easy enough, though seeing your small assortment of belongings piled into boxes causes a tug of longing in your stomach. The brick walls of your apartment are worn and scuffed from previous tenants and the floorboards creak with every breath you take. It’s an awful, old and frigid apartment, but it was also the first place you ever called home in New York.

“This really all you have?” Steve looks at the handful of boxes with skepticism. Being the only one who doesn’t have classes or a day job, he happily volunteered to help you move your things to the new apartment. 

You tape the final box shut. “For the most part, but there’s a box or two in the bedroom.”

“I get to see your bedroom?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you throw a balled up wad of tape at him. He dodges easily, laughing. “Want me to go get them?”

“Yes, please.”

“Be right back, gorgeous.”

Gorgeous. Beautiful. Babe. All compliments Steve has showered you in since meeting him fifteen hours prior. They fall from his lips without any hesitation, always accompanied by a charming smile or sly wink. 

If it were anyone else, you would’ve told them to fuck off by now. But with Steve there’s no weight behind his praise. No expectation of you to return them. He praises you because he wants to, compliments you because he likes the way you blush afterwards. 

You’ve only known Steve for fifteen hours, and yet you’ve never felt this comfortable alone with anyone else. 

“I know this may sound like I’m sucking up considering I’m trusting you to make my band look cool, but,” Steve carries two boxes, arms straining under the weight and you watch as his biceps ripple under his tanned skin. He sets them down, opens the top one, and then pulls out a collection of your photographs from within it. “You’re insanely talented, Y/N.”

“I sent you to get my boxes, not go through them.” You try to take the photos away, but Steve is fast and holds them out of your reach. 

“No, I’m serious. I mean, Jonathan is cool and all and we all cried seeing his thesis show, but you?” He holds up one of your favorite photographs. He huffs in disbelief, eyes roaming over the image with a hunger of amazement and awe. “I almost feel bad that we can’t pay you what you’re worth.”

The photo is one you took when you first moved to Manhattan. Eighteen and naive, you viewed the city through your lens greedily. Your first few months in the city all you did was carry your camera around with you and use up canister after canister of film. The images were fine, nothing monumental, until one day, somehow, they were. 

An older woman sitting on a park bench. There is no one sitting next to her. Her head is down, hands clasped in her lap. There is a bird mimicking her downward posture beside her. Almost out of view, almost a shadow, and there’s something tender in the image that you’ve never quite managed to capture again. 

“The apartment makes up for it. I mean, floor to ceiling windows? Fucking insane.”

Steve chuckles, agreeing silently. “How’d you get into photography, anyways?” He picks through some more of your pictures, uncaring of the fact that you’re shy of your work.

“My mom was a photographer and gave me my first film camera when I was nine.” You shrug, a nostalgic smile on your face. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

“I get it,” Steve hums, still admiring every image of yours that he finds. “That’s how music was for me. I was eleven and my parents weren’t home so I snuck into their room. They had this giant record player. I remember being so amazed by it, but God forbid I touch it.”

Steve looks down at his hands, tight smile and narrowed eyes. “Anyways, one day they weren’t home, so I ran right up to their room, laid my head right next to the record player, and played the first record I found.” 

“What was it?” You ask softly, curious. 

“The Velvet Underground. I inherited a lot of things from my father, but thank god he gave me my music taste. The moment I heard Sterling Morrison’s guitar strings in Heroin, I was a goner. Begged the old man for my own guitar the very next day.”

“And did you get it?” The question is more to keep the delicate look on Steve’s face. He unravels when he talks about music, almost softens at its melodies. He’s beautiful, he always is, but music only makes him glow. 

“I did,” Steve nods, proud. He walks up behind you, arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you in, his chest solid and warm. He kisses your hairline, smiling into your skin. “Want to know a secret?”

“Tell me,” your body leans closer to his.

“I’m going to be a rockstar. Me and everyone else in the Februarys. One day, everyone will know our name.”

Steve’s childish declaration mirrors every other young boy’s dream. Every artist’s dream since they were a child. Dreams of grandeur, recognition, of creation and passion and freedom. You twist your head around, wanting to look at the man holding you. His face is calm, open and unapologetic. He believes what he’s said. There isn’t a hint of uncertainty or hesitancy within the lines of his cheeks. 

And you believe him, too. Steve has the charisma to set the city on fire, an ease to his movements and beauty that’s addicting. Devastatingly handsome. It’s inevitable that the world falls to its knees before him one day. 

“Think you’ll ever write a song about me?” It’s meant to be a joke, a tease, but when you turn to face him your nose brushes his cheek. This close, you can count his freckles. The proximity catches your breath. 

Steve wraps his entire body around you. The kiss he places at the base of your neck burns. “I think all my songs will be about you, angelface.”

And yet another name, this time accompanied by his fingers digging into your ribcage to get you to squeal out laughter. You twist in his grasp, shrieking at Steve to stop, but he has you right where he wants you.

“Ow!” Steve rips his body away from yours after you land a particularly hard pinch to his arm. He rubs the forming bruise, glaring at you. “Was that really necessary?”

“You’re the one who started it!”

He sticks his tongue out and all you can do is roll your eyes at him. Catching your breath, you remember where you are. There are still boxes everywhere. You sigh, bend down, and start sliding them against the wall.

“What are you doing? Don’t do that.” Steve swats you away, offended you’ve even considered moving the boxes yourself. 

You blink at him. “Did you just hit me?”

Steve ignores you, focusing on the boxes instead. He stacks them one by one in front of the door. Hair falls in his face and you have to remind yourself to look away. After he’s done, Steve studies the boxes before him, their appearance deceptively multiplied when piled all together. 

Dropping his head, he groans, “This is going to suck.” 

The two of you will have to carry all the boxes down five flights of stairs and into a taxi that will almost definitely be too small to sit in. In the February snow and midday commute. 

“Yup,” you pat Steve’s chest. “It’s a good thing you’re so strong, right?”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Is that how you’re supposed to talk to your subordinate? I mean, I am working for you now, right?”

“Please pick up a box and shut up.”

– 

Robin helps you unpack everything in your room. The space itself is beautiful, arguably the biggest room in the apartment. Wood flooring, cream walls, and even a window that overlooks the park. You ask her who died for you to be able to live here, and she confesses that the only reason she and the others didn’t claim your room when their old roommate moved out is because they didn’t feel like keeping the large space clean. 

Who knew laziness could get you a giant room with a view?

Except Steve’s room is next to yours, and after a few days of sharing a wall, you quickly realize that one: he brings a new girl over every night, and two: Robin is a liar. Her and Dustin weren’t lazy, they just didn’t want to share a wall with Steve.

And you can’t blame them. The first night it’s jarring hearing the subtle thuds and moans that leak through the thin plaster. The second night, you roll over, hit the wall once to signal to Steve to keep it down, before grabbing your walkman and slipping on headphones.

Soon you learn the signs. The slam of a door, feminine giggles, his breathy voice as he guides them past your room to his. After the second night and your annoyed thud, Steve starts playing music to drown out the unwanted sounds. 

The third night, you’re in the kitchen working on some film when the front door slams. You look up at the clock, cursing the late hour. You’d been so engrossed in your work that you forgot that any minute Steve would be home with yet another girl.

They don’t see you at first. Her face is buried in Steve’s neck and he’s caressing her bare skin that her small top doesn’t cover. They’re laughing, slightly intoxicated as they stumble through the living room. 

“Wore this just for you,” the girl murmurs against his lips. Her hands yank her top down, to bring his attention to it. “I remember you said you liked green.”

Maybe they aren’t new girls every night, you think. Then, promptly remembering that you aren’t supposed to be here right now you then think, oh God, do I need to duck behind the counter?

Steve doesn’t bother looking down at her top. “Cute,” he says simply. Nothing more. Like he doesn’t care to say anything further.

He tries to kiss her instead, impatient and done with the attempt at conversation. It’s odd seeing him like this. Displaced, almost cold in a calculated way that you suppose can come off as charming. 

Only the girl pulls away, obviously displeased with the throwaway comment. Her eyes squint at him, but before she can either tell him to fuck off or to keep kissing her, her unhappy gaze lands on you. 

“Who the hell are you?”

You should’ve ducked behind the counter. “I-uh. Live here.”

“I was here last week. You weren’t.”

“Quick turnaround period?” You’re awful with confrontation and Steve isn’t helping, arms crossed and smiling like a goddamn saint while you’re drowning. You glare at him. “A little help would be nice.”

Steve grabs the girl and spins her once, twice, before pulling her into a kiss. Not at all caring that you’re watching, he slips his tongue into her wanting mouth and moans. She clutches his chest, and the second he has her pleading, he pulls away.

“Go wait in my room, I’ll be right there.” He tells her, kissing her again before she can argue. “Promise I’ll make it up to you. Don’t I always?”

The girl sighs, as if he’s taken her ability to say anything else away. She nods at him, starts walking to his room, and she’s gone without another word.

“Charming,” you shake your head at Steve, who now leans against the counter and looks at the film developing. “Not the way I would’ve handled the situation, though.”

“So I wanna get off, doesn’t everyone?” He’s coy, peering over your shoulder and his hair tickles your skin. “New project?”

“Testing aperture settings for Friday.” You point at a grainy photo, ignoring his previous words about getting off. “Too dark. I need to figure out how to get the best lighting out of a dim venue.”

“You’re cute when you try to impress me.” 

You pinch his side. “Don’t you have a girl waiting for you?”

“Do I sense jealousy, Y/N?” Steve bites the inside of his cheek, looking you up and down.

“Not in the slightest.” 

And there really isn’t any jealousy. You don’t mind that Steve has a different girl in his bed each night; you knew that he was this way before Robin even had to warn you. You saw through him the moment you met him. 

You’ve known men like Steve. Their wanting ways and sugar coated praise; he isn’t any different. 

The outline of Steve’s figure becomes blurry when he’s with these girls. A thin layer of film over how he normally is, like his words and actions aren’t quite real. Superficial, putting on a show for them that you somehow know he only reserves for the stage. 

“Anyways, I’m exhausted.” You rub your eyes, vision blurred from staring at images for hours. You ruffle Steve’s hair fondly. “Try not to keep me up tonight, please.”

He catches your hand that falls and kisses the same spot on your wrist that he’s come to inhabit. Soft eyes and honest lips, he promises you, “whatever you ask, angelface.”

Soft. Steve is always soft with you, genuine to the raw way in which he looks at you. For some reason he’s different this way with you.

“Goodnight, Steve.” Though you linger for just a second. He sees it.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Tomorrow you’ll inevitably find him in the kitchen making breakfast for the apartment. He’ll be shirtless because he gets hot when he cooks. You’ll see the scratches down his back and the hickeys on his neck and the physical reminder of the marks on Steve’s body will be a reminder to step away. 

The flirting is fine. You enjoy being adored by him and making him laugh at your quick responses. Even if the adoration is fake, even if sometimes Steve’s eyes make you wonder how you can capture them with your lens, he’s quickly becoming your best friend. Robin, too. And Dustin and Jonathan and everyone else entangled in your life now because of Steve. 

You don’t want to jeopardize this, even if you still aren’t really sure what this is. The Februarys, the apartment, the people within it. 

But whatever this is, something tells you that Steve doesn’t want to jeopardize it either. 

– 

The heat of the apartment coats the loud buzz of the people in the crowded space talking over one another the next night. It’s full capacity in the apartment. Voices mix together and there’s hardly any room to breathe. 

Steve had warned you it’d be like this. The night before a performance is always this way: bodies crammed into the apartment, all intoxicated on the rush of figuring out a setlist and chords. 

The intoxication leaks into your blood, too. Cheeks aching, you can’t stop smiling. The excitement, the giddy curiosity, now fulfilled as you finally get to see the band in action.

Steve’s curled around you on the couch, his body heat only overheating you more, but his insistence of crawling into every seat you inhabit is easier to let happen than fight. He’s talking animatedly with Robin and Jonathan as they agonize over a list of songs while you and Nancy watch, silent.

“We could play Clear and Void?” Robin suggests to the boys, pencil in her mouth with her eyebrows knit together. “Or maybe Happening New?”

Neither songs are songs you’re familiar with, though you remember Jonathan telling you that the Februarys had a working collection of four of their own songs. The problem is that most venues require a minimum of six for a gig. 

“We played both of those last week.” Steve shakes his head. “Isn’t Higgy’s more of a cover venue, anyways? Shouldn’t we just pull from our covers set?”

Jonathan bites his cheek. “I say we do Clear and Void, Happening New, and then mix in a few covers before closing with Limerick. Three of our most popular songs and three covers. Balance it out.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced, but a shout from the corner of the room pulls your attention. 

“I’m not crawling through a goddamn cellar to get to our gig!” Max scoffs at Mike, both of them hunched over the kitchen counter with a paper between them.

“Got any other brilliant ideas, then?” 

A girl, who you’ve been introduced to as El, places a hand on Mike’s shoulder in what you can only assume is a feeble attempt at calming him down. He tries to say more, but El shakes her head softly, so he curses again and messily erases whatever he’d been writing on the paper.

“This is stupid.” Mike spits out. “Why the hell is twenty-one the deemed age to get shitfaced?”

“Prohibition,” Dustin says, as if it’s obvious. He swings an arm around Will and grins. “What are the odds they make it in?”

“Pretty terrible.”

Lucas, who you've also met tonight, looks wearily at Max and Mike, scared they’ll overhear the taunts. He lowers his voice and turns to his other friends. “Can we not piss them off more? You’re not the ones who have to go home with them.”

Max, however, does hear this. “Insinuate I’m a pain in the ass when I’m angry again, Sinclair. Go on.”

Lucas shuts his mouth and the boys all snicker at his misfortune. Max and Mike go back to their metaphorical drawing board of figuring out how to sneak into a twenty-one and up venue. Their situation is amusing, even if you do feel slightly bad that they have to jump legal hurdles to perform. 

“What if we just get Dustin to print us fake IDs?” Mike proposes, a glint in his eyes.

“No!” Steve, Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin all shout at once.

Mike lets out an obnoxiously loud groan and Max flips off the older adults, though none of them pay them any attention. Instead, they go back to their list of songs and resume their own argument from earlier. 

“What do you think, Y/N?” 

Steve’s question surprises you. He’s turned to you and he’s expecting a response, wanting your input on a matter that you have no knowledge in. He knows you’re more interested in photography than music, he knows you’re still figuring out the music scene with the Februarys.

Yet Steve still wants to consider your input.

All eyes on you, your dry mouth swallows sticky saliva. The only thing you can think of is the length of Steve’s neck when he recounted a childhood memory to you in your snowy apartment.

“I guess, uh. Cool It Down?” You stumble slightly, worried you’ll embarrass yourself and suggest a song everyone hates.

Steve, however, is so in love with the idea that he practically crawls into your lap to take your face into his hands and kiss your cheek, loud, wet, dramatic and infatuated. “God, I’m in love with that angelface of yours.”

Robin and Nancy look at each other in disgust. 

Jonathan doesn’t share this disgust. His eyebrow jumps in interest, watching the two of you. “The Velvet Underground?”

He doesn’t ask as a way to clarify who sings the song. He asks because he knows that the band isn’t the usual music you listen to. He’s had their albums playing before and not once have you ever showed any interest. 

“Higgy's once had them play a gig there.” It could be a lie. You aren’t really sure. All you know is that Jonathan seems far too interested in your sudden change in music taste. “That’s why I suggested it.”

“I didn’t know they played there.”

Steve’s nose presses into your neck. “Leave her alone, Byers. She’s a born and bred musical genius. Don’t be jealous.”

Jonathan ducks his head, surrendering, and you exhale a shaky breath. In being a photographer, Jonathan has learned to see the smallest details that often go overlooked. It’s a quality you both share, but now, with his knowing eyes on you, you’re really pissed off he graduated top of your class. 

“How should we arrange the chords?” Robin breaks the remaining tension between you and Jonathan. You don’t think she’s even noticed it, but you’re grateful for her nonetheless. 

“Chords?” Mike’s head pops up from the crowd of his friends. “Did we get a setlist arranged?” 

Robin holds up the list. “Read it and weep, Wheeler. Help us figure out tuning.”

Mike runs over and Max isn’t far behind him. Soon they’re all talking over one another again. You’ve lost the Februarys to the lyrics and chords that swarm around them. They all come alive when they talk about their music. They’re beautiful when they talk about their music. 

Nancy catches your eye, thinking what you are. She smiles. You smile back. 

A little while later the apartment’s buzz dies down. Mike and the young teens all crowd themselves in Dustin’s room. Robin tells you that they all grew up together in Indiana. Inseparable then, inseparable now.

Steve is with her in the kitchen. She had a craving for ice cream and he had a craving for caramel. Naturally, they’re now rifling through the pantry for sundae ingredients at nearly midnight. 

You’re sorting through film cartridges on the couch with Nancy and Jonathan sitting beside you. They’re whispering to themselves, lost in their own world, and you almost forget they’re there until Jonathan’s voice reminds you. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he shifts a bit closer to you so that he can look over your camera set up. “What’s your plan for tomorrow? Do you need to borrow any of my equipment?”

You shake your head. “No, I did some test trials a few nights ago and I think I’ve finally figured out the right aperture for the venue. The photos came out pretty good, actually.”

“They were amazing!” Steve butts in, voice carrying from across the room.

Jonathan and Nancy snort and you pretend you didn’t hear him. “As for the plan, I was thinking some behind the scenes photos, you know? Take some of the band while you’re getting ready before the show and then once you’re up I just, I don’t know. Glue myself to the barricade and pray?”

Jonathan hums, pleased with what you’ve come up with, though Nancy pokes your knee. “I’ll be right next to you the whole time, so don’t worry about getting lost in the crowd.”

“Thank god.” Then an idea comes to you. “Oh, what about taking pictures of the crowd, too?”

When Jonathan and Nancy tilt their heads at you, not quite following, you’re quick to explain. “I mean, wouldn’t it be cool to have documentation of a growing crowd? Compare your earlier gigs with hopefully bigger and better ones in the future.”

“I’d kiss your face, but I’m afraid Steve might throw a spoon at me.” Nancy says, voice purposefully loud so that the intended audience will hear.

“I’m armed, Wheeler.” Steve holds a spoon up and glares at her. 

You all laugh and she reaches over to squeeze your hands excitedly. “I think documenting the crowd is a brilliant idea.”

Jonathan kisses his thumb, presses the finger to your nose as you giggle, and ruffles your hair. “A stupidly brilliant idea.”

You bat his hand away as Nancy laughs at the two of you. From the kitchen, in between your laughter, you hear Steve’s disgruntled, “What did I say about being armed, Byers?”

– 

Higgy's is a shitty venue in an even shittier location with a history so rich and complex that you can’t help but admire its delicate and stained walls as you walk around the dressing room. Signatures from artists like Hendrix and Joplin line the walls. Someone has signed the mirror in thick ink with the words, know your history and then tear it apart.

“Isn’t it incredible?” Nancy murmurs, standing next to you as you both admire the walls.

“It is,” you softly agree. Raising your camera, you take a picture of the mirror. “I can’t believe your boyfriend is performing here.”

“Neither can my boyfriend.”

A pounding noise can be heard from beneath you. You look at Nancy, silently asking her what the hell the sound could be, but she shrugs at you, also confused. The pounding happens again, this time forceful enough to rattle the floor, and you jump back and find that you’d been standing on top of a hidden hatch beneath the purple carpeting. 

The hatch’s door swings open, revealing a very angry Mike and Max.

Guess they found a way into the venue, then.

“Did you really have to stand on our escape plan?” The boy sneers, his glare deepening when he sees you and Nancy holding back laughs. “This isn’t at all funny.”

Only he looks so small down below the hidden cellar routes that remain from the prohibition days, and you have to cover your mouth to keep from laughing excessively. 

“Just help us up.” Max pleads, annoyed and sweaty and covered in god knows what. 

Taking pity on them, Nancy offers her hand and helps them crawl out from the hatch of death. “If mom ever asks,” she says to Mike. “Tell her I’m taking really good care of you here in New York.”

“Ha, ha.” He responds drily, though he shrieks in upset when a flash goes off and he realizes you’re taking pictures of his and Max’s situation. “What the fuck, Y/N?”

“Well, children.” You take another photo. “I’m capturing behind the scenes content.”

Max scoffs and steps past you, her shoulder clipping against yours, leaving Nancy to deal with her brother’s outrage so that she can help him get ready. You wish her luck and she waves you off, focusing on Mike now. 

Camera in hand, you take pictures of anything that your gaze lingers on. More signatures on the wall. The bands only sign that hangs above the door frame. Robin’s platform sneakers that lay abandoned next to her chair. Steve’s guitar next to the sneakers.

And even though there is so much history within these walls, so many intimate details that you know you want to capture forever, your lens draws you to Steve. Body turned to his, you find him through your viewfinder. 

Robin sits at the vanity. Her eyes are smudged with dark mascara and eyeliner and the blue of them shine. Steve stands next to her, styling his hair with sticky pomade and hopeless fingers. A silver chain hangs from Steve’s neck, his white t-shirt strains against his back, muscles outline faintly in the dim lighting as he bends towards Robin to tangle his fingers in her hair, too, styling it as she wants. 

They don’t see you at first. It isn’t until you’ve brought the camera back up to your face, eye squinting in the viewfinder to focus on the expanse of Steve’s taut back, do they see you. Robin winks into the mirror and Steve tips his head back, smiling lazily at you. 

Something tight grips your throat, but you swallow it down. 

In the corner Nancy is fixing Jonathan’s jacket and you take a picture of her tender hands around his waist. You photograph Mike and Max tuning their instruments; the girl’s red hair almost glows besides the boy’s fluorescent skin. As Robin and Jonathan go over the setlist for any last minute changes, you take a picture of their downcast heads, their similarly colored hair blurring into one body. 

The excitement in the room is tinged with tension, with apprehension, but still there is a breathlessness to it. 

Steve watches your every move as you walk around the room. His eyes are a pleasant warmth that simmers on your skin. You take a photo of his hands wrapped around his blue guitar neck. His fingers picking at the strings. His lips humming a song. 

He lets you. 

“Five more minutes.” A man, tall and large, knocks on the dressing room door. “Get ready.”

The static in the air multiplies at the announcement. Steve jumps up from his seat, clapping his hands. “Alright, everyone. You know the drill.”

They fall into formation. Jonathan, Mike, Max, and Robin all in a circle facing Steve. 

He brings his arms around them, forcing them into a huddle. Their eyes are bright and smiles wide and you take one final photo of them, just like this, just like little kids, grinning mischievously at one another and flushed faces. 

“It’s just us.” Steve tells them. “Just us up there on stage. No one else. Not one fucking any person but us.”

They repeat him. Just us. Just us just us just us.

Steve licks his lips at the sound, coating the cheshire smile on his face. He leans closer, impossibly closer to his bandmates, words edging his lips as they wait, dangling before them, desperate, waiting, before finally, finally–

“Showtime.”

– 

The cold metal of the barrier digs into your stomach. Nancy stands next to you, her own body flush against the railing that separates the barricade from the main stage. The small section is reserved only for you and Nancy, separate from the rest of the crowd, yet hardly big enough for the two of you to stand comfortably. 

Loud, disorienting noise surrounds you. Higgy's is one of those smaller venues that insists on cramming as many people as possible inside. Your heartbeat pounds along to the sound of drunken conversation and Nancy’s reassuring glances. 

“You ready?” She shouts into your ear, barely heard above the crowd.

“Not at all,” you admit to her. Your camera is poised in your hands. You’re anxious to see the Februarys perform, to see who exactly you’ve chanced your career on. “I swear to god, if Steve can’t sing I’m making him pay me double what he’s already–”

Your words get drowned out by a deafening wave of cheers and screams. The sound vibrates your skin, rattles your bones, and when you look up, all you see is the stage flooding with color as Steve and the others fill it. 

Jonathan sits at his drum set, its white reflecting the stage’s fluorescent purple lighting. Max plugs her bass to an amp and its deep maroon hue ignites the dark around her. Next to her Mike’s sage green electric guitar makes a small click sound as he connects it to its own powersource. Robin places herself behind her keyboard, its effervescent multitude of colors that she’s painted onto its body a commotion of everything that exudes who she is. 

And then there’s Steve, standing front and center on the stage, holding the same acoustic guitar you saw in his room the day you met him. Dark blue, its edges black, the fingers wrapped around it tanned and rough. 

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” Steve grabs the mic, still engulfed in the colors. You think you see him smile at the crowd’s excited response. The flash of his white teeth vivid against his pink mouth. 

Steve extends his arms out towards the band. “Over here we have Robin Buckley on keyboard,” she playfully bows. “Jonathan Byers on drums,” deft fingers twirl drumsticks before colliding them onto cymbals. “Playing bass we have Max Mayfield,” the girl smiles coolly at the crowd, completely at ease. “And Mike Wheeler on electric guitar,” he twists the instrument and releases a cacophony of sound and the venue explodes into howls.

“And finally,” Steve presses his mouth against the mic again, eyes only on the crowd. He lets his words hang, the cheers become feminine, the howls become wanting. He laughs at the reaction. The sound is infectious. The flex of his arms ripples in the lighting. The beauty of his features only melts into the air, cages your lungs, and you see, in the end, just what every girl he takes to bed sees. 

Only when he has the crowd in the palm of his hand does he finally introduce himself, “I’m Steve Harrington.”

Your voice joins the screaming chorus and Steve grabs the mic with both hands and shouts, “We’re the Februarys, let’s go!”

No buildup, no anticipation, the band dives right into their first song. 

And they’re fucking incredible. They flow together well, losing themselves in the songs and chords they’ve created, and it isn’t their talent that makes you believe they’ll be a sensation one day. It’s the genuine compassion they have for one another on stage. 

Steve and Robin trade off on vocals easily, without any mixed cues or forgotten lyrics. Steve never strays away from her during the entire performance, always right next to her, always sharing his mic with her just because he can, because he enjoys her presence. 

Mike and Max harmonize and their voices mix so well together that you’re momentarily stunned. During every song Mike plays his chords to Jonathan, always looking to the older boy for a reaction, always eager to please, and Jonathan plays right back to him.

Max and Robin do an intricate handshake between the songs. The quick movement of their hands are a blur on stage but their smiles are vibrant and saturated in clarity. 

The Februarys are addicting to watch, they’re indescribable, even, but Steve is too unspoken to even capture on camera.

His body sways with the beat, singing in a whiskey colored tone that hits you like a sucker punch to the heart. The dip of his nose runs against the mic’s edge. The veins in his hands contrasted by the flash of lights. 

You take what feels like endless pictures. 

Your film roll becomes overwhelmed with images of the crowd, alive and swarming to get closer to the stage. With images of Steve, beautiful and raw. Nancy and her fondness and pride watching Jonathan. Max’s hands interlaced with Robin’s during their handshakes. Robin’s pink streaks in her hair and their vibrancy in the purple light.

More, your body screams at you, humming with the images that you’re aching to capture. More, more, more.

The lights shine down and you crawl over the security barrier, the tug in your chest pulling harder and harder. Nancy doesn’t realize what you’re doing until your body is already over the railing. You think she calls out to you, but you’re gone before you can question what the hell you’re doing.

A security guard steps towards you but you quickly flash him the flimsy VIP badge you and Nancy were given when you were placed into the security area. 

You press against the edge of the stage with your camera angled up and as close as physically possible to the music. 

Steve finds you immediately.

He bends down, peers over the edge of the stage as he continues to sing. He’s dripping in sweat and his t-shirt clings to his wet skin. His chest heaves every lyric and his voice, this close, this full, makes you bite your lip to steady your shaking hands. 

“Don’t you know, honey, you can get it so fast?” He sings into the camera, silver chain dangling in front of the lens. He’s close enough for you to smell, to feel the heat of his body as he performs. “But of course, you know it makes no difference to me.” 

Steve sings into the camera, looks right through its lens, finds your eyes through its viewfinder.

He’s performing for you. 

Only for you. 

– 

In the dim, cramped hallway that connects the dressing rooms to the main stage, you wait with Nancy after the show. You’re both exhilarated and still riding the post concert high and you’re showing her all your pictures and she’s breathless and her hair is wild and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to this type of adrenaline. 

A mixture of cheers and celebratory shouts echo down the hall and you hear, before you see, the Februarys returning. They’re equally drunk on the adrenaline that courses through your veins. 

“Did you see that?” Mike flies straight to Nancy, a little kid in his older sister’s arms. “I swear, the crowd was a fucking monster.”

Jonathan is by Nancy’s side in an instant, throwing his arms around her and joining Mike’s excited ramblings.

“They were singing our songs!” Robin screeches at the top of her lungs as she runs straight towards you, Max not far behind. “Y/N, did you hear them? God, please tell me you took a picture of the crowd–”

Suddenly you’re weightless, feet lifting from the ground as your body spins recklessly around. You scream, hands clutching your camera in alarm, until a rough and familiar voice kisses into your ear, “Angelface.”

“Steve!” You hit his arms playfully, belly full of laughter. “Put me down!”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you all night,” his hands slide down your waist and your feet touch the ground once more. “Christ, you look fucking amazing in the purple lights.”

Standing on the tips of your toes, you fix the messy pieces of Steve’s hair. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you the entire night, I mean, look,” giddy, you shove a small camera in his face. “I shot some digital, I knew you’d be too impatient for the film to develop. And as much as I hate to admit it, the stage loves you.”

Steve’s mouth parts, momentarily surprised you’ve done this small, unnecessary thing for him. You only agreed to shoot the band in film, that was all they could afford to pay you for, and yet here you are, once again surprising him.

“God, you’re my favorite fucking person ever.” Steve hungrily grabs the device, licking his lips. He flicks through the images in a maddening frenzy and his heartbeat almost deafens his ears. “Holy shit, I look like a rockstar.”

He says it as if to gloat, to exude your talent once more, but deep down, Steve’s stomach twists a feeling he’s never felt before. Screaming crowds and late night lyrics felt cliche, ingenuine, but now looking at the pictures you’ve provided solely for him, this is the first time he’s ever truly felt like a rockstar. 

Your perfume invades Steve’s senses. Your cheek presses against his bicep and he can feel your grin. You point to his face in one of the pictures. “You get really red when you perform.”

“I’m going to pretend that’s your poor attempt at flirting with me.”

You laugh. “No, it wasn’t. You get all rosie,” you look up at him and your smile softens slightly, more tender, delicate. “I think it’s cute.”

“Rosie, huh?” Steve’s heartbeat spikes again. The haze your perfume has left him in threatens to overspill into his wandering hands. His eyes wander to your lips; you see it.

“Share with the class, Harrington,” Robin snatches the camera from him. “Quit hogging Y/N’s talent.”

Steve immediately tries to grab the camera, but Robin is fast. She runs to the others, ducks behind Jonathan, and Steve glares at her. “Buckley, I wasn’t done–”

“Let them look, Steve.” Your fingers wrap around his wrist, gently pulling him back. “You’re not the only one paying me, you know.”

Steve wants to roll his eyes, to say that actually your pay comes out of his bank account, but then he sees the pure joy in your eyes as you watch the Februarys pour over the photos. You try to suppress your obvious pride by biting your lip and all arguments die in his throat.

There aren't a lot of pictures, not nearly as many as you’re sure you took on your film camera, but watching the band’s eyes light up as they see your work is like molten chocolate coating your stomach. Syrupy and indulgent and lovely.

“I’m framing this one,” Robin announces, holding the camera up. “Because holy fuck do my tits look great from this angle.”

“Wasn’t my artistic intent, but please feel free to frame your tits.”

Max points to an image of her with her eyes closed, fingers soft and poised over the bass strings. “I look so… holy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “In a good way, right?”

“I think so.”

“Good enough for me.”

Mike smacks Jonathan’s shoulder, not even bothering to look up from the camera. “Why the hell did you hide Y/N from us for so long?”

Nancy pinches her brother and Jonathan rubs his sore skin, and while he tries to explain that no, he hadn’t been hiding you this whole time, Steve’s lips graze your head and he wraps himself around you, steadying your body that sways with amused and childish laughter. 

– 

Life becomes a blur of venues and gigs and flashing lights and developing film and Steve and his lips and soft voice humming to himself most mornings.

He’s always awake before the others. Your habit of working on your film late into the night leaves you the only one up when he rises.

It’s become a sort of tradition, spending quiet mornings together. Steve makes you coffee and goes over the film with you from the night before. When he’s done admiring your work, he prepares a lazy breakfast and you sit at the counter and listen to his soft hums.

“What do you think of the lyric, ‘left for want and wanting’?” Steve asks you one morning, the sizzle of eggs on the greased pan threatening to burn his exposed chest.

“Is it a play on ‘left for want and nothing?’” He nods and you tilt your head. “I think I like it, though Robin might say it’s redundant.” 

Steve sighs. “Every time I show her what I’ve written it’s like sophomore English all over again.”

His annoyance makes you laugh, though you do pity him. Following the gig at Higgy's, Steve and the others decided that they needed more than their four original songs. The crowds are getting bigger, demanding more than just covers and a handful of songs. 

With this demand came late night bickering between Steve and Robin over lyrics and chord progressions and, more often than not, Mike frantically running down to the apartment at odd times with a line he’s thought of to insist they write it down.

“If it’s any consolation, I like the stuff you guys are coming up with.” Steve and Robin are a good team and Mike’s sudden strikes of inspiration only add to their music. From the little you’ve heard, the new songs are already more mature, even better, than their old ones. 

“You’re biased,” Steve sets a plate down in front of you and kisses your cheek. “You’re supposed to like everything I do.”

“The only thing I like about you is your face, rosie.”

Steve snorts, going back to the stove so that Dustin and Robin have their own meals to wake up to, and a comfortable silence falls over the two of you once more. 

In the blur of gigs and venues and music comes another blur of barely legal teens and their symphony of adolescence. 

Max and Lucas stop by the apartment often with El in tow. Somehow Will and Mike are never far behind despite having their own apartment upstairs. 

“Why do you guys always take over my apartment? Why can’t you go upstairs?” You ask the teens, eyeing your kitchen counter that has been buried underneath mounds of school assignments. 

“We like it here better.” Will shrugs. “Plus, you and Dustin help us with our work.”

You and Dustin do, unfortunately, enjoy helping them figure out math problems and essays, so you can’t really argue with that logic. 

Dustin becomes your accomplice in more than just assignments, though. Being the only one not in the Februarys, he’s your solace when the apartment fills with Mike and Steve arguing with Robin over a chorus or bridge or whatever else they’re stuck on that night.

“If I didn’t enjoy the idea of knowing rockstars, I would’ve moved out by now.” Dustin pounds on his bedroom wall, connected to Robin’s, where yet another argument floods the silence, and shouts, “Knock it off!”

A thud, then a door slams, before Steve comes barreling into the room and collapses at your side. “Robin said I’m trying too hard with my lyrics.”

“Oh, sure, come right in.”

Steve ignores Dustin’s sarcasm and pouts at you. “I mean, can you believe her? Me? Trying too hard?”

Then Robin launches into the room, nearly trips on the wires that litter the floor. “He’s too in his head right now! The songs all sound like slimy poetry!”

You frown. “Isn’t that what songs are–”

“You guys got rid of my seafoam gloom line?” Mike’s agitated voice is the only warning the precedes his stumbling presence into the already overflowing bedroom and yet another argument rises between the three band members.

Dustin is pinching the bridge of his nose and you’re sympathetic to his lost cause of a room. Standing up, you grab his hand. “C’mon, let’s hide out in my room. My door at least has a lock.”

“You’re leaving me?” Steve cries out, betrayed, but his voice is muffled by the door’s closing.

A lot of nights follow a pattern like this, bickering between friends, torn scraps of paper left throughout the apartment, slamming doors and laughter that follows. Sometimes the monotony is broken by Jonathan’s comforting presence helping you develop the film as Nancy brews tea. 

Tonight is like any other night. Robin has gone to bed, Mike left with his sister and Jonathan a while ago, Dustin is in his room hunched over a project for school, and Steve is in your bed, tired fingers plucking over guitar strings as you go over your photos from a gig the night before. 

Along the walls of your room are a series of photos, some film, some digital, varying in size and shape. Though some of the images are from recent performances, most aren’t even of the Februarys themselves. 

One photo is of Dustin laughing about something with Will. There’s a few of Max, one with her hand shyly clasped in Lucas’ as they watch a movie. Multiple images are of Robin and Steve, always eager to pose for you whenever your camera is near. Nancy, her beautiful side profile admiring Jonathan. 

Your room has become a collection of images of everyone you love, and slowly, it becomes Steve’s room, too.

He tells you he prefers your room over his because it’s cleaner, though really you know it’s because he also enjoys being surrounded by everyone he loves. 

Soft acoustic notes float through the room. The silence is comfortable, as it always is with Steve. His eyes are closed and he simply plays whatever comes to mind. He’s the most at ease when he’s playing music, and truthfully, tucked in your bed with his hair framing his face, you think he’s the most beautiful this way. 

“I have a question.” Steve rolls his head to look at you. The song he’s playing doesn’t waver and this act of talent, albeit small, still amazes you. 

“When don’t you have a question?” 

He pokes your thigh. “Be nice, it’s a serious question.”

Placing your film down, you give him your attention. “Alright, I’m listening. What’s up?”

Steve places his guitar down and rolls onto his side. He stares up with tired eyes and he hesitates for a moment. Opens his mouth, closes it, looks away.

“Steve?” You don’t like the uncharacteristic hesitancy. 

Sighing, he faces you again. “Why did you take this job?” 

Your confusion must spill over your face because Steve inhales and tries again, tries to articulate something that you can tell has been bothering him for a while. “What I mean is, why did you decide to put your faith in the band? Work for shit pay, live with complete strangers? Aren’t you, I don’t know, worried that we’ve somehow jeopardized your career by making you stay?”

A part of you wants to deflect, to make a joke about how you never really had a career anyways. Except Steve is looking up at you and you see a flicker of insecurity in his eyes, doubt that has never been there before. 

“Because,” you tell him, easily and without any doubt yourself. “One day everyone will know your name. You’ll be known as Steve Harrington, lead member of the Februarys, a band that will be remembered for generations to come.”

You reach out, tuck Steve’s hair behind his ear. “And, selfishly, I want to be a part of the history you make. Even if only as the photographer.”

“You really believe that?” His golden smile is bashful. 

“I do,” your lips fall to his cheek, a fluttering reassurance. “The Februarys, you guys are special. There’s something in your band. Something good. I can feel it.”

Steve grabs your ankle, skims the flesh there with the pad of his thumb. He watches himself trace your skin, smiling still golden and youthful. “I can feel it, too,” he admits to you as if it’s a secret. “Thank you, you know. For believing in us.”

Removing your ankle from his grasp, you curl your body into itself, falling against his chest, forgetting about the photos and guitar and simply laying on him. Listening to his heartbeat. Music somehow innate within him. 

“Yeah, well,” you throw your leg over his. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re a rockstar.”

Steve rubs your thigh now. Up and down, slowly, in soothing rhythms. He turns to you, close enough that your noses brush. Your breaths mix, his air becomes yours, and Steve squeezes the skin beneath his palm. 

“I could never forget you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost don’t hear it.

But you’re watching his lips. Your ear is pressed over his heart. The swell of his chest anchors your chin. You hear Steve’s promise because it would be impossible not to, and you believe him for these very same reasons as well. 

– 

After a month of multiple arguments, insults, tears, midnight snack runs, and emotional outbursts, the Februarys’ EP, creatively titled The Februarys, is finished. 

“You agonize over these songs for weeks on end and then you name the EP The Februarys?” Dustin makes a face. “Were you too burnt out to think of anything better?”

Robin throws a pillow at him and Steve has to leave the room before he screams. 

“Is now a bad time to ask how you guys plan on recording an EP without, you know, a studio or any connections to a studio?” The death glare Robin sends you immediately shuts you up. “Yeah, okay. Bad time.”

The dilemma of not having a studio or even a record label to help produce the EP is quickly solved by the grace of one Jonathan Byers. 

“Okay, I have a plan.” He sits everyone down a few nights later, looking like King Arthur at the head of the round table. “I can get us into a studio.”

Max tips her chair back and crosses her arms. “If it involves anything illegal, I’m out. My mom said I can’t keep abusing the family lawyer.”

“You have a family lawyer?”

“Focus, Y/N.” A pen gets thrown at you and Jonathan sets his gaze on Max. “And no, it isn’t illegal. Technically.”

“I’m listening.” Mike leans forward in his seat.

Nancy frowns. “I don’t like the way you said that.”

You nod in agreement, eyeing her brother, to which he scoffs at you both. 

Jonathan either doesn’t see this or he simply doesn’t care. “Do you guys remember my old coworker Argyle? It was back when I worked at that deli on fifth.”

Everyone nods, you included. You vaguely remember the stories Jonathan told you about his time at the deli. It was run by an old man who didn’t care about labor rights but in a way that only benefited the employees. Unlimited breaks, a disregard for public health codes, and free food if you worked overtime. 

You never set foot in that deli for obvious reasons, though Jonathan loved every second of it. 

“Well, turns out he managed to bypass mandatory state drug tests and got a job working security at Major Tom’s.”

A lot of things happen at once. 

Robin, who had taken a poorly timed sip of her water, spits it out all over Steve. Cringing at the attack, his knee hits the table, eliciting a pathetic yelp from him. Mike slams his hand on the table and screams something about fate, and Max, who had been tempting the limits of how far her chair could tip back, is so surprised by the news that she leans too far and ends up on the floor. 

“Oh, Jesus.” In dire need of damage control, you quickly stand up and help Max off the ground. On your way you toss a roll of paper towels to Steve and tell him to clean himself up. 

“Major Tom’s?” He screeches, a wet paper towel hanging from his face. 

Jonathan gulps, nods. “Yeah.”

Robin’s rapid breathing borders on hyperventilating and Mike and Max are in stunned awe. Meanwhile, you’re getting ice from the freezer to ease the sting of the girl’s fall, completely caught off guard by everyone’s startled reactions. 

“In fear of looking like a moron,” you hand the ice to Max. “What the hell is Major Tom’s?”

“Oh, it’s no big deal, just the most culturally significant recording studio in the world.” Steve sputters a laugh. “It’s where every fucking rock band who’s recorded there becomes a household legend.”

You sit back down. “Oh, so this is like. A pretty big deal.”

“It’s a huge deal!” Robin exclaims. She clasps her hands in front of Jonathan, goes flying to her knees before him. “Byers, light of my life, love of my beloved Nancy Wheeler, apple of my sour eye, please, for the love of god, talk to Argyle.”

He gently grabs her arm and forces her back into her seat. “I thought I told you to stop begging for things like that. It creeps me out.”

“That’s why I do it.”

“Nancy said I need to work on expressing how I’m feeling, and I really dislike that you continue to do something that makes me feel–”

Now it’s Max’s hand that slams down on the table. “Hey! Assholes! Can we go back to Argyle finally being useful?”

“I’ve always thought he was useful.”

“You’re about to be banned from this conversation, Y/N.”

Steve, who has been shockingly quiet throughout all of this, calmly says, “Byers, you need to talk to Argyle.”

“That’s the thing.” Jonathan leans his weight against the table, crosses his arms in a smug manner. He looks around at everyone and shrugs. “I already did. He agreed to sneak us into the studio for three days. For free.”

This time there’s an even bigger reaction and it isn’t until hours later, deep into night with Steve staring up at your bedroom ceiling, does the adrenaline finally die down. 

Argyle’s deal with Jonathan is simple. The Februarys get three straight days of studio time. That’s all he can afford to give them before he risks his own job. All they have to do is record, edit, and mix eight songs in three days. 

All for the price of Jonathan’s film canister so that he can sneak weed to work.

And while the three day limit seems impossible, it’s more than enough for the band. This is too big of an opportunity to fuck up. They’ll stay up those entire three days, work themselves to the brink of death, if it means that they finally have a chance.

Which is ultimately what ends up happening.

A maddening rush settles into the band’s veins and they spend the rest of the night drawing up a plan.

Day one will be recording all eight songs. Steve won’t say a single word unless needed so that he can preserve his voice. Extra guitar strings will be stashed in Robin’s bag. Bandaids. Aspirin, whatever they can possibly need. No one leaves the studio until the final lyric has been sung and the final chord has faded. 

Day two will be the production day. With Mike and Steve mixing the songs, they’ll be at the mercy of Robin, Max, and Jonathan. Everyone gets a say in what happens. Every soundbite, every amplification of bass or keyboard gets approved by everyone. If they don’t agree with each other, they get one veto each. That’s it. There won’t be any time for arguing or stale compromises. 

Day three, the final day, will be the last minute edits. They’ll re-record if needed. Change a progression or note. It has to be perfect; it has to feel perfect. There is no other option. 

“We’ll see you and Dustin in a few days.” Steve throws a few more things into his bag. He’s called a taxi that will be at the apartment any minute. “I’ll leave some cash so you guys can order out. Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

Dustin looks offended. “Why are you making it sound like Y/N is my babysitter?”

“Because technically she is.”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Which puts the ‘baby’ in ‘babysitter’.”

“Not to interrupt this groundbreaking conversation but,” your bag, which you’d been hiding behind your back since coming into Steve’s room, lands on the bed beside his. “I’m coming with you, Harrington.”

Both Steve and Dustin look at you as if you’re insane.

“You’re leaving me all alone for three days?”

“Thought you didn’t need a babysitter, Henderson?” Dustin closes his mouth and glares at you. Meanwhile, you flash Steve a wide smile. “Any complaints from you?”

“No,” there’s still an odd look on his face. “I mean, definitely not. I get you for three straight days? Heaven. I just… we can’t pay you for whatever pictures you take. It isn’t in our budget. You know that, right?”

“Keep your money,” Steve’s concern of valuing your work melts your skin. “I meant what I told you. I want to be a part of your history. And your first recording session at Major Tom’s? That’s history, rosie.”

Early morning sunlight streaks the hardwood floor of Steve’s room. His guitar is packed away in its case. His bag overflows with more than he probably needs. He’s kneeling on his bed, one leg in front of you, body angled towards yours, and the raw and vulnerable way his eyes soften when he looks at you, it’s worth more than anything he could ever pay you. 

“Taxi’s here!” Robin bangs on the doorframe. “Let’s go, wombats.”

Steve tosses your bag and grabs your hand, spinning you as he tugs you out the door. You’re used to his boyish antics by now, but still you laugh like a schoolgirl and follow him wherever. 

“So I’m really gonna be alone for three days?” Dustin calls out, following right behind. 

“I’ll call Luas and have him stay with you.” You placate. “And Steve will leave even more money for food.”

“No I won’t–”

“Bye, Dustin!” You kiss his head, ruffle his hair, and then extend your arm out towards Steve, palm facing up, expectant. “Cough it up.”

His amused smile betrays his downturned eyebrows. “Why do you treat me like the bank?” “You grew up rich. This is financial compensation for everyone who is poor.”

 Dustin nods. “Yeah. It’s economics.”

Steve sighs, knowing he won’t win this fight, and hands the kid an extra five dollars on top of the twenty he’s already left on the counter. “I hate you both.”

“Guys!” Robin’s scream can be heard from the street below. She’s outside the taxi now and her glare can be felt from six stories up. “Let’s. Go.”

“That’s our cue.” Steve grabs your hand, cocks his head at you. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

– 

Major Tom’s recording studio is deep in the West Village. A few blocks away resides the Hudson. The building itself is small, no more than five floors, yet it’s a maze within its lush walls. Deep red lines the velvet walls. Amber wood flooring, gold plated chandeliers, and records spanning decades. 

Similar to Higgy's, so much history can be felt within the walls. Icons from eras passed, their music transcending their vitality.

No one has time to admire the studio’s beauty, though. The second Argyle sneaks everyone inside, they scatter like bugs. Steve runs straight to the first recording booth he finds. Jonathan grabs a drum set base, Max digs through drawers for music stands, and Mike and Robin pick at a locked door to see what’s inside, hoping for at least a few mics. 

Knowing better than to get in their way, you stay back. Keep to the shadows in their chaos. All you do is silently take pictures, documenting it all. 

Before you know it the band has managed to cram their way into the booth and they’re performing the first song in minutes. Seeing them working together so fluidly is beautiful. Argyle, with limited knowledge of how music production works, monitors the soundboard. 

Despite the time constraints and the pressure to get everything right in just one take, Steve performs every song as if he has all the time in the world.

His smooth voice and dropped vowels coat the soft hums of Robin. He moves slowly, his eyes closed for every song. He gets lost in the music and you get lost watching him. 

The Februarys finish recording all their songs right as the sun starts to set. By this point, Steve’s voice is raw and the flesh of Max’s fingertips and Mike’s palms are cut up and bleeding. Jonathan has splinters from his drumsticks. Robin’s feet ache from standing.

But they’ve never been more alive.

They talk over each other and surround the soundboard, itching to hear what’s been captured and even more anxious to pick it apart and stitch it back together again. 

Throughout the night they tear over melodies and chords. They work until they can hardly keep their eyes open, and still they insist on listening over and over again to the songs. Late into night they take turns sleeping, never allowing for more than two of them to sleep at the same time in fear of losing daylight. 

The second day follows this pattern. By the end of the night, they can feel the exhaustion in their bones. And yet, despite this, there has never been more laughter, more quips and tears and sentimental smiles, between them. 

The third day is slower, easier. The final stretch. Somehow they manage to stay on track and with only a few more songs to finalize, the energy in the room shifts. The once manic, frenzied static that coated the room becomes mellow, calm, like quiet acceptance. 

“We’re really good.” Steve murmurs to you, resting his head beside yours against the wall. He was forced to take a break a while ago and sits down next to you on the ground. 

“You are.” Though you’re not sure if you’re affirming a belief of doubt or a belief of quality. “Everything you’ve done is incredible.”

“Fuck,” he breathes out, voice thick with tears. “We’re really good.”

In his brown eyes you see a dream being fulfilled. A realization that more will come from this. That years of sleepless nights and strained vocal cords has amended him this: a quiet moment between childhood friends getting everything they’ve ever wanted.

The final song plays over the speakers. There isn’t a breath released during its entirety. Robin's keynote fades. The key evokes an image of goodbye. The clapping that follows from behind you evokes terror. 

Everyone turns around. The room stills. 

Leonard Branham, manager and producer of Major Tom’s, stands in the doorway. 

He’s a short man, more belly than body. His white hair is almost translucent against his pale skin. Large sunglasses rest on his veiny head. A cigarette dangles from his wrinkled mouth and when he smiles, his teeth are yellowed, aged. 

“Well, what do we have here?” 

Steve is the first to react, scrambling to his feet. “Mr. Branham, sir, I–”

“Do not.” 

The silence turns into terror. For three days the Februarys have been using the studio without explicit permission. They snuck in through the backdoor and illegally used equipment worth thousands. 

And now, just as they’ve completed their mad dash to the finish line, the owner of Major Tom’s has caught them, quite literally, red handed. 

Maybe Max’s family lawyers will be useful. 

“Mr. Leonard, uh. Branham. Sir. Sorry, do I call you sir?” Robin’s squeaky voice of fear rings in your ears. “I-okay. Not important. Can I just ask you not to arrest us–”

“Please don’t arrest us. My sister will kill me and she’s really annoying–”

“I know a good lawyer.”

“God, my dad is an asshole and I know I’m twenty-four but he’s fucking terrifying and–”

“My step dad is a cop, I know my rights–”

Leonard hands up his hands and his loud voice booms, “Enough!”

Silence. Pure, utter silence. 

“Jesus H. Christ,” the man puffs out smoke. Flicks the ash onto the expensive carpet like it’s nothing. “You’re not getting arrested, alright? I’ve known you were using my studio since the first day your asses got here. Your little friend over here,” he waves his cigarette at Argyle. “Can’t keep a secret to save his chubby little life.”

“It’s true, dudes.”

Steve’s mouth tightens. “So we’re… fine?”

“Fine?” Leonard cackles. “I don’t know, boy. You tell me!”

“Full transparency, sir, I think I’m about to have a heart attack.”

Leonard exhales more smoke. “Now that, my boy, better be the nerves talking. I don’t sign druggies to the label. It’s a bad image when they kneel over and I’m the one managing them.”

Steve pales and for a split second you really do think he’s having a heart attack. “I-I’m sorry. Did you say sign?”

“Told you. I’ve known you were here the entire time. I have cameras. This equipment cost more than my third fucking divorce.” Leonard kicks at a speaker and huffs. “But that’s besides the point. I’m here because I like you guys. Your songs sound like the colors blue and yellow and I fucking love that they make green. You understand?”

Robin laughs nervously. “Can’t really say I do. Personally.”

“Christ, doesn’t anyone listen these days?” Leonard flicks ash off his cigarette and stares at the group. “I’m giving you guys a chance. I want you to join my label. Is that English enough for you?”

Mike screams. Full on, knees to the ground, screams. Max isn’t any better, joining him immediately and grabbing onto his body to try and support her own failing one. 

Robin’s eyes roll back and she nearly faints. Jonathan has to be the one to catch her, because Steve just stands there, eyes wide, shell shocked and unmoving. His entire body tenses up and you wouldn’t be surprised if ends up fainting as well. 

In the midst of everyone’s overwhelmed reactions, you’re the only one coherent enough to step forward and shake Leonard’s extended hand. 

“I hear you loud and clear, Lenny.” He smiles, impressed with the confidence to call him by his name. “The Februarys will happily sign with you.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” Leonard clasps his hand over your intertwined ones, shaking it aggressively. 

A weight gets thrown upon you and Steve’s arms tear you from Leonard. He clings onto you from behind, nearly sending you to the floor, as he laughs and cries and screams. He’s in your arms and around your waist and in your neck and your stomach and he’s swallowed entirely by the bliss that erupts in the room. 

The beginning of it all.

-

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ please feel free to like, reblog, and comment. i adore hearing from you guys :)

[finitedog]

for me internet friendships are “we don’t talk all the time but I see you’re online and it makes me happy” and I really hope it’s like that for everyone

[finitedog]

HOUSE: AIRBORNE

S03E18

[finitedog]

"average viking gets struck by lightning once" factoid actually just statistical error. average viking is never struck by lightning. Snotlout Jorgenson, who is hated by thor and has been struck by lightning fifteen times, is an outlier and should not have been counted.

[finitedog]

[finitedog]

oohhh wife., i cheated again..

[finitedog]

hi tumblr i’m back from the dead i like house md now

also i have a patreon now!! if you want to support me with some extra benefits thrown in this is it! it’s just one $3 tier at the moment, but i’m hoping to start a sticker package tier in the future, stay tuned..

link is in my carrd! thank you!!

[finitedog]

In 2025 you have to fag it up as much as possible. Goth it up also. Godspeed. Gothspeed, even.

[finitedog]

hi. same anon from the mreader appreciation thing. if ur comfy with doing it, a part 2 for the james fic? or anything more with gn and mreader honestly,,, only if ur inspired to do it though, i know pt2's can be boring to do sometimes 😥 anyways you dont have to lol. i just like ur writing

I Think James Likes Beaters!

pairing: james potter x male!ravenclaw!reader

summary: James can’t get over his new crush when he has a Quidditch game against Ravenclaw — with you as their new Beater.

genre: fluff fluff

wc: 2.1k

content: reader is a Beater (sorry I'm a sucker for Beaters), quidditch game, he/him reader, James is down bad and very gay, flirting

note: thank you for requesting anon, and i'm glad you like my writing!! i hope you enjoy this oneshot <33

oneshot under the cut :: not edited :: part 1 | part 2

Life in Hogwarts is always full of unexpected twists and turns, both in academic and social life. They tend to make the students feel stressed and demotivated, feelings that are much more common in the older students as their requirements and tests fire one after the other.

But what can distract them from the stress and schoolwork better than Quidditch?

Whether the students of Hogwarts play Quidditch or are just familiar with the sport, most of them use the inter-house Quidditch matches to scream their hearts out, pouring all the academic frustration out with it.

And besides, it was also the perfect opportunity for both girls and boys alike to find new people to crush on.

This was one of the things James Potter lived for. He lived for the cheers of his house as he scored a point as one of their Chasers, the swooning of the ladies when he'd smirk at them as he flew by.

Now, one more thing slithered into the list.

You.

Today was the day of his match against Ravenclaw, and he was anxious to see you in the stands. Although you would most probably be cheering for your own house, he knew that you just being there would motivate him to do better in the game and hopefully impress you (perks of having a crush I suppose).

If only you would just support him...

"Prongs, you're staring again," Remus prompted, James's gaze turning away from you to look at his friend. He hadn't even realized that he spaced out while looking at you, not that you noticed anyway. You were too busy laughing with your friends.

You looked even more handsome when you laughed.

Sirius sighed, shaking his head with a teasing grin. "With how obvious you're being, you might as well be carrying a big 'I LIKE YOU!' sign over your head."

"Oh piss off Pads," James rolled his eyes, stealing one more glance at you before focusing back on his plate of toast and bacon.

"Do you think he'll watch the match?" James asked his friends. You most probably would, but he didn't know enough about you to be sure. Did you like Quidditch? Did you play? Were you interested enough in the sport or supportive enough of your team to want to watch the match?"

Peter Pettigrew shrugged, swallowing his toast before sharing his thoughts. "I never really noticed him in our other matches against Ravenclaw, but I think he will."

"Whether or not he'll focus on you is the real question," Sirius said, making his voice lower to make himself sound more "mysterious."

Remus flicked the back of Sirius's hand, making the boy overdramatically whine in pain, before turning to the messy-haired boy. "Don't overthink it, James. I'm sure he'll be there, and I'm sure that he'll look at you during the match."

"How can you be so sure?" James asked, his voice sounding desperate.

Remus looked beyond James and smiled before looking back at him. "Because he's looking at you right now."

James immediately twisted his body despite the flare of pain at the sudden movement, hopeful to catch your eye, and he did. You smiled and gave him a small wave. It was a simple gesture, but enough to make James grin giddily and return the wave enthusiastically.

He turned back to hide his pink cheeks, the smile still plastered on his face. His friends snorted at his lovesick expression.

"What?" He demanded, the smile fading but the tinted cheeks remaining.

"You're bad down, mate," Sirius sniggered, clapping him behind the back harshly as if congratulating him. "You better not play bad later."

James scoffed at the mere suggestion that he would have a bad performance, especially with you in the crowd. "Like hell I will."

He was too busy messing around with his friends to notice your lingering gaze at the back of his head.

—————

After giving his team his motivating speech as Quidditch Captain ("Beaters, hit hard. Chasers, score and don't fall off brooms. Keeper, whack the Quaffle away. Seeker, try not to die. Ready? Ready."), James led his team out of their tent, squinting a little at the bright sun glaring down at them.

At least this Saturday's a sunny one, James thought. I can see him better now... I hope...

Ravenclaw took their time in leaving their tent. The Gryffindors were already in a line when they finally showed up, all of them walking with surety in their steps. In the previous matches that James would have against their team, they never looked that confident.

"What's got your head held high, Harlow?" James asked the Ravenclaw Captain Eliah Harlow. "Your replacement Beater any good?"

Their old Beater got into an accident during practice (he forgot to swing when the Bludger was coming right at him), and he was still in recovery at the school's hospital wing. From what James heard, they found a last-minute replacement just this morning.

The captain grinned. "Indeed he is. Best we've ever had."

James raised an eyebrow at that, intrigued. Who was this new Beater, and how good is he to be able to pick up a team's morale?

He looked through the lineup, but he couldn't see any new face. Some Ravenclaw players were freakishly tall, so maybe he was hidden behind them.

"Captains, shake hands," Madame Hooch said, the two boys slapping their hands together and having a short grip contest before they both pulled away at the same time.

“Players, mount your brooms,” The referee said, making the players swing their legs over their rides. “Kick off on my whistle.”

Tweet!

James kicked himself off the ground as hard as he could, sending a few specks of dirt away as he flew up in the air.

His team worked like clockwork; their Seeker getting out of the playing field to survey the place from sides; Sirius whacking the Bludger with his signature intensity; and of course, his fellow Chasers following him as they met the opposing team's defense.

He caught the Quaffle from one of his teammates and zoomed towards one of Ravenclaw’s rings to score.

He heard the whistle of the air and turned to his left to look at the source. His eyes widened when he saw the Bludger coming right after him at an alarming rate.

It’s the damn new Ravenclaw Beater, isn’t it?

James dove, narrowly avoiding the Bludger and throwing the ball in his hands into the middle ring, causing Gryffindor to erupt in cheers at the gained point. He looked around for the new Beater that seemed to have taken a liking to him as their new target. He saw no new face around him.

Until he heard a faint laugh from behind him and a faint thwack.

Shit.

James threw once glance behind him to confirm his thoughts, and sure enough, a Bludger was barreling towards him — again.

He also saw the face of the new Beater.

You.

The only thought coursing through his brain as he sped up on his broom was that you had a hell of a swing.

He made a sharp right turn, making the Bludger almost hit the bystanders on the stands. This gave him the opportunity to make eye contact with you. You had a big grin on your face, one hand on the bat leaning on your shoulder, and the other one on the sleek handle of your broom.

Holy shit he looks so hot.

“Watch yourself, James!” You called, your voice gleeful. “You might just get knocked off your broom if you aren’t careful!”

James couldn’t help but laugh in response, veering away from you to play defense with his teammates — and to hide his flaming cheeks from your view.

“Seeker, find the damn Snitch!” He roared at his Seeker, who was barely flying around. He immediately started moving again after getting shouted at by his Captain.

And then, he spotted it and made a great dive. The Ravenclaw Seeker followed suit, tailing Gryffindor.

“It seems both Seekers have caught sight of the Snitch!” the commentator said. “But who will get to it first?!”

James maneuvered around the Chasers, passing by Sirius who cheered him on as he batted the Bludger away from him again.

“Gryffindor gets close to the Snitch!”

James focused on his own part of the game, Quaffle in his hand again as he swerved around the Ravenclaw Chasers as gracefully as he could.

Thwack!

He looked around, his previous encounters with you making him antsy about the big black ball that you always seem to hit towards him.

But the Bludger wasn’t aimed at him this time. It was barreling straight towards their Seeker, just grazing the space between their outstretched fingers and the small golden ball.

Instinctively, the Seeker pulled his broom up to avoid the collision with the Bludger that was never really going to happen. Ravenclaw took the opportunity to surge forward and secure the Snitch in their grasp.

“Ravenclaw has the Snitch! The game is over with them as our winner!”

The blue side of the stands erupted with cheers. The Ravenclaw team flew towards each other, congratulating their Seeker and shouting victoriously.

James sighed. Although normally after a lost Quidditch match, he’d be in fumes, but he couldn’t bring himself to act upon anger that wasn’t present in the first place. He felt strangely satisfied with the match — they didn’t lose by that many points, and you looking so beautiful during the game was enough to satisfy him.

Sirius flew towards him, Beater’s bat limp in his hand. He used his free one to pat James in the back consolingly. “We’ll get 'em next time Prongs.”

"Yeah..." He looked over to the celebrating Ravenclaw team, catching a glimpse of your victorious grin as you praised your teammates for their performance. "We will."

—————

James stepped out of the shower, a towel around his neck as he rubbed the excess water out of his hair. He was on his own, since Sirius normally went straight to the Great Hall after matches to eat, and James liked to take his time with his shower.

So he was fine with being alone.

Until he saw that he wasn't alone.

James stopped in his tracks when he saw your bare back facing him as you busied yourself with the contents of a locker.

You must have heard him, since you turned around and smiled slightly. "Hey. Good game today."

Shirtless. Shirtless man. What the fuck, how is he able to hide that FIGURE??????

James cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh — you too. I didn't expect you to be a Beater."

You chuckled, turning back to your locker to fix the stuff inside. "I wasn't a Beater until today, actually. Just filling in as a favor to Carter. He said he doesn't trust anyone else with his empty position."

"You did good for a new Beater, though. Really good." James nodded as he spoke despite you not seeing him.

Thank goodness. He felt like his face was going to implode with how warm it felt.

If you didn't put on a shirt any time soon, he might actually faint.

It was as if you heard his prayers. You took out a big shirt and put it on, hiding your body underneath cloth once more. Now James didn't know if he really wanted that to happen.

You turned around, your other clothes gathered in your hands. "You would have won, you know."

James tilted his head, confusion overpowering his flusteredness a little bit. "Sorry?"

"You would have won the game," you repeated. "You gathered a lot of points for your team through the Quaffle. If you went on any longer, us catching the Snitch wouldn't have gathered enough points to win."

You smiled, eyes softening as you continued to hold James's gaze. "You did really well today. I'm proud of you."

James felt his heart stutter in his chest.

You let out an amused huff at his shocked reaction. You walked past him, not without patting his shoulder. It was a gesture that was normally a small one, but the gentleness and the honesty it had was enough to pause the rotation of James's world for a splitsecond.

"Eat up tonight. You deserve it." You gave him another smile, one as soft as your gaze.

You let go of his shoulder, continuing your trek out of the tent, but you called over your shoulder before you left. "Go to Hogsmeade with me next week. My treat."

You disappeared without waiting for his reply.

James turned, staring at where you were moments before. Your words just processed in his head, enabling a giddy grin to form on his face.

"Was that... a date? Did he just ask me out on a date??????"

He was lucky he was alone in the lockers. No one had to go deaf from his cheers as he won his own personal victory that day.

A date with you.

And boy did that end well.

[finitedog]

Thank you Trixie and Katya for your wise words 🙏🏻 Also, inside I just know Noel would be very pleased with “I love the way that little goth bitch dresses, she always turns it.”

[finitedog]

But you’re over here

Fred Weasley x fem! shy! Potter! Reader

Summary: During the final game of the season, a certain redhead couldn’t care less about the trophy

Warnings/tags: swearing, friends to lovers, first kiss, getting together, mutual pining, Hufflepuff reader, potter reader, James being a good dad, Cedric being the best wing and hype man, Jess, Timothy and Joey OCs, marauders being parents

A/n: 4.4k words, ngl the alchemy plays in my head during this kiss scene, apologies for any mistakes I'm a bit ill right now, as always reader can be the bio or adopted older daughter of James and Lily, based on this and this requests ♡

Navigation | Fred Weasley Masterlist

“Oh boy, oh boy!” James claps his hands, rubbing them together in excitement as he, Lily, Remus, and Sirius reach the top of the stands 

Lily giggles at her husband's enthusiasm, following him to the front row, while Remus and Sirius brace themselves at the top, catching their breaths after a quite frankly atrocious number of stairs

Today was the big game, not only was it the old rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but it was the final, and the first year Harry was serving as captain after Oliver passed the torch to him two years ago. It was safe to say as fun as the Triwizard tournament was the previous year, quidditch was still the marauders and co’s favourite pastime. Hell, the whole school was buzzing

“Were they always that high?” Sirius whispers, rubbing his chest “Fuck me” he breathes heavily

“I think we’re just old now my love” Remus chuckles, after all these years he still can’t help but wind up his husband just a little bit

Sirius makes a face “Fuck you! I’m not old…you’re old!” he childishly argues, wearing a grumpy pout that twitches everyone once and again, revealing the smile beneath

“And when is your birthday?” 

Sirius’ mouth opens to reply but alas the man has nothing and is caught looking like a fish, though he’s a very cute fish in Remus’ mind

“We might be old…but you’re still as pretty as you were last time we were up here” Remus compliments, leaning down to peck Sirius’ tinting cheeks “Pretty boy” he whispers one last blow before pushing off the beam and joining his friends leaving Sirius flustered 

“Pads? You comin?” James calls out, head shooting over “Ohhhh” James barks a knowing laugh, whispering something to Remus and patting his back as he sits down

Sirius can’t help but let out a small smile as they turn away “He thinks I’m pretty” he mutters all giddy to himself before joining his friends, taking a seat between Remus and James, with Lily on James’ other side

“See! I told you we were smart coming early, it’s already beginning to fill up” Lily points out, smiling to herself as she shrugs off her jacket, grabbing the others as well, before laying them on the seats behind them to save room for when the McKinnon’s made their fashionably late appearance

James smiles, hand finding the top of Lily's head “That we were, hun” he agrees, patting her head and soaking up her proud little smile as she smooths out the rest of the coats

“Who are you looking for?” Remus asks, pulling James’ attention back to find Sirius squinting off into the distance

“Our goddaughter, I haven’t seen her in ages” Sirius pouts, squinting harder

“You saw her at Easter break” James chuckles 

“Oh yeah” Sirius nods, remembering “Still, I miss her” he confesses, warming the men's hearts

Sirius and Remus decided against children, not that they didn’t want them per se, more they couldn’t confirm the child's safety with Remus’ furry little problem. As such, they filled that hole with you and Harry. Sirius took an extra shine to you though, maybe it was your shy yet cheeky nature that reminded him of Remus, or maybe it’s the little bit of himself he saw in you, watching you get sorted into Hufflepuff when everyone else in your big, wonderfully weird family was Gryffindor. Whatever it was, though today was Harry’s day, he still had to make sure you were alright

“Do you want your glasses?” Remus offers, sighing as he watches his husbands sorry display and reaches for his bag

Sirius swats his hand away “I don’t need glasses moony, I’m fine. It’s just the wind, it’s blowing stuff in my eyes” he gestures around his face, scrunching his nose before attempting to subtly squint again

Remus’ eyes meet James’, shaking his head as he mouths ‘why can’t he admit defeat?’

James smirks, shrugging as he turns away, now interested in where you were, as is Lily after overhearing the debacle. The four searched for you as the student body make their way to the stands. Glancing around Remus’ spots a wild Weasley, smiling as he watches Ron attempt to hold back his blushes as Hermione fixes the red paint on his cheeks. Lily spots Neville, Ginny and Luna in another stand wearing their handmade lion mains. Sirius spots well…nothing, but your father on the other hand is the one to finally find you. 

He watches as you enter the stand diagonal to them with Cedric, Jess and two other boys he doesn’t quite recognise but based on their green scarfs must be Timothy and Joey, which would be two out of the four very few Slytherins in this world he accepted were good, the others being his best friends’ brother and the one and only Dorcas Meadows

“Found her” he points with joy “There she is, ain’t our little fawn beautiful” he shines, causing all their eyes to fall on you as you all worm your way to the front of your own stand

“It’s funny seeing them in red and gold” Remus notes, an amused look as he observes yours, Cedric, and Jess’s Gryffindor scarves, most likely stolen from your brother and his friends…or perhaps secretly gifted from one particular Weasley

Lily nods, but her head tilts to the side as your head taps the taller of the other boy's shoulders “They seem close, which one is he again, Tim or Joe?” she ponders trying to remember

“Tim, she said he was tall in the letters” James confirms “They aren’t together” he says with confidence

“And how would you know that Captain Oblivious?” Remus’ laughs, eyeing his friend but then his gaze drifts to peak at his husband, who's been unusually quiet, realising he’s still very much struggling to see you

Remus slowly collects the glasses from his bag again and holds them up in offering

“Dammit” Sirius sighs accepting the truth and putting them on, looking grumpy until his eyes widen, like he’s seeing a brand-new world

“Better love?” Remus teases while pointing you out again

“Shut up moo…aww there she is, beautiful as ever” he adjusts them smiling “Wait…whoa” he looks at James doing a double take as everything is now in high definition “You’ve aged so well” he notes

James’ smirks “Why thank you, I steal Lily’s muggles products” he admits unapologetically, not that it’s much of a surprise to the girl next to him who just rolls her eyes, accepting the fact she now buys two of every product just for him

“It’s the one with lighter hair, not Cedric, the taller one” Remus points out to Sirius

“Oh…” Sirius eyes the boy, judging “...nah”

“What do you mean nah?” everyone jumps a little at first turning around to see Marlene, Dorcas and the cutest little lion there had ever been joining them “Holy shi… sugar those specks are something” Marlene laughs, catching herself before glancing at her wife, mouthing an apology while their daughter looks up at them confused

“Suu’gar” the little cub repeats before pointing at Sirius “Specky!” she says excitedly “Unkie Jams t‘win” she claps, pointing between James and Sirius before jumping and clapping again all happy with herself

Sirius’ quickly pulls the glasses off, cheeks heating while the others struggle to hold in their giggles 

“I don’t need them” he looks straight at Marlene, trying his best to be convincing

She just gives him a ‘really’ look in return before smiling softly 

Sirius half chuckles, half sighs as he admits defeat, flashing the women a genuine smile “It’s good to see you Marls, you too Dorca darlin” he then looks down at little Lacy “Hello little cub” he coos 

“Rwah!” Lacy holds up her hands in a claw motion, doing her best lion impression 

It was well known the Marauders had one brain cell between them, but when that cell fired it was magical, all including her mothers and godmother pretended she was the most fearsome thing they’d ever beheld, even a couple other parents who had taken seats little ways down joined in. After some pleas and chocolate offered to calm the beast, the group settled in again, catching up as they waited for the game to start.

You rocked on your feet, eyes continually flicking to the players entrance in anticipation

“You good sunshine?” you feel a soft pat to the top of your head, looking up you’re greeted with Timothy's soft smile, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he checked in, worried the ruckus and busyness of the stand was a bit overwhelming for you

You gently tap your head into his shoulder, nodding “I’m good…just excited” you confess with warm cheeks as your nose is flooded with the scent of your scarf again

“Ahhhh” he elongates, giving you and then the scarf a look “Y/n and Freddie sitting in a tree” he whisper sings

Your eyes widen before you attempt a scowl that looks more like a puppy pouting “Shut up” you chide, fixing the scarf a little before looking away, hoping Cedric, Jess and Joey were having a more in depth conversion but instead you find them grinning “Sugar” you press your lips into a downturned smile

They all looked at each other before singing in unison 

“K…i…s…s…i…n…g!” 

Despite your cheeks positively flaming around the second ‘s’, you can help but break into a smile. Your friends knew about your little crush on the Weasley boy from afar. Despite your brother’s closeness with the family you didn’t have such ties, you adored Ginny on the few occasions she had visited, along with Ron and Hermione, but as for the rest of the clan your paths rarely crossed. You were meant to spend the summer with them as your families decided to holiday together, but when Cedric won the Triwizard tournament that changed, and instead, he took you and your friends traveling with the prize money 

Yours paths finally crossed at the beginning of the school year, when Sprout created a seating pattern allowing everyone to get familiar with their randomised Herbology partner before the end of year assignment. You were nervous at first, as you were sure the professor was when she pulled out your names. Putting the quietest person in Hogwarts with the loudest person seemed like it would either be the worst pairing she had ever seen or the most genius 

To her good fortune…and ego, it was the latter. It was surprising to see the king of mischief actually try with his assignments, but most chalked it up to the fact that while you were quiet, you were well-loved by your year, you held no prejudices, helped people with their assignments when the asked you, and was just in general sweet to everyone, to the point even the meanest Slytherins were a little soft on you. Therefore, most assumed Fred couldn’t bear to let you down either, and while that was true at first, a second reason soon bloomed for the boy

It bloomed for you as well, you slowly opened up to him each class, topics drifting to something deeper, and by the time Christmas rolled around you both were close friends. So close in fact you began inviting him to your friend’s secret hideaway by black lake, at first to study, but then to hang out both with and without your other friends. It was funny at first, with Cedric and Jess being rivals in quidditch and Timothy and Joey's Slytherin status, but Fred warmed to them, gaining their trust and, not that they told either of you, their blessing 

“I hate you all” you pout, falling into Cedric’s side hug as you shake your head

“Nah” Timothy joins from the other side

“You love us” Jess chimes in, beaming at you

“Not as much as she loves him though” Joey adds cheekily, nodding towards the pitch, it seems none of you had noticed the crowds stir for the players appearances during your teasing session

Cedric and Timothy quickly retract their grasp, smiling at one another as you lunge adorably forward to see. Your friends soon join you, all cheering, while you find Fred in the small mass of people, admiring him as he laughs with the others. After a few moments, the team is finished talking, beginning to take flight and get into position. Once there, you watch as Fred’s eyes begin to scan the crowd, heart thumping as his gaze slowly draws closer, skipping a beat when they fall on you, and damn near stopping as he doubles back, face lifting 

You see, a few weeks ago you had met Fred to check over your final herbology assignment, which meant a late-night picnic waiting to see if your flower would bloom under the full moon. While chatting, the topic of today's game came up. Of course, now that Hufflepuff were out for the count, he teased you with who you would be supporting, his teasing backfired however when, without missing a beat, said you would be supporting whatever team he was playing in. 

After his slight fluster, which, to this day is one of your proudest achievements, conversation returned to normal, you figured he’s forgotten about it until a first year found you this morning holding a small bundle of Gryffindor scarves, one of which had a red ribbon around it with a note for you

You bring your hands up, hugging the scarf as your eyes meet, causing the biggest smile to take over his face. It was times like this you truly believed your crush was requited, and little did you know a certain redhead was thinking the same thing

“Be brave and go for it” Cedric whispers some encouragement 

He’s right, you think, Now or never

As you mouth him ‘Good luck’, you add a little extra to it, blowing him a kiss

His eyes widen in a pleasant shock, melting into a mix of joy and pride as he pretends to catch it, winking at you before kissing his balled up fist before returning his gaze to the field just before the starting whistle blows

“Way to go gal” Jess cheers, reaching over to give your arm a soft squeeze

“Aww the grew up so fast don’t they” Timothy wipes an imaginary tear from his eye while Cedric and Jess both match his energy, taking out handkerchiefs and pretending to be forlorn mothers, with Joey doing the same but with an imaginary tissue

You giggle at them, and while you would usually try to come up with some sort of witty answer, you instead break into a smile “He likes me” you say simply, swaying side to side

“If he didn’t, he’d be an idiot love” Cedric gives you a side hug while the rest of your friends’ smile, happy for you “Now let’s what your man kick snake butt”

“Hey-” Joey and Tim begin to object together but then shrug 

“Oh, who are we kiddin” Timothy laughs, taking off his green scarf and pulling out a red and gold one as does Joey “Pusey’s an arsehole and I want a chance to be a bridesman at your wedding someday”

“Bridesman?” you giggle, heartwarming at the idea of you and Fred getting married someday

“Yip, Ceds already called man of honour” 

The match was a whirlwind of emotion, the kind of game that left everyone on the edge of their seats. Gryffindor and Slytherin were neck and neck at every turn, every goal answered by another, and it was clear to everyone that this match would come down who would catch the snitch first

“Holy shit, this is intense!” James exclaims, practically bouncing in his seat “Merlin, how the hell did you guys watch me and Marls do this back in the day?”

“Jamie…language!” Lily scolds with a giggle, lips quirking up in amusement as she gives Dorcas a please forgive us look

“Oh, don’t worry, Lacey can’t hear a thing thanks to these” Dorcas it waves off, gesturing to Lacey’s adorable, enchanted earmuffs “Watch this” she says leaning over the little girl perched on her lap “You want some ice cream, bubs? What about a unicorn?” 

Lacey doesn’t react at all, instead she stays focused on mimicking her other mothers’ gestures and waves towards the pitch

“Those are…” Lily starts but is promptly cut off 

“What the hell was that!” Marlene huffs, throwing up her hands as the crowds roar once more, a mix of cheers and groans as the Slytherins risky manoeuvre pays off leading to another goal “Fucking Pusey again!”

“Did you get the earmuffs for the crowd or for Marls?” Remus whispers to Dorcas, who struggles to hold back a smile

“Oi! Gingers! Stay in formation! Godric, what are you doing?!” Marlene shouts again, shaking her head as Fred and George narrowly avoid colliding whilst going for the same bludger

“No comment” Dorcas replies with a grin before planting a kiss on Lacey’s cheek

The match grows increasingly heated after Harry lets the snitch slip through his grasp, igniting a fire under Slytherins asses causing their play to get even more aggressive

“This game is insane!” Cedric grips the railing so tightly his knuckles turn white

“Come on, Freddie!” you yell, unable to stop yourself as he whizzes by

You watch him turn ever so slightly, catching your voice over the roar before he dives back into the action, pulling off a spectacular move that has more than one person flushing

“Offt…your man’s a beast” Timothy mutters as Fred swoops in to deflect a bludger, shirt riding up a little as he does “What? I can admire” his cheeks tint as he sees all of your raised eyebrows

“Don’t worry” you say with a laugh, “He’ll never admit it, but he has a little guy crush on you too”

“Really?” 

“Really” you confirm, giggling 

“Did you see that?!” Sirius exclaims, pointing towards Fred after he executes a spectacular mid-air spin to block the Bludger aimed at Angelina “Can’t deny the boys got style!”

“Sure does” James agrees but then his expression sinks to a smug one as he adjusts his glasses “Almost as cool as some of the moves we pulled off ay Marls?” he tries to get her attention but is gifted a passive ‘uh huh’ instead

“Oh, please” Remus argues, chuckling “Are we forgetting in our final year when you tried to do a spin like that and your glasses came flying clean off?”

“What?!” Lily, Sirius, and Dorcas all turned to him in unison

“Moony!” James protests before his face slowly sinks as if awaiting his impending doom

“Wait…” Marlene turns slowly, looking menacingly down at James “You’re telling me. I almost lost my final match as captain because of your speckyless ass?”

James hesitates, his ears turning near crimson as he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck “…no comment”

With one final push, the final whistle blows, and the crowd erupts into cheers. You and your friends join in, your eyes look over towards Fred, who’s the first to get to Harry, pulling him into the biggest bear hug. The sight makes your heart warm, but your admiration is cut short as your friends practically pick you up, ushering you to move 

“What’s happening” you ask confused

“Come on, we gotta get down their sunshine” Timothy insists, shooing you along with Cedric, Jess and Joey “You’ve got a ginger to congratulate”

Over on the other stands your family celebrates. Everyone’s on their feet, except Lacey who is now glued to Marlene’s hip as they cheer 

“Yesssss!” James roars, pulling Lily into a celebratory hug…and subsequent snog 

“That’s my godson!” Sirius bellows, fist pumping the air before looking to hug James then realises “Oh…well if that’s what we’re doing, come here moons!” he hithers towards Remus, arms outstretched 

Remus laughs softly before indulging his husband, pulling him in for a kiss before dramatically dipping him

Meanwhile Marlene and little Lacey remain oblivious to the romance in the air, as she was too busy yelling so hard her voice will be lost come tomorrow “THAT’S MY LIONS!”

Dorcas just chuckles at the scene, pulling out Lilys camera and snapping a shot of them all (A/n: art of this bit in the future?)

As their celebrations calm down, they notice the teams beginning to land and everyone else begin to make their way down to join them

“This takes me back” Remus lets out a small laugh watching the red and gold scarfs fly around

Nostalgia fills the air as the others join him, gazing down

“Man…that used to be us” James remarks, letting out a breathy laugh before glancing over at Marlene

She nods, a happy yet bittersweet smile on her face “Yeah…good times” she reminisces before looking down at Lacey “Times are still pretty good…maybe better” she confesses watching her little cub cheer 

Dorcas joins her side, arm wrapping around both Marlene and Lacy as their foreheads meet

“I think we should give them their moment” Lily suggests “We have time to embarrass them later” she giggles

The group hums in agreement. As their stand empties, they begin pointing out things only they are privy to from their vantage point. Like Nevilles and Lunas intertwined hands as they weave through the crowd with Ginny, Lee sprinting to hug George, the Slytherin team sulks, or even Snape begrudgingly handing a couple of gallons to McGonagall. None of them, however, have managed to spot you or your friends yet. 

“I hope y/ns alright in the crowds” James says softly next to Lily

“As long as she’s with her friends I have no doubt shell be alright” she hums, giving your fathers arm a squeeze 

“Oh, there she is…” Sirius points you out before chuckling to himself “…maybe being your twin ain’t so bad” he jokes, wiggling his glasses 

James laughs, wrapping an arm around Sirius as everyone turns their attention back towards you 

Down on the pitch, it’s a flurry of red and gold, so you hold back at the edge where it was quieter, encouraging your friends to head into the chaos and enjoy it. Jess, Joey and Timothy promise to be right back, while Cedric spots Cho in the crowd little ways from yourself and joins her, being careful not to drift too far from you

You beam as you take a couple of steps back, watching Harry get lifted up by Ron and Neville. Much like your parents and family above, you want Harry and Fred to have their moment in the spotlight. There would be more than enough time to talk to them after

Unbeknownst to you, one of that duo was already looking for you. Fred’s eyes scan the chaos for your figure, but finds a familiar blonde in the crowd first, and he smiles watching him kiss Cho’s cheek. Cedric feels the eyes on them, looking up and noticing Fred’s searching expression. He smiles, giving a knowing nod towards you, as does Cho who’s clearly been filled in on the situation. 

Fred’s eyes follow the direction and there you are, standing apart from the rest, your gaze locked on Harry. Taking a deep breath, he hypes himself up, realising in that moment you aren’t just wearing his scarf, but the jumper he gave you to keep warm a few weeks ago as well. That along with the kiss you blew him earlier, are all the signs he needed to finally make a move

“Oi, Freddie” George calls as he moves away from the rest of the team “Where ya going?” George tries again but to no avail, Fred’s already gone, pushing through the crowd, using his broom to help manage the masses

As he breaks free, you do a double take, and he finds himself smiling as your confused expression melts into hope and joy

“You’re supposed to be over there” you tell him, taking a few steps forward as he closes the gap

“But you’re over here” he replies simply before leaning closer, eyes searching yours for permission 

You bite your lip, giving him a nod, to which his own smile grows and his broom is abandoned as his larger hands come up to cradle your cheeks guiding them up towards his lips as they crash into your own. You clutch the front of his sweater, pulling him closer but Fred being the showman he is had other ideas. His hands drop down, snaking around your hips before he dips you back. You squeal at first, then laugh softly with him before your lips reconnect. After that the rest of the world fades away. The cheers and buzz around you becoming a distant hum, neither of you reacting to your friends’ cheers nor the flash of Jess’ camera 

Your friends aren’t the only spectators of course…

“Wait…” Marlene points towards you and Fred “…is he about to…oh!” her mouth drops open, gently covering Lacey’s eyes while Dorcas smiles in a happy shock beside her 

Remus, Sirius, Lily are next to react, eyes widening, before breaking into smiles. Remus and Sirius take a moment longer, clearly doing the ‘does he deserve her’ math in their heads first

“That’s my girl” Lilys hands come up to face, overjoyed, she had an inkling you were a little love struck from your letters, she just didn’t know with who until now

“He’s alright” Sirius begrudgingly admits while Remus nods in agreement

Their smiles and shock soon melt into anticipation as they all slowly turn towards James, who had been a bit too quiet considering the situation. But when they see him, he is…beaming?

Turns out Lily wasn’t the only one with an incline, in fact, James being the girl dad he was, has known about every crush you’ve ever had, your one on Fred being no different. Safe to say, he was ecstatic

“Yes!” he cheers “Oh the dips a nice touch, very classy” he nods in approval before looking over at the others “What?” he takes in their shocked faces

“Prongs?” Remus eyes him “You realise that’s y/n, right?” he feels the need to check

“Yeah” James shrugs before his mouth makes an ‘oh’ shape, his reply sending them into fits of laughter “I’m supposed to be mad right now, aren’t I?”

Thank you for reading ♡

[finitedog]

hearing ‘i missed you’ mid makeout could make me cum on the spot

[finitedog]

[finitedog]

The Doctor Dolittle Incident, one of the funniest fucking things in all Dimension 20 herstory.

My commissions are open!

[finitedog]

Nice walk with my nice bro🌳