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[ibbythebee]

Hi lovelies!

Just wanted to let you all know the next story won’t be posted for a little while.

Please bare with me while life does it’s thing.

- 🐝

[ibbythebee]

hi!! can you write a seamus x reader one shot where he sees reader getting closer to ginny and gets all pouty cause he never thought he'd be jealous of someone younger than him but eventually he gets his head out of his ass (maybe ginny herself does it for him cause she's tired of them pining or whatever) and confesses to reader

totally okay if you dont feel like it btw cause i know you dont usually write for seamus

a/n: Yabsolutely! Thank you so much for your request, anon. I'm up to write for any of the Harry Potter bois. They all deserve some love. Can I also just say, that I love Seamus' rings.

Green-Eyed

gif credit: @X_phantomhorseman_X on wattpad

pairing: Seamus Finnigan x Reader | best friends to lovers

summary: Seamus shouldn't be jealous of Ginny spending more time with you. You're just a friend to him, nothing more... right?

genre: a good dose of fluffy angst

warnings: jealous Seamus, slightly possessive, pining, 'spud' nickname, Ginny and Seamus banter, little bit o' good old kisses

words: 3.8k

masterlist

»»————-　⌁　————-««

There you are again, doubled over at something Ginny’s told you. You’d just gotten back from a Quidditch game, and to Gryffindor’s delight, they’d won the game.

It was intense, exhilarating, thrilling. Gryffindor won for Godric's sake, so why—

“—do you look so down?” Neville inquires, settling himself on the couch next to the said teen.

The Irish boy doesn’t do much but sigh and shrug, leaning a cheek on his fist and staring into the fire pit.

"It's the O.W.Ls coming up, isn't it? Yeah." The dark-brown haired boy nods as if he's just said something genius. "I can't say I'm any good at Transfiguration, but I'll definitely help you with Herbology."

Seamus still doesn't react, intently listening in to what might be so funny for Ginny to say to make you laugh so much. Just the sound of you giggling across the common room is causing his heart to skip. He should be the one making the jokes. He should be the one to see how beautifully you grin, how the bottoms of your eyes water once your laughter turns into wheezes of breath.

Dean appears into the Irish boy's vision, and he has to force himself to look up at his tall friend.

"Damn. Why the long face Seamus?" Dean asks with a soft frown.

The said boy only huffs in response, and shakes his head to return his focus to the dancing flames.

"Oh I know what it is..." Dean nods as if he's just said something genius and situates himself between his friends. "It's the O.W.Ls isn't it?"

"That's what I said!" Neville chirps. "Come on Seamus I'm sure you'll be fine. For now, let's just celebrate our Quidditch win."

"Yeah mate, you don't have to look so—" Dean goes to tap his friends shoulder and is instead rewarded with a glare.

"I'm fine, alright?! Nothin's going on. Not the stupid O.W.Ls or class or anythin'. It's nothin'."

The voice he hears next has his stomach in a twist and the tips of his ears turning red.

"What's nothing?" You come out of nowhere, face just inches away from his. You giggle when you see Seamus flinch at your sudden appearance.

He wants so badly to steal you away. Like you used to do when you were in your early teen years. You both loved to just run together, to be outside and be loud. He so badly wants to just take your hand and run off somewhere, away from everyone, away from Ginny.

He'd initially been able to tolerate the youngest Weasley hanging out with you when you had began to talk to each other more often in your third year. He was ecstatic to see that you were getting along with more girls in Gryffindor, but then it got to the point where he began to feel neglected. Where he felt he was second best. Where, when he'd invite you to hang out, you'd tell him that Ginny had already asked you.

"Nothin's nothin'," he answers, standing up with another huff. He runs a hand through his hair and when his eyes dart to yours, your smile is gone and your eyes have softened.

"Is... everything alright?" you ask. Gosh, why is it that anything you say or do now gets his stomach feeling funny?

"I... I said I'm fine," he glances around at his friends, all of them look concerned. Even Ginny who's standing beside you has her brows pulled together.

He looks to you last, eyes lingering on yours for longer than a few seconds. And you look so worried, and he hates it when you're sad. But then he sees Ginny's arm thread through yours and so he combs his hair with his fingers again, voice dropping in volume. "I think I'm just gonna call it a day. Night guys."

Dean, Neville and Ginny chorus in 'goodnights'. You, on the other hand, freeze in place until he begins to walk in the direction of the stairs to the dorms.

You catch the sleeve of his robe and thankfully he doesn't pull away immediately, despite how agitated he looked just seconds before.

"Let's talk about it tomorrow okay? Just us two." You utter. And when he doesn't say anything, you continue gently. "Sleep well, stinky."

With pursed lips, he smiles. "You too, spud."

You watch him walk away, his robe slipping out of your fingers. You stay there staring, until the last bit of his clothes disappears behind the wall of the stairs.

"What was that all about?" Dean asks beside you. "I don't think he's ever been this stressed for a test."

"I don't think that's the reason," Ginny squeezes your arm. She gives you a knowing sort of look, only you have no idea what she's trying to insinuate through her eyes. "Come on, you said you'll chat to him tomorrow, I think it's best we all get to bed. I'm sure he's fine."

"You don't think I said something to him? Have I said anything to him to make him so mad?" You murmur to her. "Oh no, what have I done Ginny?"

"Hey, hey, hey. Shut your mouth right now," her brows pull together when you pout. "You know he's not gonna stay mad at you for long. He never does. You know that."

"But, what if I actually did do something wrong and he... and I haven't even said sorry and he..." An ocean of worst case scenarios flood your brain and you're not sure if you want to talk to him tomorrow, fearing that what he might say will break your heart. Fearing that you'll lose him forever.

Ginny rolls her eyes gently, and pulls on your arm to lead you to the dorms, away from the ears of your nosey classmates and peers. "He doesn't hate you. And he won't hate you. Ever. I just know it, so please stop worrying. Please stop thinking so much... hey, I can see you thinking. Stop."

She taps your head, the place between your eyebrows and it's as if she's just pressed a restart button.

You spring back into action, back straight, eyes less droopy, no more pout.

"There." Ginny says, letting go of your arm as she turns to her dorm room.

You send her a weak smile, and she returns with her own, a more motherly sort of grin.

"It'll be okay, you and him are gonna be just fine tomorrow. Plus, he still called you 'spud'."

"You're... you're right!"

"I'm always right," she makes a show of blowing you a kiss and then opens the door, closing it in front of her until you can only see her face between the wall and the edge of the door. "Goodnight!"

You catch her 'kiss' and hold it to your heart with a theatrical sigh. "Goodnight, genius. Enjoy dreaming about Harry."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

That night Seamus had only one thing on his mind. Dean pressed on to try and get an answer out of the Irish boy as to why he's been acting so strange lately. When there was no notable answer, the taller boy gave up and rolled over to sleep. Seamus, would eventually surrender to his pillow, however then wake up an hour or so later. Such a pattern presented itself that night as he thought meticulously about what sort of answer he'd give you tomorrow, he thought about whether he should lie or tell the truth.

He could tell you the truth, the whole truth; then there's the risk that you won't accept him. That you'll grow even further away from him. That all these years of being inseparable, all these years of being comfortable with one another could fall down the drain in a few words.

And then he could lie. But you don't deserve to be lied to. He hates lying, especially to you.

Seamus is simply in too deep. He thought that this pathetic jealousy over Ginny, a girl a year younger than him, would simmer down over time. It's only grown since. And he hates the way he hates how well you and her get along. He hates how much he envies the smiles you give her, the laughs, the time with her even.

He hates it all because Ginny doesn't deserve any of it. He hates it all because he sees how genuinely happy and excited you are to see her everyday, and you don't deserve to lose a beautiful friend like her, just because he's absolutely fallen head over heels for you.

He has to tell you the truth. Even if you'll never talk to him again, even if his heart breaks into a million pieces, he's going to tell you everything.

Someone's shakes him awake and he groans, rubbing at his eyes and yawning hard. When Seamus' vision finally adjusts to the new morning light, he finds Neville in front of him already in his uniform, smiling down at him.

"Morning, Seamus."

"Hey Neville."

It's a routine. Neville being the morning-person of the friend group, it was decided since their second year that he would be the other boys' alarm clock, so that they could go to breakfast together. If only he'd be able to wake you too, so you could tag along.

As Neville wakes the rest of the group, Seamus is quick to get himself ready for the day. Despite his restless night, his eyes don't look very sullen, he actually looks alright. So he smiles at the mirror, and slips on his rings, those ones that you love. Ever since you complimented them in his second year, a day didn't go by where he didn't wear them.

Dean, Neville and Seamus all make it to the Great Hall and situate themselves by Harry, Ron and Hermione. Even Ginny's already there.

Seamus cranes his neck, but he doesn't see you anywhere. Like a magnet his gaze is pulled toward the Weasley girl and she waves her hand, motioning for him to come to her side.

As the rest of his mates tuck in, he carefully makes it to Ginny and sits on the opposite side of the table.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi."

"Is there... somethin' wrong?"

"Yeah." She simply says and lowers her voice as she leans in closer to his direction. "I know what you're so upset about. And there's no shame in admitting it."

"What are you talkin' about?"

To mask the intentions of their conversation, Ginny picks up a hash-brown and starts to chomp on it. "You know what I'm talking about. There's a reason why I didn't wake up Y/N this morning. I wanted to talk with you alone before she gets to."

"Stop bein' so vague, Ginny. Just tell me what's goin' on." He tries hard to keep his voice calm but firm, remembering that she is also your most beloved friend and he shouldn't be so envious over her. "I'll stop walkin' on eggshells if you promise to too."

"Agreed." She swallows the last bit of her hash-brown and turns to him. "You need to tell Y/N that you like her more than a friend."

Taken aback by her bluntness he coughs into a closed fist and fills his goblet with some juice. "Right. Well. Straight to the point. I was gonna tell her anyway."

"You were?"

"After I sort of yelled at everyone last night, I did a lot of thinkin'."

"That never ends well."

He sends her daggers and she grins back. "I was thinkin' that she deserves to know the truth of what's happenin'. I'm tired of... holding it in."

He wasn't going to admit to her that he's completely tired of being envious over her. Besides, she probably already knows that. With that grin on her face, she definitely knows.

"Good then. I'm glad," she says with a nod. "And for the record sorry not sorry for stealing her away from you."

He wants to glare at her again, but instead he chuckles with a shake of his head. "I can understand wantin' to steal her away. She's... she's brilliant."

"Don't tell me that. Tell her that." With a flick of her chin, Seamus' attention is turned to the entrance of the Hall and he sees your form sauntering in.

Maybe it's because he's going to tell you the truth today, maybe it's because the sun rays pooling through the windows are illuminating your figure like an angel who's just come down from heaven, but you look more beautiful than ever. And when you find his eyes and smile, that toothy giddy sort of smile, Seamus almost stumbles out of his seat to stand.

"Mornin' spud," he runs his fingers through his hair.

"Hi stinky. Did you sleep okay? Are you... feeling a little better?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just uh... are you good to talk now or do you want to eat first?"

"Oh, well we can..." You find Ginny waving at you from behind the Irish Boy and then she sends you a thumbs up and a nod. "We can talk now."

"Great, um..." He looks around the room, especially at the Gryffindor table and a few people turn away their gazes when he sees them watching you speak.

Witnessing you both converse so seriously wasn't a regular sight to your peers. You'd instead always be joking around, filling the Hall with noise and trying to stop Seamus from practicing his charms at the table. So, it's no surprise that they're all staring now, eager to dig up new gossip.

"You wanna go somewhere more private?" You murmur, as you step closer to him.

Feeling heat begin to burn on the back of his neck, he tells you 'yes', and without warning takes your hand and sprints out of the room. The last thing he wanted was people seeing him blush.

You yelp at the sudden action, none the less following him, not before glancing at the youngest Weasley, who's looking at you with a smirk.

Seamus takes you through the halls, and soon you realise that you've been here before. You've held his hand and ran in this way together before.

A few students gasp, stepping out when you almost collide. Each time it happens you share a laugh with him, and before you even get to your destination you're completely out of breath, small beads of sweat sticking loose strands of your hair to your forehead.

You're at the flying lesson grounds. Your favourite place when you were younger students, the best place to play tag, complain about the pettiest problems and the best place to just run around until you both can't feel your lungs.

Your feet slow once they touch grass and then to your disappointment Seamus removes his hand from your wrist and falls to the ground in a sigh. His chest moves up and down with each catch of breath.

In no time you've joined him, letting your knees buckle and landing right beside him. Fixing your messy hair, you speak with a breathless voice. "We have to do that more often. I don't know why we stopped."

"Because of Ginny."

Seamus is met with silence. And your eyes. And your pupils are asking him, 'what?' 'Why?' 'How?' 'Why?' 'Why?' 'Why?'

A small bump appears by the edge of his jaw, and then he's sitting up, so you quickly do the same. He looks ashamed; head ducked, corners of his lips turned downward, fingers fiddling with his rings.

Goodness, now that you are looking at him, now that you are actually here and ready to listen to his every word causes his heart to race. Is he really going to go through with this? The possibility that in a few minutes you're never going to want to see him again looms in his mind and when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.

"Seamus." Firmly, you say. "Is this what you wanted to talk about? Ginny?"

"No." He finally turns to you, and the moment your eyebrow raises the tiniest bit he folds. "And yes. There's... a whole bunch of things I want to say. Ginny is one of 'em."

He expects you to respond, only silence ensues. Your gaze is stern, yet there's a hint of concern as your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth, gently nibbling.

This is it. He sighs a big sigh, and shifts in his seating position till his knee taps against yours. To his relief you don't move away, you're simply completely ready to listen.

"Okay. Firstly... this is the most stupidest thing ever. To admit out loud, you're gonna think I'm an absolute sod, but you deserve to hear it. Basically... gosh. Ever since you and Ginny have been getting closer and closer, I've been spendin' less time with you and..." He clutches onto one ring and squeezes, as if it would squeeze out all his nerves. "And to sum it up, I'm... well I'm jealous. Of her. Takin' you away from me."

Your face is unchanged, still concerned, but still solid and stern. Your eyes move from watching as his hands fiddle in his lap to his face.

"And it kinda, like, pisses me off a little how much she makes you laugh." He turns till you can only see the back of his head, and the gentle dust of pink over the apple of his cheek. "I used to be fine with it. I really did, I was happy that you made such a good friend, especially a girl after hangin' out with just us boys. But then, I just couldn't stay happy. Every time I'd see her... like take your arm or whisper something in your ear or told you a joke that only you could understand I felt... I felt like, y'know, like 'I should be the one doin' that', 'only I can make her laugh that much'. And all that stuff."

He huffs, and manages to move his attention back to his hands, so you can see how much he chews the inside of his cheek, you can see how much he's thinking but how hard it is to let it all out. So, you nudge his knee with yours to continue. To let him know that you're still listening and that he's okay.

"Last night everything came together and I've figured out why I'm so mad with Ginny. You... you can probably guess what it is. But—." With a hand combing through his hair, he takes all the Gryffindor bravery in him to meet your gaze. "I... I really like you, spud."

And all you can feel in the thump thump thump of your heart hammering through your veins.

"Now, I-I-I know that it's out of the blue, it might be weird to hear — I don't know — I don't expect an answer from you. You can hate me. You can never speak to me again, if you want, but I can't keep these feelings from you anymore."

You've never heard him speak so seriously before. So earnestly. So vulnerably. The way his eyes fall on you, you feel like screaming, like kicking your feet. You're relieved to be sitting down, because your legs feel like jelly under his gaze, under his words. Under his spell.

"I like you so much, Y/N. More than a friend."

There's so much you're experiencing internally. And like a cup that's been overfilled, you feel the trace of a line drawing from your eyes own to your chin. The way Seamus' expression softens at your reaction causes you to go overboard and suddenly you tackle him in a hug, burying your face right into his neck, just beneath his jawline. And you sob in between silly giggles as you feel his arms settle around you.

"S-Spud?"

Another round of sob-giggles ensue, as your grip only tightens. "I-I love you, you sod."

It's hard to decipher who's heart is pounding with your chests pressed to tightly together. It's practically all you both can hear other than his and your chuckles of relief.

You finally pull away from him, hands pressing into the grass on each side of his head, your knees straddling his hips.

There's no more words verbally exchanged, as his hands slowly come up to cup your jaw, a calloused thumb tenderly moving across the skin of your cheek bone to wipe a tear. When he sees you grin, he immediately reciprocates.

Those ocean eyes of his look to you with complete adoration. They're apologising to you for taking so long to confess, and they're telling you how much he loves you, with the way his eyelids slightly droop and the corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile. It's now do you realise how long and pretty his lashes are. With the help of his hands by your jaw and neck, you lean down to get a better look. You lean in till your noses touch, and then you twist your head and you're so close to him that your lips collide.

His fingers squeeze into your skin, desperate to feel more of you here. At first you're both hesitant, slow with just light touches, getting comfortable with each other's movements. Then to test boundaries, your mouths open a little wider, and he presses against you harder. So much so, you both forget how to breath.

"You taste like orange juice," you whisper.

The rumble of his chuckle reverberates against your body. "And you're just beautiful. I-I can't believe it."

"I know. How is this happening right now?"

"I suppose Ginny is the one to thank. Though I hate to admit."

You laugh, as you help each other to sit up before anyone happens to see you in your compromising position. You take his hand and begin to stand up, pulling him to your side. "Then guess what we're gonna do now?"

"Um... what?" He doesn't like the look of your smirk.

"We're gonna go back to the Hall and you're gonna tell Ginny thank you. And sorry."

"Oh, no, no, no."

You're already dragging him.

"No, no. I've used up all my bravery today, I can't face her now— she's just gonna rub it in!"

"Do you want to kiss me again?"

"Absolutely."

"Then you have to do what I say."

Good Godric, you're the only one he'll listen to, the only one he'll let to boss him around. The only one that can make him melt. Allowing you to pull him back through the grounds of the school, he feels a new sense of heat rise to his chest and neck. You're no longer friends. But you are his. And he is yours.

It's all thanks to a girl with red-hair, and for him being green-eyed.

[ibbythebee]

Since never. [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Title: Since Never.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader (background George Weasley x Angelina)

Timeline: GOF, McGonagall’s dance class.

Summary: George meddles and Fred finally finds the courage to ask you to the Ball, not liking the idea of anyone else taking you. Inspired by TikTok, based on movie canon.

Warnings: Friends to lovers, minor kissing, harmless pranks. A load of fluff. Fred has a crush.

I’m thinking of writing a part two to this, but it would most likely just be self indulgent fluff 🤍

"You know," George whispers into his twin's ear, trying to get Fred's attention whilst also trying to stay under McGonagall's radar as she addresses the Gryffindor students all huddled into one large classroom. The Triwizard Tournament and the associated Yule Ball had been announced the day before and as head of house, Mcgonagall had been tasked with teaching her students the traditional Waltz. The girls were seated on the left side of the room whilst the boys were seated on the right, kept separate for now as they listened to her explaining the ins and out of the tournament and the ball.

George leans forward to whisper once again to Fred who stands with his arms folded, watching in amusement as Filch hopelessly fiddles with an archaic megaphone, trying to get it to work. "Lee told me this morning that y/n's going to the ball with Cedric Diggory."

Fred's head immediately whips round with a face of utter horror as he turns to his brother, before briefly diverting his eyes over to you on the other side of the room and then returning his gaze to George.

"What, since when?"

"Since never," George smirks dangerously as he takes in Fred's rather apparent distaste to his words, his dismay and disappointment etched right across his face. "But your reaction just told me everything I needed to know."

Fred huffs and slinks back onto the windowsill where he'd been leaning feeling a little embarrassed at being caught out so easily by his twin. His crush on you was one of the only secrets he'd ever hidden from his twin, though apparently rather unsuccessfully, never wanting to be teased about it. You'd all been friends for so long that he never wanted to make things awkward by admitting his feelings and so he'd kept quiet for nearly two years of loving you secretly and silently.

"You should ask her," George says, leaning in once again. Fred doesn't reply, at least not verbally, but instead shoots his brother a fierce look that tells him to back off.

"Something may be about to burst out of Eloise Midgen, but I don't think it's a swan," Fred hears Ron mumble to his surrounding classmates, their eyes all sneakily turning to look at the girl in question, who shifts uncomfortably where she stands, unaware that half the boys of Gryffindor are looking at her. Fred's gaze doesn't linger long, instead finding you in the crowd, whispering with Angelica seated beside you as Hermione shoots you both a chastising look from the other side, clearly trying to listen intently to Mcgonagall.

Your hair is down now, not tied up in a high ponytail like it had been at breakfast. Your legs are neatly crossed in your seat, your school skirt revealing an appropriate but delicious amount of leg that Fred can hardly look away from. You're effortlessly beautiful, or at least you are to him, never looking better than when you are laughing and joking with your friends like right now. Sat surrounded by only the girls, Fred thinks it seems to to enhance your beauty, the prettiest face in a sea of girls.

"Mr Weasley."

Fred immediately looks up upon hearing his title called out as it so frequently is, though he's mightily relieved when it appears McGonagall was addressing his younger brother Ron, no doubt hearing him muttering.

"Will you join me please?" She asks, moving towards where he sits with an outstretched hand. The tone of her voice leaves no space for refusal as she tentatively reached out for his jumper and pulls him up of the chair, moving to stand in the middle of the room. The boys all make teasing noises as he stands, dragging his body over to Mcgonagall, feet hardly shuffling on the floor.

"Place your right hand on my waist," she says, opening her arms for him.

"Where?" He asks utterly horrified. Everyone looking on watches with sadistic amusement at his predicament. Fred can barely contain his delight at the scene before him, watching with utter glee, just like his twin beside him.

"My waist!" Mcgonagall replies, grabbing Ron by the sleeve and firmly placing his arm on her waist.

Fred heard a wolf whistle from the other side of the room and looks at you just in time to see your hand pull away from your mouth, clearly having been the perpetrator. The looking of delight on your face mirrors his own as you each catch each others gaze and he thinks just for a second that if he didn't love you already, it was firmly cemented now.

Ron turns and shoots you a look but you simply wink at him with a dung-eating grin before he is dragged back to focus on the professor.

"Mr Filch, if you please," Mcgonagall commands, prompting the caretaker to drop the needle on the record player, flinching only moments later as the speaker begins to crackle, before a signature waltz pours out.

"One two three, one two three," Mcgonagall starts counting as she leads Ron into a waltz, showing the steps that were specific to the champion's waltz.

Fred and George had been goofily dancing along with the music, hardly taking their eyes off of their embarrassed brother when Harry calls over to them.

"Oi!" Harry says, gesturing for Fred and George to come closer. They move in perfect unison and never take their eyes off Ron as they listen to Harry.

"You're never going to let him forget this are you?"

"Never," the twins say in synchronised perfection with identical smirks before leaning back slinking away to lean on the window as they had before.

"Everyone, come together!" Mcgonagall says from the centre of the room, finally pulling away from a bright red Ron to gesture everyone forward. The boys make no effort to move forward, clearly not wanting to participate whereas nearly all of the girls leap forward in excitement, waiting in a line to be picked.

Fred watches as Angelina drags you up, noticing that you had not leapt forward with the rest of the girls and he has to hide a snicker at seeing your disgruntled face, evidently not as keen to dance as your female classmates.

"Boys! On your feet!" Mcgonagall claps, getting the boys to also move forward. Neville stands first, followed by a few stragglers but no one moves forward until Fred steps out of line and whilst ignoring the looks from his twin and fellow Gryffindors, marches straight over to you.

"May I have this dance mi'lady?" He says dramatically with a bow of his head, extending his right hand to you.

"You may mi'lord," you laugh, placing your hand in his. He drags you over to the dance floor and places his hand on your waist just as he'd seen in the demonstration and with surprising precision, pulled you further away as he began spinning you. Your laugh echoed through the classroom even over the music as Fred span you around and around, completely ignoring the choreography until Mcgonagall shouted over and warned you both.

He seemed, for once, to heed the warning and pulled you closer into his chest then, placing his hand back onto your waist as he held you close, managing to quickly pick up the footwork that was needed for the waltz.

It was so intimate and romantic that you had to remind yourself frequently that this was Fred you were dancing with, knowing that he was out of bounds on account of your friendship with him and his siblings.You had to resist the urge to rest your head on his chest as you danced, enjoying the closeness as you half watched the rest of your house dancing around you.

"Do you have a date to the ball yet?" You hear Fred ask as he dances with you, hand resting on your lower back after lifting you in perfectly sync with the music.

"Not yet," you say, looking up to see him watching you with an intensity you couldn't place. "You?" You ask, temporarily breaking your eye contact as he clutched your waist, lifting you again and then taking your waist and your hand to spin you, just as the champions waltz demanded. He didn't verbally reply but instead shook his head with a frown before pulling you in closer and spinning you with more intensity which had you laughing again.

"Y/n," Fred says as he looks down at you, pausing his movements to speak but he's interrupted by Mcgonagall calling time on the dance class. She begins addressing the room of students on details of the ball and you all listen intently until she dismisses the class. When you turn back to Fred you notice he'd joined George and was already walking out the door, bag slung over his right shoulder. Angelina joined you, bringing you your bag as you said goodbye to Ginny and Hermione before walking to your next class together.

"You and Fred looked rather close," Angelina says as you place your bag onto your shoulder.

"He's my best friend Ange," you say, nudging her shoulder and rolling your eyes, pretending that you hadn't enjoyed it quite as much as you did.

"Has he asked you to the ball?" She says, not even flinching.

"No and I doubt he will," you say with a forced huff of a self-deprecating laugh.

"I hope George asks me," she says longingly as you turn the corner towards the charms classroom, instantly falling silent as you see the two brothers you'd been discussing already standing in the doorway to the classroom.

George looks over and smiles at you both, mainly Angelina as he beckons you over and you don't hesitate wiggling your eyebrows at her once he looked away, causing her to nudge you forcefully right back. You momentarily loose your balance from the unexpected nudge and as if on instinct, Fred's arms reach out to catch you.

"Falling for me princess?" He smirks, causing you to roll your eyes.

"You'd love that Weasley," you counter once you'd steadied yourself, seeing that George and Ange had already taken their seats.

"Ladies first," Fred says, opening his arms to gesture for you to go through the doorway first and you send him a sarcastic smile of gratitude before taking your seat next to Ang, in front of Fred.

Throughout the class you were desperately distracted, barely even listening or taking notes. thinking of your dance with Fred earlier and how he'd marched directly over to you ahead of all the other boys. You hoped that he was going to ask you to the ball, though you knew it would just be a pipe dream. Hopefully someone would ask you, even just as friends.

A piece of scrunched up parchment hits you square in the head, making you look round with a glare. Fred immediately smiles widely at you, if not a little sarcastically before he sends another note over to you with his wand, a little origami bird flying over your shoulder and onto the desk in front of you. Your eyebrows knit together in questioning as you look up at him again but he simply raises his eyebrows as if to say 'read it' and you turn and unfold the note delicately, shooting a quick look towards the professor to check that they weren't watching you.

'Black lake 7pm?"

You turned around, still looking confused but when you saw Fred watching you eagerly, you nodded with a little smile. He smiled back, winking at you before dropping his gaze back down to his work.

You secretly nudged Ang beside you and gestured with your eyes down to the little note, seeing her eyes bulge comically as she let out a little silent squeal of delight once she reads the note. She looks at you excitedly and wordlessly nods, as if thinking the same thing.

It's 6:50pm and you hadn't seen Fred or George at dinner which was unusual to say the least. Angelina and Harry had been there so it wasn't a Quidditch thing, which only confused you more. You made your way out of the castle utilising one of the secret passageways that you'd taken multiple times with the twins to avoid being seen, climbing around the statue of Gregory the smarmy and slipped down into the passage, walking the length of the little corridor until you could hear water rippling. You climbed up the little rocky steps and found yourself looking out at the Great Lake, beside the rocky cliffs that hid you from sight.

"Evening," you a voice called out from behind you, making you turn and frown. It was hard to see in just the moonlight with the shadows of the cliffs creating even more darkness, but you immediately sensed that something wasn't right. The person jumped down from where they had been perched on the rock and as they moved closer their long red hair and wooden jumper emblazoned with an 'F' came into focus.

"Hi, Fred," you said unconvincingly, looking at the bloke in front of you.

"Glad you could come gorgeous," he says, shifting to stand next to you. You couldn't help but observe him, looking at his features with subtle glances and questioning eyes.

"It's pretty out here tonight don't you think," he says with a shy smirk, though his eyes focus entirely on you as he speaks.

"Uh yeah, really pretty." He seems to briefly notice your lack of reply and casts a glance up at your eyes before looking away, focusing his attention on something to the right for just a moment.

"I've been thinking a lot about our dance earlier," he says shyly and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes now that it's all added up in your mind.

You gesture for him to move in closer, placing your hand on his shoulder as he leans down so that you could whisper in his ear.

"We didn't dance earlier," you say bluntly though with humour behind it, picking up a rock and trying to skim it on the water.

"Eh?" He asks, turning quickly to look up at your face in surprise, taken aback by his words.

"I danced with Fred earlier. Where is he anyway?" You ask quietly, raising your eyebrow at him, foiling his plan. He barks out a loud laugh at your discovery and you immediately see the performance drop from his body as he slinks down to his regular stance, once again being himself. He subtly nods his head to the right and your eyes light up in glee as you lean back over to him.

"Want to mess with him?" You ask with a suggestive wiggle of your eyebrows. George's eyes immediately light up as he nods, a smile tugging at his lips already.

"You know I've been thinking about our dance a lot too," you say flirtily and a little louder now, ensuring that whenever Fred was, he would hear you. You even lean over to touch George on the arm as you speak, your body language changing as you play heavily on the flirting.

"Oh really?" He says, playing along with a concealed smirk.

"Mmm," you hum, tracing your fingers up his arm with exaggerated movements so you knew that Fred would see them if he was watching. "I spent the whole dance really hoping you were going to kiss me," you said innocently and you immediately have to bite your lip as you and George share a little silent laugh.

"What a coincidence," he says, trying to sound like Fred, "I was thinking the same thing."

"Are you thinking about it now?" You ask, reaching to play with his collar, your voice seductive and airy as you pull out all the stops. "Maybe you could give me a demonstration of exactly what you were thinking about."

All of a sudden you hear a few loud shouts and a shuffle as another figure comes into view, quickly making their way down the rocky cliffs and running comically with waving arms, straight over to stand between you and George, who are both now in hysterics. Fred immediately notices the two of you laughing and freezes in confusion before realising that he'd been played.

"When did you figure it out?" He says, sounding aghast at you seeing through their little scheme.

"The second George said 'evening'," you chuckled, straightening back up and laughing again as Fred and George begin to squabble about who's fault it was.

"Anyway, have fun you two," George says with a wiggle of his eyebrows before walking down the steps to the concealed passage, leaving you and the real Fred alone.

"You know that doesn't work with me," you say, turning to him with a smirk on your face, seeing him already looking at you and shrugging with a playful grin. "Why did you swap?"

"Needed to know you could tell us apart," he says with a cheeky grin that makes you frown, silently questioning him. "Gonna need to know which one's your date to the ball aren't you. Can't have you dancing with the wrong bloke."

Your eyes immediately widen and a smile beams across your face as his words register with you. He chuckles, seeing your reaction before dramatically getting down on one knee as if he was proposing.

"Y/n, would you do me the honour of being my date to the Yule ball?" He asks seriously, holding out his hands as if he was presenting you with a ring. You giggle and let out a little squeal before lunging at him, knocking you both to the floor.

"I might be wrong but I think that was a yes," he chuckles.

"Yes! Yes you great oaf," you reply with a smile, feeling completely elated. His smile matches yours as he pulls you down onto him and suddenly there's a tension that falls between you both at the intimacy of the moment.

"Still thinking about that kiss?" He asks, a nervousness falling across his features that you had so rarely seen. You don't reply, at least not verbally and give a small, shy nod as you look at his lips in anticipation, thinking of nothing else.

Not a moment passes before he leans up, gently pulling you down until your lips meet, his soft lips pressing gently against yours. After just a few seconds, his hands hover over your waist before he seems to find the courage to hold you, placing his hands on your waist and hip as the kiss deepens, lips working completely in sync as you sink deeper and deeper into eachother.

You pull apart a little while later and both giggle shyly at what had just happened. Fred never takes his hands away from your waist, even as he gently manoeuvres you until you're lying down on him, head on his shoulder as you both look up at the star filled sky, a comfortable silence falling between you as you both replay the moment in your heads over and over again.

[ibbythebee]

Saint-Like

Here we are my darlings, the long awaited George one shot based off of this ask.

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Word Count: 3k (told ya it'd be a bit long)

Warning: mention of blood, angst, kissing

Professor Moody stalked about the living room giving a speech that did not make anyone feel any less uneasy about what was about to transpire. “Potter, you’re underage, which means you still have the trace on you.” Harry looked up confused, “What’s the trace?” Moody placed both hands on his walking stick for support, “It means that if ya sneeze the ministry is goin’ to know who wiped yer nose. The point is we have to use those means of transport that the trace can’t detect, brooms, thestrals, the like. We go in pairs. That way if there’s anyone out there waiting for us, and I reckon there will be, they won’t know which Harry Potter is the real one.” 

Harry looked confused, “The real one?” Moody’s face turned up slightly, a grin forming as he grabbed his infamous flask from his jacket pocket. He stirred the flask with a swirl of his wrist, “I believe you’re familiar with this particular brew.” Harry immediately shook his head, “No, absolutely not.” Hermione rolled her eyes behind him, “Told you he’d take it well.” Harry continued, voice strained, “No, if you think I’m gonna let everyone risk their lives for me-” Ron cut him off abruptly with a sarcastic tone, “Never done that ‘ave we?” Harry turned to face his friend, “No! No, this is different! Taking that, becoming me? No.” 

“Well none of us really fancy it, mate,” Fred piped up, smug grin across his face. “Yeah imagine something went wrong and we end up a screwy, specky git forever,” George teased, smiling alongside his twin. “Everyone is of age here, Potter,” Moody spoke up again, “They’ve all agreed to take the risk.” A short man in the back spoke up just then, “Technically, I’ve been coerced.” He turned to Harry, “Mundungus Fletcher, Mista Potta, always been a ‘uge admirer.”

“Nip it, Mundungus!” Moody scolded. The small man’s head went down, turning back to his spot in the back of the room and staying quiet. “Alright, Granger, as discussed,” Moody nodded toward the witch. Hermione walked past Harry, gripping a patch of hair at the back of his head and pulling harshly, pulling out several hairs. “Blimey, Hermione,” Harry rubbed the back of his head. Moody instructed Hermione to drop the hairs in the polyjuice potion in his flask. The potion began to bubble as Moody stirred it around with another  twirl of his wrist. 

“For those of you who are not familiar with the polyjuice potion, fair warning, taste like goblin piss,” Moody stated comfortingly as he handed the flask to Fred. Fred took the flask from him, “Have lots of experiences with that, do ya Mad-Eye?” Moody continued to stare at Fred, face blank and unchanging. Fred let out a sigh, “Just trying to diffuse the tension…” Those in the line all took a large swig, first Fred, then George, followed by Mundungus, Fluer, Ron and lastly Hermione. You stood next to Hermione and watched in amazement as the row of people all slowly started changing, skin bubbling to transform into Harry. 

You watched your George shrink several inches and he transformed. His clothes became far too large for his frame. “Is this how you feel when you borrow a shirt from me, love?” he looked over at you, a smile on his - well Harry’s - face. You shook your head, cheeks becoming a shade darker than before, “You know it’s really hard to take you seriously when you look like that.” He shrugged as he started to get dressed in the same exact attire as Harry. The goal was simple, pairs would travel with a Harry look-a-like towards the Burrow. Mad-Eye said he anticipated an attack by death eaters and that the risk was high. You and George agreed to be involved immediately, no questions asked. 

Once everyone was changed you all filed outside, you grabbed your broom. You hopped on, George floating next to you on a copy of Harry’s broom. Moody stood at the end of the drive, announcing it was time to leave. You both took off together, staying close by one another. As you got deeper into the clouds, it looked like a lightning storm. Moody went further ahead of the others. In an instant you were seemingly surrounded by black cloaks swishing by spells being thrown on either side of you. You turned to find George, you had to assume he was still the Harry closest to you. 

You knew you were close to the Burrow. You looked over to check on George once more just in time to see a death eater point their want towards him. You panicked, not knowing the spell they would speak and instantly flicked your wand toward George, “Depulso!” George’s body slid farther away from you, narrowly missing the spell, or at least almost. You noticed his body go slightly limp, his broom altitude dropping quickly. You dove after him, grabbing him in your arms and speeding toward the barrier around the burrow. 

As soon as you were through the barrier you headed to land, nearly crashing into the cornfields. He still looked like Harry as you fervently started checking his body for damage, “C’mon Georgie, wake up. You’re okay, right? You’re okay.” His head was bleeding, you turned it to the side, noticing his left ear nearly missing, “Oh, Georgie.” He turned his head back and forth, mumbling something. You put your ear next to his mouth and he mumbled again, “Y/n/n, yer…kneeling on my hand.” You jumped up, and he attempted to roll over to his side. Thankfully he was still mostly Harry, you threw one of his arms over your shoulder, your arm around his waist, doing your best to take hold of most of the weight. 

You stumbled out of the cornfields, seeing a few of the others that made it before you two. Harry, the real Harry, was quick to come to the other side of George, helping you take him inside the Burrow. Molly turned from the sink as soon as she heard commotion, eyes glued on the now changing boy back into George. “Oh my boy,” Molly rushed over as you and Harry laid George on the family sofa. Remus walked in with another Harry that slowly turned into their normal self, challenging each one making sure they weren’t an imposter. 

You ignored the background noise, focusing solely on the red head in front of you. You got a washing cloth from the kitchen, dowsing it in cool water to begin to clean his wound. As you approached the sofa again Molly snatched the rag from your hands, a glare upon her face as she pushed in front of you to tend to her son. Fred entered the Burrow, rushing to his twin’s side. It was silent for a long moment before Fred spoke, “How’re you feelin’ Georgie?” George’s eyes were still closed, taking slow deep breaths as he responded, “Saint-like.” 

Fred shook his head, “Come again?” George smiled softly, “Saint-like. I’m holy. I’m holy, Fred. Ya get it?” He then pointed to his ear. Fred just shook his head again, smiling, “The whole wide world of ear related humor, and you go for ‘I’m holy’. It’s pathetic.” George winked at you before responding to his twin once more, “Reckon I’m still better looking than you.” You laughed softly at his ability to ease a room  in even the most stressful of times. Molly turned at the sound of your laughter, glaring at you once more. You could understand her feeling protective, but you were unsure why she was taking her anger out at you. 

You attempted once more to get closer to George now that he was talking to others more, but Molly was quick to step in front of you. “I think you’ve done enough for tonight dear,” Her voice was low but stern. You were sure confusion was written across your features, “What do you mean, Molly?” She gestured toward the other room, “Maybe it would be best if you kept your distance for the night.” Her face told you not to argue with her. While she was usually the soft and comforting one, she could instill fear when needed. 

You took the hint and went into the other room, pacing back and forth. You kept playing with the rings on your fingers, one in particular George had gifted you last Christmas. You wished you could talk to him, it pained you being pushed away like this. Pained you so deeply you swear you could feel it on your side. Your right side. You placed your hand onto your torso, wincing as you touched just below your rib cage. You lifted your shirt slowly, peering down to see a deep gash. “Bloody hell, that’s not good,” with the realization of your wound you felt more light headed. You assumed the lack of adrenaline also played a part in this. You turned back towards the main living area, intentions of calling out for someone when everything started to fade around you. 

—------------

George moved to sit up, laughing slightly at the several members of his family fawning over him. He looked around searching for the face of the one person who’s voice he hadn’t heard since he landed at the burrow. “Where’s Y/n?” George went to stand up, albeit a little shaky. “She’s just in the other room, I asked her to give you some space,” Molly rubbed his arm in comfort. He started walking towards the room, “Why would you do that mum?” He walked a little quicker towards the next room. He turned the corner to see you laying facedown on the floor. 

George rushed over, shouting for someone, anyone to come and help him. He turned you over, noticing how slow and shallow your breathing had become. He did the same inspection you had done just an hour prior, checking your face, your neck, down your arms. He ran his hands down your sides, your body involuntarily twitching as he reached your wound. He lifted your shirt as Remus and his father came to kneel next to him. George gasped as he saw the deep gash on your side, the edges burned black clearly from a dark spell. “What do I- how do we fix her dad, you have to fix her…” George’s eyes brimmed with tears, pleading to his father. Kingsley came to join the older two men, encouraging George to stand back. 

George stood there, tears streaming down his face as Remus, Arthur and Kingsly worked over your body. George was still recovering himself, swaying back and forth as his anxiety and blood pressure got higher. “C’mon, Georgie, let’s go sit you back down before you’re the next to pass out.” George reluctantly followed his twin. As soon as he was sat on the couch, Molly came rushing to his side again. George’s face was in his hands, making his words come out muffled, “Mum, please, I love you, but please give me some space right now.” 

“Oh, darling, wha-why?” Molly stood up confused. George shook his head, “Mum you told her to go over there, to leave everyone else, to leave me. Why? Why did you do that? She was in there alone! Who knows how long she was passed out for!” George’s voice got higher and higher with each word. Molly took a step back in shock. “George, she- she was supposed to protect you. She was paired with you to keep you safe and look how you turned out, you could have died George!” He stood up instantly, face screwed in anger, “Well now she might die, mum.” And with that, he stomped up the stairs, two at a time until he reached his room. 

—-----

What felt like hours later there was a knock on George’s door. He kept his face in his pillow, shouting back, “Go away.” He heard the door open regardless of his wishes. He remaining in his position even though he heard footsteps approaching him. He felt a dip in his bed before he heard your voice teasing him, “Don’t want to see me, is that it George? I heard I was all you could talk about.” 

He turned over so quickly he nearly knocked you off the bed. He grabbed you onto his lap and embracing you tightly. You hissed slightly, causing him to pull your body away from his and he glanced down at your side, “Oh, y/n/n, I’m sorry, how’re you-how does it look?” You leaned back slightly, lifting your shirt to show him your waist wrapped in bandages, “Looks about as good as your head.” You touched the side of his face gently, fingers dancing over his damaged ear. His eyes closed at your touch. He relished in your presence, brain mulling over him almost losing you just hours earlier. 

He hadn’t noticed himself become emotional until he felt your thumb wipe a tear off his cheek. “Why are you crying, Georgie?” Your voice was so soft, always a comfort to him. He shook his head, realizing how daft he’s been, “I’m just so stupid.” You laughed lightly, another mesmerizing sound to him, “What are you talking about?” He opened his eyes, though they were still downcast, “Y/n, I haven't been honest with you. Erm, honest with myself either, really.” He felt your fingers lift his chin, making him look into your eyes. 

“You know you can tell me anything, no matter what you can tell me,” you wore a soft smile on your lips, doing your best to encourage him to continue. He just stared at you for a moment, taking in how gentle your eyes looked at him, the bit of dirt still on your cheek from earlier in the night, how soft your lips looked right now. George was so lost in thought he almost didn’t notice you getting closer to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck now, still waiting for him to respond to you. 

“It’s just…I…,” he trailed off, eyes shooting to your lips, back to your eyes and down again. You just nodded, closing the gap further, “I know, Georgie, me too.” And then it happened, your lips were on his and he was in heaven. One of his hands cupped your face as his other steadied on your hip, your lips slotting against one another fervently and with purpose. You felt his tongue glide against your bottom lip and granted him entrance without hesitation, allowing him to explore your mouth and deepen the kiss. 

He attempted to pull you even closer, hands grabbing at your waist. You pulled back with a hiss, both forgetting about your injury. “Oh Merlin, I’m-” You shook your head, smiling, “It’s okay Georgie, I’m okay.” You cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb across his skin, “You scared me tonight. You can’t scare me like that, I thought I was gonna lose you.” He chuckled at this, “Yeah well I could say the same to you.” You shook your head, smiling at the red head, “You know I realized something tonight.” He looked at you curiously, “Oh? And what’s that.” 

“I love you Georgie,” you bit your lip, waiting on how he would respond. He reached up, his thumb lightly pulling your lip from your teeth, “I love you too, Y/n, so much.” He leaned in to kiss you once more, your lips just barely grazing each other when you heard someone clear their throat in the doorway. You both turned to see Fred, leaning against the door frame with a smirk plastered on his lips. 

“As adorable as that was to witness, there’s someone downstairs wanting to talk to you both,” Fred pushed himself off the frame, turning to leave. He grabbed ahold of the frame quickly, popping his head back into the room, “If I wasn’t clear, I was talking about mum.” You climbed off of George’s lap, allowing him to also stand up from the bed, “Thanks genius, didn’t quite get that one.” 

You walked with George down the stairs, fingers intertwined while doing so. Molly’s eyes clocked the connection immediately, her face becoming more apologetic than before, if that were even possible. She met you both at the bottom of the steps, wrapping you in her embrace immediately, “Darling, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for how I acted, what I said to you, it was rubbish, truly.” She pulled back, tears brimming her eyes. You shook your head, “Molly, no. He’s your son. You just love him so much, I understand the feeling.” 

You looked up at George who gave you a small smile and a wink in return. Molly, missing nothing, quickly wrapped her arms around both your necks, planting kisses on each of your cheeks, whispering in your ears, “We’ve been waiting for this, your father and I. Probably another reason I was so emotional earlier.” George leaned back, “What dya mean you’ve been waiting?” Molly simply smiled, “I know the look dear, you’ve had it with her for, gosh, how long now Arthur?” 

“Since year 5 for them both, Moll.” Arthur yelled from the other side of the room. You felt your cheeks burn, surely visibly red for everyone to see. George was also blushing, not realizing how blatantly obvious he had been over the years. Fred came up behind you both, slinging an arm over each of your shoulders, “Thank Merlin for that though, yeah? He wouldn’t nearly have been as passionate about where you were if he wasn’t always looking for you in a room. Probably would’ve been longer before we realized you were passed out.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah, he really was a Saint for me tonight, wasn’t he?” Fred looked at you puzzled, “Come again?” You pointed at George’s bandaged ear, “He’s holy Fred, Saint-like.” Fred just groaned, rolling his eyes as he pushed through the both of you. George however smiled, grabbing your chin and planting another kiss on your lips with a smile.

Taglist:

@luv4kani ; @somekidinacoma ; @huahuali ; @ell0ra-br3kk3r ; @wollymalfoy ;

[ibbythebee]

Hospital Wing Hermits

gif credit: @handknit on wattpad

pairing: Neville Longbottom x year younger!reader

summary: From Neville's second year at Hogwarts to his last, his most memorable times with you have been spent in the hospital wing.

genre: fluffiness all round, slight angst at the end... but only a little, slow-burny

warnings: this fic is so soft that you will potentially combust, slight swearing, SO MUCH hand holding, the reader is an oblivious goofball until she's not, kissing, talks about illnesses and injuries, blood and boogers

words: 6k

masterlist

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 2nd Year

Clutching onto Madame Pomfrey is nothing new to Neville. In the middle of the night, however, is a different story. The Nurse coos whenever the boy makes the slightest sound of pain, holding him up as not to put anymore pressure on his right foot.

"We're just about there, dear. Come on, just a few more steps..."

Leading him to the middle of the hospital wing's room, she then guides him onto an untouched bed, and immediately slides a pillow underneath his ankle. A spot of light on the opposite side of the room does not go unnoticed to either the woman or boy as soon as they had entered the room.

Neville rubs his eyes, squinting at the strange glowing mound of sheets. He watches as, with a sigh, Madame Pomfrey marches to the other preoccupied bed and pulls over the white covers to reveal you, a sheepish looking girl.

Under the light of your wand, your face looks puffy, lips and nose chapped, hair amuck. You cough into your elbow and smile a toothy innocent smile, batting your big eyes at the woman, silently pleading your innocence.

Pomfrey, however, does not play games. "Turn off that incessant light, Miss L/N. Do you realise what time it is?"

Your lips shape into a pout, voice stuffy as you answer. "But Madame Pomfrey, it's so boring here. I'm bored."

"No, you should be asleep. Turn that off right now. I don't want to have to send another owl to your mother about you refusing medical help."

"Just a few more minutes please? I'll finish the page I'm reading."

"Absolutely not. It's basic manners and respect for your fellow peer." She motions to Neville, and you finally turn to him.

Despite the fatigue in your features, your eyes seem to glow, piercing through the dark room. Perhaps it's just his lack of sleep or absence of light, but there is something drawing him to you and he fails to look away. Nothing comes out of his mouth even though he knows he's probably supposed to greet you, but neither do you.

A second longer you stare at your new roommate and in eventual defeat, you pout. The light from your wand fades, as you mumble 'nox' under your breath and get comfortable under the blankets.

Satisfied, Madame Pomfrey clears the rubbish bin underneath your bed and turns back to Neville handing him a small flask of some sort of healing potion.

"All right. Off to bed now both of you. Good night, dears."

You both mutter a 'goodnight', closing your eyes, gingerly pulling the covers up to your chins.

It stays mostly quiet in the room, apart from the Nurse's shuffling. Though as time passes, shoes click and click away, and then the door creaks shut.

"Psst!"

Neville stirs.

"Hey, psst!"

"Huh?" Is all Neville can manage, lifting his head with a groggy squint.

"What happened to you?" You ask in a loud whisper and sniffle. Sitting straight, and staring right at him. Your eyes really are big, inquisitive.

"Well I... twisted my ankle," he finally says.

"How?"

"I... I'd rather not say. It's embarrassing, really."

"I won't tell anyone," you say as-a-matter-of-factly. "You can hex me if I do."

He looks at you through narrow eyes again and this time it's your teeth that glow. As you show no interest in falling asleep, Neville's neck admits defeat and his head crashes back down onto the pillow. "Can we just please go to sleep?"

"I caught a cold... or maybe a fever. Runny nose—" you sniff, wiping your face with your pajama sleeve "—wet cough, high temperature. My mum says I have a weak immune system."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" He comments half-heartedly to the ceiling.

"No, it isn't."

Silence. For a moment, he believes that you've finally surrendered yourself.

"So how'd you twist your ankle in the middle of the night?"

Never mind.

"You don't seem like a rule-breaker," you say.

He carefully shuffles up to sit and sighs. Where on earth did you get your energy from? He hadn't met such a talkative first year before.

Neville takes a moment to answer, debating on whether or not you're harmless enough for him to be vulnerable. "I had a nightmare, okay? I fell off my bed and... landed badly."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" You echo.

"No, it isn't."

Silence once again ensues, but this time Neville's ready for your chatterbox mouth.

"What's your name? I'm..." You suddenly stop and he nearly laughs when your silhouette jerks and you sneeze. It's loud, like his Gran.

"Nice to meet you, Achoo." He chuckles, holding a hand over his mouth.

You sniff again, face hot in a new wave of humiliation, and this time you wipe your face with more aggression. "Hey, that's not funny! My name is — A-ACHHHOO!"

"Isn't that what I just said?" He can't help but laugh again. Relishing in the groan you emit and how furiously you blow your nose.

With a poke of your tongue, you retort. "Whatever, Mr... mm... Fall-out-of-bed...n-nightmare-broken-ankle-boy."

"Wow, that's really fantastic, Achoo." He slides back down into his bed, closing his eyes with content and tries to hold in his giggles as you continue with determination to clear up your mistake.

Initially, Neville thought he wouldn't even be able to get in a nap, but now with the understanding that you bark more than you bite, he creates a silly image of you in the form of a puppy. As your voice rings in the background, the puppy image barks with you, and he feels his eyes grow heavy, falling into a content and nightmare-less sleep.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 4th Year

Ever since sleeping the night in the hospital wing, Neville knew he'd be seeing more of you. It was surprising to him that he hadn't noticed you before that night, especially seeing as you were such a social butterfly. And despite being in the year below, he'd always manage to catch your eyes in the Great Hall. And in the courtyard. And in the halls. And through a classroom window. You were everywhere and anywhere. And when you weren't, you were in bed in the hospital wing.

Just like you are now. The fourteen-year-old hadn't seen you for the past few weeks after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, and needless to say, he had to see you.

And such a perfect opportunity had arose today, albeit a painful one, but an opportunity none the less.

Neville opens the door to the wing as gently as possible as not to wake you, however knowing you, you probably already were.

Entering the room, he clutches his sore hand to his ribs and cranes his neck to spot the nurse. Instead he finds your lying form under a mountain of blankets.

You stir, and Neville curses at his shoes for making so much noise. Sure, his intention of coming here was to see you, but he’d seldom seen you in such a peaceful state and didn’t want to ruin that for you.

“Neville?” He hears you say and then you’re facing him.

He smiles down at you, with a voice just as soft as silk. "Hey, Achoo. Didn't mean to wake you. How you feeling?”

“I’m feeling alright. Kinda headache-y, but fine. Ugh, what time is it?” You rub your eyes and stretch as you sit up.

The messiness of your bed-hair is incredibly endearing and the curve in Neville’s lips only grow at the sight.

“It’s third period.”

“Then… what are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

You’re suddenly on your feet, eyes round and wide, taking in the scene of the tall boy. He flinches, attempting to hide his hand in his robe sleeve.

You snatch his hand, bringing it close to your face. It’s a burn. All over the back of his palm. "Bloody hell— Where's Madame Pomfrey?"

"I was about to ask you the same question." A small chuckle falls from his lips as you examine him. Somehow, in some miracle he watches your big eyes grow larger as you twist his hand, move his long fingers to get as much information about his wound.

He feels like he’s going crazy, your touch is a new kind of burn on his skin. It doesn’t sting, but it is hot. And you don’t even know you’re causing it.

"She's always gone when you actually need her,” you huff.

"It's not as bad as it looks, really. Just hurts a little when I move it."

"What about when I...?" You drift off, as you slide a delicate thumb over his beet-red knuckles.

The tips of his ears turn the same shade of red. "Stings."

With no further words, he lets you pull him to one corner of the hospital wing, searching for a particular ointment on the many shelves of medical supplies. You don't let go of his hand, and he doesn't dare pull away.

"Let me guess how it happened—" you say, grabbing a round jar of blue gel to read the label.

"Seamus." You both state and then share a laugh.

Placing the jar back, you continue your search and Neville fills the comfortable silence. "It's Potions class. For once I thought I was doing pretty decent and then next thing I know, Seamus' cauldron blows up next to me and of course I get the damage."

His hand is held up to your face again and he watches as you grab a new jar with a less solid looking gel, creamy in colour.

"I suppose it's a good way for me to get out of the rest of the class," he shrugs.

"And get away from Snape," you quip and earn a chuckle from him. There was a time in Neville’s third year, when you had come to learn about his amusing boggart. He’d snuck into the hospital wing, claiming he had a nasty headache and ended up staying the night, neither of you getting a wink of sleep. It had also been revealed that the thing you were most frightened of was giants.

“Sit down,” your motioning to the mattress behind him.

He does so without question, still attached to you by your pinkie, making himself comfortable on the edge of a neatly tucked bed. He follows your every action as you place the ointment jar beside his thigh and open the lid. You scoop a teaspoon amount with your fingers and lifted his burnt hand again.

Before the cream touches his burn, you begin to tell him about what illness you've caught today and he barely feels the sting of the medicine. There's no better spell or potion to kill pain than your voice, that much was evident even back when he first met you.

Concentration laces your features and unbeknownst to you, your hips hit the edge of the mattress, unaware to the fact that Neville's knees are on either side of you.

The sight of you between him for some reason makes it difficult for him to swallow. The urge to trap you with his legs increases by the second. "Hey, Y/N?"

You wipe off excess ointment on your pajama top and turn your attention to him. He rarely called you by your first name. Something's up.

"Yeah?"

"Well, the erm... You know in a week or so?"

"Mhm?"

There's a pause as he searches your eyes for confidence, then he finally announces. "Would you say you're a good dancer?"

Creases form between your brows and you pout at the question, really thinking it over. If there was anything else Neville had learnt about you was that you always answered his queries with great interest and thought. You never treat his questions as though they're dumb, and he’s come to adore you for that.

As you ponder, he slides his non-burnt hand under yours, idly fiddling with your delicate fingers; tracing around the length of them, lifting them up and dropping them one by one, and eventually laying his palm flat on top of yours. Were his hands always this big?

The tips of your fingers tap-tap against his, as you finally answer. "I suppose... I would like to think I am."

"Well... that's good to hear."

"What about you?"

"Oh me?" He finds your face and swallows thickly. "I've been practicing lately, so I can only hope I've improved."

A giggle breaks free from your lips and it’s music to his ears. "Practicing? Whatever for?"

"The Yule Ball, of course."

"The..." The creases near your brows form again. "I've completely forgotten about that."

He squeezes a finger of yours. "So, no one's asked you yet?"

You sneeze into your elbow and then for a second time, and your voice becomes stuffy to the amusement of Neville. "Asked me what?"

"Asked you to be their date, of course."

"Oh. No." Scoffing. "Being stuck in here means no social-life. And besides—" You spin around quick to grab a roll of bandage, and gingerly flatten it over his burn "—who's gonna want to dance with someone who sneezes every five minutes?"

"I would."

"That's what I thought — wait... you would?"

In an effort to look nonchalant, Neville shrugs, finding interest in a bird that's flying near the window. The tips of his ears poking out of his shaggy hair are giving you a different response, they're blushing.

You finish with his wound and step away from the bed, fingers feeling cold when you let go of him.

Upon inspection of your medical handiwork, he smiles gently. He hadn't felt a thing. "Thanks for this."

"I... I can't guarantee that I'll be completely healthy that day," you say.

"The Yule Ball?"

You nod in an almost embarrassed way, as you fiddle with the collar of your sleeping clothes.

Neville just shakes his head. "The suit my Gran got for me has a lot of pockets so I’ll carry all your tissues for you. Or anything else you might need, I'll keep them for you."

"That'sssss.... ACHHU!"

"Bless you. So what do you say? Would you... want to go with me? Maybe? I promise not to step on your feet."

"Miss L/N?! What on earth are you doing out of bed?!"

"MADAME POMFREY!" You both exclaim, faces and necks feeling hot.

"Come on, dear, why don't you ever follow simple orders?!"

Mumbles of pathetic protest fall from your lips as the woman drags you back to the other side of the room. You knock into Neville’s knee on the way and so he’s quick to follow behind you with his own incoherent babble about the burn on his hand.

You're settled under the blankets once again and watch as the nurse's eyes bulge at the sight of the tall boy's perfectly cared for palm. She inspects the bandage, inquires about the pain and what the cause was, all while Neville can't keep the flushed look off his face.

"She— well... Y/N helped me out. It doesn't hurt anymore, I'm fine now, Ma'am."

As the said woman keeps a hold of his hand, she turns to you with daggers. "What did you use? A potion? Spell, perhaps? Mr Longbottom could have severe side-effects if you're not careful."

"He won't," you grin toothily as you did back in your first year and point to the shelf in the right corner. "I used the ointment that you gave Theodore Nott not that long ago. Haha, Nott not."

Neville stifles a laugh, and isn't surprised when the nurse doesn't question you further. You might be the only student that can get away with arguing with Madame Pomfrey.

The nurse's face instead takes the form of an appreciative and impressed expression. It's only natural that with your ‘weak immune system’, you've gained as much medical knowledge as you have colds and flus.

"I'll admit, you've done a splendid job with Neville. However, you simply cannot use whatever you like, whenever you like, on whomever you like. Next time this happens you need to wait for me to return, alright? Is that understood?"

Taking a glance at Neville's sheepish state, you sigh and nod in response.

"And Neville dear, don't encourage this behaviour. Especially not from Miss L/N."

"Okay, Ma'am."

She gives the boy a goodbye and immediately turns to you, a full on lecture spilling from her mouth. He isn’t supposed to leave yet, not when he’s just finally had the courage to ask you out.

Neville finds your helpless gaze behind the woman’s shoulder, and sends you a sad sort of smile before turning on his heel to get to the door.

"I-I'll go with you!" You yell.

The tall boy pauses, heart flipping at your words.

"To the Yule Ball."

There’s no stopping the grin that forms, and he finally nods after a second, hair shaking with the action.

Your eyes speak to him as your own smile appears.

Meanwhile, the woman huffs and puffs, cleaning the area around your bed. "Not in this state, you won't."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 5th Year

The last time Neville was in the hospital wing, he'd come to talk to you about his recent endeavours in Herbology and let slip that he's been secretly practicing defensive magic with a group of other students, being taught by none other than Harry himself. There was no doubt that you would also be trusted enough to join, however seeing as you were once again bed-ridden, it felt best to keep it a secret until you got better.

Now it wasn't a secret anymore, and each time he'd visit you'd ask him to put in a good word with Harry, with the group. Neville always said he would, but he never did, fearing that Professor Umbitch would eventually catch onto you and you'd have to pay the ultimate price.

Karma is an Umbitch, however, and now it looks as if the only answer to Neville's current predicament is to let you join Dumbledore's Army, despite all his worries and his efforts to stop you from doing that.

Today’s DA training has been cut short, due to the fact that the fifteen-year old is now incapacitated. Blood refusing to slow down from his nose.

Going to Madame Pomfrey would've required him to come up with a believable story as to what happened, so the next best thing was to send for you, someone who already knows about this secret group.

"Neville!" A Ravenclaw boy shouts, interrupting his thoughts. "Your Bogey Bug is here— ow!"

Someone smacks the kid, and then suddenly the Weasley twins are leading you into the Room of Requirement. You stand over him, adorning new pajamas he hadn't seen before.

"Hey Achoo," he weakly smiles. "Thanks for coming."

The DA gather around, as you crouch to his side and immediately take the cloth he's been holding to his nose. You make a face at him. “Oh Neville… what are we going to do with you?”

A fresh line of blood rolls down to his lip, so you let him leave the fabric there to sink it in.

"Keep your head steady, okay? Don't lean back, just let the blood flow for now."

"I think my nose might be broken?"

"Neville, I swear to..." your head spins sharply, and a few students flinch. "Who did this?"

"We were practicing stupefy," the familiar voice of Seamus answers and immediately your tense shoulders relax seeing his face emerge behind the twins. "I didn't mean to. I swear, Y/N."

"He really didn't mean to," Neville echoes.

You sneeze into your elbow and shake your head, palm making contact with your cheek. "See, this is why you should’ve told me about this secret army group thing so I could've joined and stopped something like this from happening.”

"I'm sorry."

You take Neville's hand again and lift the cloth, checking over the damage. There is damage, alright. You try not to make a show of wincing, fearing that the brown-haired boy would get anxious by your reaction, but his nose really does look quite out of sorts. Out of line. Broken.

He realises you haven't said a word in a while and smiles again, "you can fix, can't you, Achoo?"

"I told Neville I could treat him, but he kept refusing and insisted for your presence," Luna's soft voice interrupts as she crouches down beside you.

Someone amongst the crowd starts to coo and the tips of Neville's ears manage to turn beet red, more so when you turn your attention to him, expression unreadable.

Luna carries on, eyes focused on you. "He wouldn't let anyone touch him. Not until now, anyway."

"Okay!" A sudden clap startles even Luna, and you all turn to the perpetrator. Harry Potter's back is turned to your direction as he addresses the crowd, "I think we'll call it a day. Neville needs his strength and so do you."

The crowd murmurs, exchanging pouts and disappointed shrugs.

"Be proud of yourselves, you all did brilliantly today. Each and every one of you have improved. Next time we get to meet we'll continue with the Patronus Charm."

"What about Bogey Bug? How do we know she's not gonna rat us out?" A girl in Hufflepuff asks.

Neville sees you stand up, slapping a hand over your chest. "I swear on my life and the life of Neville—."

"Hey!"

"—that I will not snitch on this group or expose any of you. I promise to be loyal and keep my mouth shut about this."

Some faces don't seem convinced, as more murmurs and chatter erupt.

"She can be our nurse!" Neville exclaims, stealing everyone's attention. It's time to put in that good word for you. "We won't have to go to the hospital wing if Achoo— I mean, Y/N is here. She's really good at what she does. Plus, I accidentally told her about the army about a month ago and she hasn't told a soul since. I do..."

Your big eyes soften when he turns to you.

"...I trust her with my life."

"All right then," Harry claps once more. "All those in favour of Y/N becoming part of the army, raise your hand."

A few hands come up, whilst others whisper for a moment. One more, then four more, and then more hands raise faster than you can count them. You and the broken-nosed boy share grins, as you squeeze his free hand.

"That's it then. Y/N, welcome to Dumbledore's Army."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 6th year

Following the events of the previous year of school you and Neville had grown ever closer. Outside of the classroom you'd never be seen without the other. Inseparable. There'd even been a rumour going around that you were dating, but you always denied such claims and Neville could only comply. He hadn't yet told anyone about his feelings for you, although it seemed that those in his close circle were figuring it out on their own.

After having looked like a lost pygmy puff in the Great Hall, Luna found Neville and mentioned to him that you looked 'out of sorts' during class. He hadn't even asked about you. She just knew to tell him.

So, it’s only fitting for him to be by your side now, during lunch hour.

You’re shivering underneath all the sheets and blankets, and yet as Neville glides the back of his fingers across your forehead, you’re sweating as well.

“Hang in there Achoo, you’ll be fine in no time. The spell will take effect.”

You can only give so much as a nod, and groan when your lower abdomen tightens with a deep, stabbing ache.

“Shh,” Neville smooths his delicate fingers over your forehead again, tucking loose strands back to their place with the rest of your hair. “I'm here. Do you want me to distract you with anything?"

"Anything," you squeak, eyes shut tightly as if doing that would stop your cramps and make you fall asleep faster. "Please."

"Alright, erm..." He slides his tongue over his bottom lip and leans in closer to you, elbow pressing into the mattress. "I suppose I can tell you about a dream I had not long ago. You were in it."

"The Hippogriff one?" You tremble.

"No, this is a new one," he smiles when you meet his gaze, finding your fingers peeking through the sheets and taking them into his hands. "It's really stupid, as dreams usually go, but I really like it."

Your fingers are stretched out, as Neville begins to trace over your palm. First he draws a circle and you giggle a little at the feeling.

"This is me," he draws a triangle, "and this is you. It seems like any ordinary day, except you and I have the same classes. In the dream we're both popular. Everyone cheers for us when we get good marks, and even Professor Snape smiles at you."

"No way."

He laughs and traces a shape with lots of spikes. "Yes way. It really seems too good to be true, because there's even a moment where we successfully sneak out at night, we're just in our pajamas and we're watching the stars from the astronomy tower."

"I'm waiting for the 'but'."

"But — here comes the stupid part — you just start flying out of nowhere. One second you're next to me, the next you're just in the sky. I'm freaking out trying to reach for your hand, but you're just so calm about the fact that you mysteriously gained the ability to fly."

You're giggling again, especially as he slaps your palm a few times to emphasise the story. "Accurate reaction."

"And then it just ends with me being able to breath fire."

"What?" You laugh, brows pulling together in amusement. "I wonder what Professor Trelawney would say about that. What all of it might represent."

He draws a line on each of your fingers, slow and tickly. "If it's anything like I've been told before, it probably means bad luck."

"Well I was also in the dream with you, so we'll go through the bad luck together." To his surprise, you thread your fingers through his and squeeze. You're not trembling anymore, you haven't been for the past minute or so, and it doesn't feel like you're being stabbed over and over in the stomach.

"Think you can sleep now?" He asks, fingers hesitantly unravelling.

You nod, grinning at him, those eyes of yours finally shining as bright as they usually do.

"Want me to go get Madame Pomfrey?"

You shake your head. And then your arms are around his neck, head tucked in the space between your bicep and his jawline.

It feels like a millennium till he returns your gesture, arms securing around your waist and back, pulling you in tightly and desperately. The mix of the wing's clinical scent and the smell of baked desserts fills his nose. He could've sworn he'd smelt something like this during Potions class.

"Stay with me," you purr. "Please."

He knows he has class in ten minutes, he knows he can't skip, he knows he'll get in trouble.

So with your arms determined to remain wrapped around each other he bends over, moving till your head meets the pillow. He kicks off one of his school shoes. Then the other.

You feel his knees dip into the mattress beside your thighs, and then you have to part for a moment as he slips under the blankets, his head settling on the pillow right beside yours.

When he's comfortable, you take one of his hands and lower it until he brushes over your clothed belly.

Keeping the heat from entering his ears and cheeks is impossible, as his hand flattens over your stomach, shock evident in his features from your bold action.

"Could you keep it there?" You say, when you feel his uncertainty. "It'll help if the cramps come back." Your own hands smooth over his, trapping him there.

"I will." He swallows thickly. "Are you comfortable?"

You nod. "Are you?"

"Absolutely. Yes. I am."

A content breath passes your lips and you smile, all giddy like, at the ceiling. "Thank you for being here. For being with me always. For not making fun of me being sick all the time. Not calling me Bogey Bug. For... for just being you. For being my most favourite person ever."

"I could really say the same about you." Both your voices are barely above a whisper, seeing as your faces are so close together.

"Thanks Neville," you turn to him, and tap the back of his hand on your belly.

You stare at each other for a moment, and for some reason it doesn't feel wrong. It's not awkward.

Neville breaks the silence. "You... you know how everyone keeps saying that we're... you know going out?"

"Yeah."

Neville pauses for a second, you're staring so intensely, pupils large and beautiful. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and squeezes the material of your clothes. He can talk to you, he can ask you the question. He's battled against Bellatrix Lestrange before, he's been put in Gryffindor for a reason. He can ask you. "What do you say we make those rumours... not rumours anymore?"

The corners of your mouth twitch. "You-You mean... you mean like...?"

"Yes. Like that. Like... I want to spend the rest of my life with you, sort of way."

You don't say anything.

He continues, with a small bite of his lip. "Like... I'm completely mad for you and if I don't tell you now I don't think I'll ever get the chance to again."

"This... isn't a dream, is it?"

"Can I prove to you this isn't a dream?"

"Okay."

And it really feels like a dream, as his face leans in and you feels his lips press against the corner of your mouth.

"Did that help?" he whispers.

You twist around to lay on your side, guiding Neville's big hand up to your waist. "You missed, Neville."

"What?"

"You missed."

This time you both lean in, and this time Neville doesn't miss.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 7th year

The last Horcrux has been destroyed, Voldemort's killed, the Death Eaters have fled. New life has been brought to Hogwarts, sun pooling through the shattered windows of the Great Hall.

People sit on broken stools, torn and ashy blankets, chatter quiet and solemn. A few people manage to tell jokes and liven the mood, others cuddle, kiss, crying tears of relief. Nurses scamper around tending to the badly wounded.

Only...

As Neville limps his way through the hall he desperately scans over the crowds only to realise you're not here. You're not by Madame Pomfrey. You're not by Luna either. Neville finds Ginny's tired but hopeful figure and before he can tap her shoulder, she's already turned to him with a gentle smile.

She shakes her head before he even has a chance to speak. "I haven't seen Y/N. Not since... well not since she took care of Freddie. 'M sorry Neville."

"No," he shakes his head and gives the girl a gentle hug when her voice wavers and her bottom lip quivers. "No, I'm sorry."

"You helped kill Voldemort. That's hardly anything to be sorry for," she smiles again as they part, softly pushing at his shoulder to leave. To keep searching for you. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye out for her."

Neville sends her a purposeful nod and turns to leave, the sword of Gryffindor still snug in his hand. At times he uses the weapon as a crutch, the pain in his everything starting to take a toll as previous rushes of adrenaline begin to fade. The only thing keeping him going is the thought of you. You and your sneezes, your messy hair, your often nasally voice, your big eyes and equally big grins. You.

He passes what looks to be remnant of the hospital wing's door, merely a pile of wood chips and metal beams now. He hears the distant tweet of a bird, the pitter-patter of loose rubble and someone's sneeze.

The sword clangs to the ground and he's sprinting. Neville rounds the corner of the entrance to the wing and he stops, breath heavy, vision blurry.

You're there, and you're already staring at him, your grin so large and your eyes even more so and you're holding onto something familiar.

"N-Neville?" your voice is soft and so stuffy and gorgeous.

"Achoo, good Godric." His sore legs carry him to your side, and you're running toward him, arms open. And then you jump and he completely forgets about how much pain he's in when he catches you.

You cling to his sweater, to his shoulders, to his neck, to his waist, squeezing him with every bit of strength you've got left.

He's grasping at your hoody, your waist, your hair, your skin, he's touching all of you, scared that if he'll let go you won't be there anymore.

"I love you so much," he says through a trembling voice.

You pull away slightly and return your feet to the ground, legs unwrapping from his hips. You crane your neck to kiss his jaw, and then you kiss his cheek and his other and then finally his lips. And it sets your heart on fire, full of adoration and care and relief. You don't ever want to stop feeling him here, his supple lips against yours, especially as his hands cup your jaw, reeling you in for more and more.

"I love you Neville," you cry when you finally have to pull away to catch your breaths. "Ever since I first met you. You and your twisted ankle."

He chuckles, tenderly wiping a tear from the apple of your cheek with his thumb. He scans over the room for a moment, as he feels your fingers come to dance over the dry trail of blood from his head wound.

"I don't think we're ever gonna leave this place," he says with a caress of your jaw.

Following his gaze, you giggle. Those beds you spent countless nights on, those countless concoctions and medical supplies you've had used on you, they're all here, scattered and battered around the room.

"That's why I came here instead of the Hall," you say, keeping one arm around your boyfriend's waist and unravelling the other to reveal an intact jar of creamy coloured ointment. "I'm so sorry, I must've scared you nuts."

"Scared me to death more like, but all I had to do was listen out for your sneezes. Turns out it isn't that hard to find you."

You poke your tongue out and he laughs. "That's so embarrassing. Always comes back to me being a Bogey Bug."

"Yeah," he smoothly pulls you in for an ardent kiss, "my Bogey Bug."

"You know what else I am?"

You're leaning against his arms that are wrapped around you and he watches as you take off the lid of the jar. Just like his fourth year, you use your fingers to scoop up a teaspoon of the cream.

"What? What else are you?"

You step out and take one of his hands, letting his palm sit over the top of yours. And then the cream is applied over the burns on the back of his hands. In spite of these burns looking way worse than his wound from Potions class back in his fourth year, the pain is still barely felt once the ointment's smoothed over. What's also killing the sting is looking at your breathtaking eyes. He's lost in them, distracted completely.

"I'm also your nurse," you finally say, wiping the excess over your hoody.

Neville's mouth curls into a smirk, snaking his arms around you again and pressing your bodies tightly together. "Well, nurse. My lips are feeling kind of sore, do you think you can fix them?"

You hum, eyes twinkling with mischief as your hands link behind his neck.

His gaze dips to your mouth, trying to fight the heat flowing to his cheeks and ears. There will never be a time when you won't make him nervous and giddy.

You mirror his action, eyes taking their time stare at his lips. "You know what, darling? I think I've got just the thing for you."

[ibbythebee]

am I the one you think about?

pairing: fred weasley x reader

summary: you're struggling to move all the boxes into your new shop in diagon alley. good thing that you have such a lovely redhead neighbor to help you....after you nearly kill him, of course.

warnings: slight angst and a cliffhanger

authors note: there will be a part two! i promise this has a happy ending i love these two too much. also this is mostly unedited because i really want to post it like right now

CROSS-POSTED TO AO3

As soon as you apparated to your new shop, you knew you should have taken your friends up on their offers to help you move in. The bricks were uneven, the stairs were steep, and you had what felt like a million boxes to move into the shop and the flat above it. Magic would speed up the process, but you could only lift so many at a time. 

You’d dropped your third box when you tripped on the stairs and nearly broke your arm. Rubbing your arm and cursing yourself for your stupidity, you weren’t paying attention as you walked outside to retrieve more boxes.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” you cast, anger coloring your tone. Two boxes shot up into the air, and before you could stop them, they hit the man walking past right in the face.

You clapped your hand to your face and lowered your wand, immediately causing the heavy boxes to fall right on top of him. 

“Shit!” you cursed as you ran over and squatted next to him. “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

You cursed yourself. Of course he’s not alright. You just hit him in the face with a heavy box. Twice. 

“Christ,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “You really know how to make an impression.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. Of course, he was attractive too. Fiery red hair, a strong jawline, and freckles all around his face. It looked like he was tall too. You couldn’t really tell since he was mostly on the ground, but he looked strong. 

“I am so sorry,” you repeated. “I have some bruising salves and if anything hurts more I can probably fix it, I mean I am a healer-” you cut yourself off. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alright, I think it's just my pride that’s bruised,” he said, smirking as he moved into a seated position. You cringed as you saw the blue and purple mark that was already developing on his forehead. 

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to fix that bruise? It looks pretty nasty.”

“Just your pretty face should be fine.”

You felt like your face was on fire as you grabbed the salve. Still, he was cute…

“I don’t know,” you teased as you began applying the ointment to his face. “Delusions like that might indicate some sort of brain damage.”

His smile widened. “Does that mean you’re a hallucination? Because that would be cruel.”

You rolled your eyes as you finished. “Seriously though, I am so sorry,”

“Seriously though, it’s fine,” he mocked with a deadpan expression. “I’m Fred, by the way. My brother and I run that shop over there.” 

Fred stood as he pointed to the massive orange shop labeled Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. 

“Really, I couldn’t tell from the massive statue of your face on the front.”

He smirked. “Can’t miss it,” he paused for a second. “And you never told me your name.”

You introduced yourself, and Fred smiled. “Pretty name.”

“Uh…thanks,” you stuttered. It felt like the flush on your face would never go away. 

It was silent for a moment before Fred asked, “Do you need any help bringing those boxes up?”

You immediately shook your head. “No, no I’ve got it. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Are you sure?” he smirked. “It seemed like you were struggling a little bit before.”

You glared at him. “I was perfectly fine until you got in the way.”

“Got in the way!” He gasped in mock-anger. “I was simply walking the pavement when someone hit me with like ten flying boxes!”

“It was not ten, you liar,” you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face as you continued to banter with him. It was just so fun. 

“Wow,” he tutted. “Barely known me five minutes and you’re already calling me a liar.”

“I’ve always been a good judge of character.”

Unbeknownst to you, Fred had already taken his wand out of his pocket and was beginning to edge toward the boxes. He waved his wand, and two boxes rose into the air as if they were feathers. 

Of course, he has to be good at magic too.

“No. You are gonna go home and make sure that you don’t get hit by any more stray boxes,” you demanded, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. 

Fred’s smile grew as he lowered the boxes (much more gracefully than you ever have) and placed his hands up in surrender. “How about we make a deal?”

You cocked your head. “What kind of deal?”

He clasped his hands and stepped closer to you. “How about I help you with these boxes-”

“No.”

“Let me finish, I swear did no one teach you that patience is a virtue?” There’s a smiling lilt to his voice that makes you want to melt into a puddle.

“Fortune favors the bold.”

“Anyway,” he continues, smiling still as he rolls his eyes. “I’ll help you with these boxes, and in return, you’ll come and visit me in my shop tomorrow.”

You paused, pretending to think for a moment. Of course, you were going to do it. More time with cute ginger shop boy who was definitely taller than you and looked like he had some very strong arms? How could you say no?

“I suppose I could fit it into my schedule,” you said, daring to elbow him in the side as you both walked toward the boxes. 

The rest of the afternoon was filled with more laughs than you thought possible. Fred was so funny, you supposed it made sense that he ran a joke shop. It felt like both of you were laughing every single second. 

And the best part was when you found out how strong his arms really were. 

Fred had just been telling you about one of his Hogwarts escapades when he and his brother used an age potion to try and enter the Triwizard Tournament. 

“So you really grew long white beards?” you couldn’t stop giggling as you followed Fred down the stairs. 

Fred threw a smile your way as he reached the bottom of the steps. “Yup. We nearly started fighting each other too. Would have if not for- woah!”

In your incessant laughter, you hadn’t been paying much attention to your very steep stairs and found yourself falling…

…straight into Fred’s very strong arms. 

It was silent for a second as you stared into each other’s eyes. His arms held you tightly as if you weighed nothing at all. You could feel heat creeping up your neck.

Fred paused, looking like he was thinking hard about something. 

“You know, I guess you could say that you fell for me,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

You smacked his (heavily muscled) arm. “That was disgusting.”

“Sorry darling, I couldn’t resist.”

Was it possible to die from joy and embarrassment at the same time? It had to be. 

You told him more about your shop as you floated the last few boxes upstairs. You were opening an apothecary with potions, ointments, and other helpful tools for healing so that people didn’t have to go to St. Mungos every time they had a problem. You were also thinking about offering small healing services once you had more staff. 

“Thats so cool!” Fred grinned. “I think we’ll probably end up with some similar customers.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I’ll get all the victims of your schemes.”

“I just sell the stuff,” he objected. “What my customers do is their own business.”

You gave him an unimpressed look. “Sure Fred. You tell yourself that.”

He gave you an innocent smile as both of you looked outside to realize that you had just brought the last boxes in. You stood there awkwardly for a moment. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” you said. “I did make a promise to see your shop.”

“That you did,” Fred replied. “I better see you. I didn’t carry all these boxes for nothing.”

“That excited to see me, huh?”

“Yes, actually,” his smile was genuine. “I can’t wait to see your reaction to all my ‘schemes’ as you call them.”

Heat spread through your cheeks. “I’m excited to see you too.”

*

The next day was torture. Showing up at Fred’s shop at eight in the morning would have been the definition of creepy, so you forced yourself to set up your shop and unpack most of your boxes. 

You were quite proud of the work you had done for the last few hours. Twinkling lights were strewn around your shop, and magical plants wrapped around the shelves. All in all, the glass potion bottles and herbs would fit right in. 

You finally allowed yourself to head upstairs and choose an outfit. It took far longer than it should have, considering that Fred saw you yesterday in what was quite possibly the ugliest outfit you owned. 

Then you messed with your hair and your makeup. You knew it was kind of stupid, considering how flirty he had been yesterday, but you wanted to feel confident. And looking good was probably the only way you were going to get there.

Finally, after spending far too long on your appearance, you stepped out the door of your shop. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was the brightest thing on the street, and your eye was immediately drawn to the massive statue of Fred at the front, the orange coloring, and the smiles and laughter that surrounded the building. Even just looking at it made you want to smile. 

As you walked briskly toward the building, you could feel your heart beginning to race. You bit your lip, trying to hide the smile that was emerging, because really, you should not have a crush this big. You'd met the man once, for Merlin’s sake. 

Your smile immediately dropped when you actually got to the shop. 

Because Fred was standing there, his smile wide but different than yesterday. It wasn’t filled with the same laughter and joy. He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at someone else. He was looking at another girl. Another girl who leaned in a kissed him. And he kissed back. 

And you turned on your heel and fled back to your shop.

[ibbythebee]

Anything

pairing: Fred Weasley x Prefect!Reader

summary: Fred would do anything to see you, 'Hogwart's strictest Prefect', loosen up.

genre: fluff 'n stuff, and only slight angst, also borderline slowburn

warnings: swearing, bullying moments, implied that reader is in Slytherin, lots of teasing, flirting, kissing, Fred is completely and utterly whipped for reader, "your highness" nickname

a/n: not me in the middle of writing a neville fic and then having a shower thought of a fred x reader and writing this instead.

words: 6.9k

masterlist

»»————-　⌁　————-««

You can hear them. And you know it's them, because of the sniggering and that laugh.

By now, when you patrolled outside of class hours you'd find yourself actively seeking out these boys. Today happens to be good day to continue your spotless Prefect record.

With a hand sliding to your hip, you smoothly round the corner of the door to your Potions classroom and as you suspected, Fred and George Weasley are there, huddled over a particular cauldron. Something's clearly already been brewed and Fred is holding a cork screwed flask with the mysterious liquid.

It takes a minute until Fred happens to glance toward the door and sees you there, nose in the air and hands now clasped in front of you. He's trying not to laugh when he sees you, and elbows his brother.

The said Weasley is about to say something, but as he meets your gaze his lips press together in a slightly curved line.

Successful in catching their attention, one eyebrow and then one corner of your lips gently raise. "We've really got to stop bumping into each other like this."

"I think you wanted to bump into us," Fred says with a prominent smile. He looks innocent, just like always.

You neither confirm nor deny his remark and instead stride closer to them. You take your time, head turning in each direction, eyes scanning for any other suspicious looking activity. It feels good, because you can feel their stares and how they wait with bated breaths for your next move.

With a last step you settle on the opposite side of their table. You look at Fred, head tilted softly, studying his expression.

His smile only grows when you reach his eyes and it's finally time to address the elephant in the room.

In a newly straightened posture you say in a slow and sarcastic tone, "did you know... that I can take away points from your House? From each of you, in fact?"

"Oh, come on. Our favourite Prefect. Can't you pretend you never saw us, like last time?" George answers.

"Sorry what was that? You'd like 30 points taken away?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Fred waves with a chuckle, "let's not get hasty. What about... a-a compromise?"

George nods desperately.

Your eyebrow raises again, and you lean back, crossing your arms. "A compromise, instead of taking away your precious points?"

"Yes, we'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything." Fred glides a tongue over his bottom lip, speaking to you through his eyes.

For once he looks completely serious and it makes you smile in delight. An expression seldom found in your features. It's completely magical and Fred finds no regret to bargaining with you.

"There is something you can do for me," your eyes glaze over Fred's face and then you turn to George, leaning forward over the table on your elbows. "The next Quidditch Game."

"Yeah? Slytherin v Gryffindor. Need us to bug someone?" George grins.

You shake your head and smile again. You're frighteningly beautiful with that curve on your face as you continue. "I need you to make sure that Slytherin wins."

"What?"

Fred captures your attention, so you lean in closer to his side of the desk. "It shouldn't be too hard for you both, right?"

He squints, unable to hold back a smile of his own. In the previous times when you had caught the twins in the middle of scheming, you'd never been so coy with them. Ruffling your feathers a bit was always the boys' goal when getting caught by you, however now that you seem to be playing along, Fred can't get enough. "That's hardly something to wish for, your highness. You can have anything from us, really anything. Don't hold back."

You shrug, "well, that's what I choose."

"But if you think about it you cou—"

"I can take the points off now, if you like? It's really no problem."

"Fine. W-We'll do it." George huffs, and his brother follows with a playful bow.

"Your wish is our command."

"Please just don't take the points off. We'll be kicked out of Gryffindor if you snitch again."

"Me? Snitch?" Your voice drips in sarcastic innocence, and you push yourself off of the desk. Your feet turn to walk back outside first, but your eyes remain on Fred until it's physically impossible to stay focused on him. As you saunter to the door, you feel their gazes on you again and it's oh so satisfying to know that you get the last say. "You need to get better at not getting caught. Because, if I didn't know any better, it looks more like you want me to bump into you."

You turn around to face them again, and stare at the flask in between Fred's long fingers. By some miracle you'd never found yourself to be the butt of their schemes, unlike the other prefects. Even as a chaser of the twins' opposition in Quidditch, you've been the only lucky soul on your team to come out the other end. The question was why? Why spare you?

"Who in Salazar's name threw that?" Your captain shrieks, massaging the back of his head, small flakes of snow dropping to the skin of his neck.

How bothersome, you think, looking around at the rest of your teammates who're busy cooling down after Quidditch training.

"What?! A snowball just happens to gain sentience and hit me, huh? An owl maybe? Just come forward, admit you did it and I'll go easy on you—"

The spray of snow flies off of the captain's head again and you dodge the icy substance in time, some of it landing on your beater and chaser teammate. Everyone exclaims except you, you're too busy scanning over the field.

Suddenly, the burly boy of a captain huffs toward you, and you take a shove to the shoulder.

Stumbling back by a metre, you frown. Increasingly annoyed by your captain's baseless judgements. "What the hell is wrong with you? How many times do I have to tell you I'm a prefect?"

"I know a guilty person when I see one."

You're about to give him a piece of your mind until the idiot is hit again and you stifle a laugh at the noise he makes.

"Clever," he says through gritted teeth. Despite clearly looking at you just seconds before the snowball made contact with his thick skull, his pride is still hell-bent on accusing you. "I knew you were good at school, but I didn't think you'd stoop so low to use non-verball spells for something so stupid."

"Well, I knew you were delusional before, but now it's perfectly clear that you just don't have a brain."

As though your words were a signal, a tsunami of white ice balls appear in the sky and you don't hold back your smile as it pauses over your team. They each look up, faces with panicked expressions, and before they can even begin to escape, the snow crashes down over your peers. Figuring, it's the perfect moment to leave, you zoom out of the field on your broom and land to your feet once you can't see those angry faces anymore.

And that's when you hear him. That laugh, and he's looking at you and combing a hand through his ginger hair, all whilst adorning a satisfied ear-to-ear grin.

"Thanks." Is all you can say at first, then you realise his partner-in-crime George isn't right by his side. "Where's your brother?"

"On the other end of the field."

You nod. When you don't say anything more and turn to leave, you feel long fingers wrap around your wrist. He's warm against your icy skin, and your eyes shoot up, only to be greeted by a soft smirk.

"You're not going to snitch on us are you, your highness?"

"Me? Snitch?" You stop yourself from feeling so giddy about the previous event and instead focus on the fact that would you be doing your prefectoral duties correctly, you would have absolutely told a Professor about the twins. But the adrenaline rush feels too great and so you finally shake your head at the tall ginger. "You were just... watching us practice, right? I don't see anything suspicious about that."

His smirk twists into a genuine smile, and he allows your wrist to slide out of his grasp. A twinkle of mischievousness reaches your eyes, and then you're off, jogging into the distance. A few metres in, you take a chance to glance back to where you left Fred. And you don't know whether it was from training or the adrenaline, but you feel your neck and cheeks flare with heat at the sight of him lean against the frame of the entrance, steadily watching you run.

Clearing your throat, you push your recollection of the past away and take out your wand.

“You know you’re not allowed to use spells outside of class, your highness,” says Fred, his voice playful.

“That’s okay,” you shrug, “because I know you won’t tell on me.”

“Are you quite sure about that?” George chimes.

You nod immediately, the easiest question to answer. “I’m your favourite prefect, am I not?”

Fred’s expression is unreadable to you at first as he shakes his head slowly. He looks shocked, but at the same time pleased and a hint of something else that you can’t quite grasp.

Figuring you’ve stared at him long enough you send the twins’ a wink and the door shuts with a swipe of your wand.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Your robe is floating behind you, a spitting image of Professor Snape, as you walk with purpose to your class, books cradled in your arms and head held high. You round a corner of the halls smoothly and find yourself at your Potions classroom. It's been a week since finding the Weasleys in there, and you still haven't found out what concoction they had created.

In any case, your class has already begun, and Snape's voice is barely audible with the door in front of you. You let your fingers clench around your books for a moment, taking in a breath. Then you push your way in, and each one of your classmates turn their attention to you.

"How lovely of you to join us, Miss L/N."

Having already predicted the Professor's sarcasm-filled reaction to your tardiness, you hand out a small slip of paper. "A note from Professor McGonagall."

He barely skims over the words and indicates for you to find a seat. Fingers clenching around your books again, you let yourself look over your peers. There's a seat next to Ginger Jorkins from Hufflepuff, but after noticing your stare she's quick to put her belongings where you could have sat. You hold off from sighing, because to your relief there is one more free seat, all the way at the back of the room. Right beside the vacant spot is a familiar head of red hair, and the pain from your tight grip subsides upon seeing him. That sigh you've been holding lets free once you sit down and the class continues.

"Welcome to the back of the class," Fred whispers with his signature grin. "You're with the cool kids now."

"Speaking of..." You glance behind him and frown. "Where's your brother?"

He makes a face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." And then it hits you. The Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch Game. The compromise. The "make-sure-that-Slytherin-wins" game. The "George-has-been-completely-annihilated-by-a-bludger" and "won't-be-walking-around-anytime-soon" game.

"Oh... right."

Fred simply nods, finding the way you froze for a moment to be equally funny and endearing. The rest of your face doesn't show it, but he notices the panic in your pretty eyes and gives your arm a little nudge. "Hey. The git's okay. Says it was worth the pain because the girl he fancies paid him a visit."

You bite your lip and let yourself focus on Snape, who's mouth is moving, but you can't hear anything coming out. "It's still technically my fault. He looked awful."

Fred leans forward, his head turning to rest against his crossed arms. He studies your features as you attempt to listen into the class. When he speaks, his voice is a whisper again. "Come to Hogsmeade with me."

You give him a side glance. No one's ever invited you to come before and for all you know he could be making fun of you. It'd been hard in the beginning, though you eventually found comfort being in your own presence; drinking butterbeer while other people joked and laughed and shared stories and the gossip of the week. And talked about how they received a pointless detention after being told off from that know-it-all bitch.

"I-I don't..." You stumble upon your words, the crease between your brows growing deeper as you try to recollect your thoughts.

"Yeah, you're coming," he declares. And when you go to protest, he sits back up, sending you a wink.

"AND so..." Snape glares in your direction, "by the end of this class, I will be testing the quality of your potions by using a simple leaf. If it melts you've brewed successfully, and if not... you'll be in here on the weekend till you get it right."

To your surprise, Fred doesn't make a fuss, instead he beams at you with a clap of his hands. "Let's get started then, shall we Professor?"

The said man only grunts in response, so you all begin.

Forty minutes passes by in an instant, and no matter how well you follow the recipe, the liquid in your cauldron doesn't look like a liquid anymore and it smells differently to Fred's.

Wait. Fred's?

You frown down into his cauldron. His potion's immaculate.

You pull at the sleeve of his robe till his head comes down and his long hair tickles the tip of your nose. "How are you doing this?"

"I'm smart when I want to be," he chuckles.

"That's not an answer. I demand you give me an answer, or... I will take off points from Gryffindor."

He feigns an expression of shock which immediately gives way to a smirk, face just a few inches away from yours. "And what if I do tell you? You promise not to snitch?"

"Me? Snitch?"

That mischievousness is back into your dolomitic eyes, and Fred swears that the potion isn't required to melt the leaf.

"How about a compromise?" you whisper.

He shoots a glance toward the Professor and then hums when he feels it's all clear to keep talking. "I'm listening."

"I come with you to Hogsmeade, and I promise to do whatever you want to do. Deal?"

He doesn't need a moment, or even a second to reply. He's already nodding, slipping a hand into yours. "Deal."

You share a knowing look and shake your intwined hands. Compromise confirmed. "Now—"

Before you get to finish, he pulls out a very familiar cork-screwed flask, and in perfect fashion you keep from gasping or reacting at all, but Fred can see it in your eyes. He scans over the classroom, Snape's busy writing something on the board, and so he's clear to lower his head to you.

Your fingers graze as he passes you the concoction he had made with his brother. Electricity runs through the veins of your fingers till it hits your heart, skipping a beat.

"Someone might've tipped us off about this assignment," Fred murmurs. "So, naturally, we just wanted to be prepared. There was no way we were going to miss out on a Hogsmeade visit."

Not with George in the Hospital Wing, you think to yourself with guilt, pulling your robe sleeve down to hide the flask should your Professor stop by.

"Well... my beloved brother sadly will. I'll never forget his bravery." Fred makes a show out of a simple sigh and you feel like slapping his arm. He places his hand over his chest and sighs again, only it's a little louder this time and longer. "A girl we know threatened us to rig the Quidditch game so that Slytherin would win, if we didn't do as she asked she would've gotten us into trouble—"

"Fred." Images of the poor Weasley twin with a whole half of his body covered in the sickening colour of a bruise flood your brain.

"—and being the good man that he is, Georgie sacrificed himself, in order to satisfy the needs of this girl."

"Oi! I already feel horrible, okay?" You finally give his arm that well-earned smack, and when all he does is laugh, you huff with a pout.

He recollects himself, and makes sure Snape's still preoccupied. He bends down to your level again, and his breath fans over the strands of hair by your ear. "I would do the same for this girl."

There's that heat in your neck again and yet another electric feeling runs up your spine at his worlds. You don't meet his gaze and instead stare forward. To save yourself from embarrassment, you lift your chin and with one swift movement, the liquid from the flask falls into your cauldron.

Fred watches in delight as you stir until your previously horrible creation morphs and dissolves into that flawless fluid that you had just seen in the Weasley's cauldron. From such a result, you're unable to stop yourself as your lips curl into a smile, parting slowly to reveal your teeth.

You are the embodiment of this potion. Any person or creature of the magical world would completely disarm at the sight of your expression. And Fred's lucky enough to be your first victim.

"You seem very pleased, Miss L/N."

The black figure of Snape shadows yours and Fred's vision as he glides in front of your desk. He peers into your cauldron, nothing shows on his face and then he's examining Fred's, the same reaction of nothing.

The man then clicks his tongue and floats back to the front of the classroom, picking two leaves off of the plant on his desk. He returns swiftly, gesturing the rest of the class to join him by your table.

"Look closely." Snape says as his hand hovers over your creation, and then his fingers let go of the green object.

Hushed breaths watch as it hits the surface of the liquid with a ripple. There's no reaction at first and it fills you with dread. You even see Fred stiffen in the corner of your sight.

Then the leaf twitches with a change in colour, and soon it's no where to be seen, dissolved. Successful.

Someone mutters a 'wow', others share glances of contempt or roll their eyes. You on the other hand feel relieved and lean onto your hip, arm brushing against the tall boy beside you. He relaxes at your gentle touch.

"It seems you will have the fortune of freedom this weekend." Professor Snape mutters, and then with no time to waste, moves on to Fred. You barely have a chance to thank the man. His hand hovers, fingers open and a new leaf falls.

In a blink, the leaf has melted and you feel the Weasley straighten up in pride.

Snape however, isn't convinced and folds his arms. "How convenient that you should produce a successful potion - out of many failures - when seated beside Miss L/N."

Innocent until proven guilty, you think and look up at Fred, who's only smiling like a fool, his focused trained on Snape's. Your classmates murmur, and it isn't hard to place who they're talking about with their not-so subtle glares pointed in your direction.

"So I did a good job?" The boy's happy expression grows with innocence.

"Somehow. Five points... to each of you." The raven-haired man admits, his gaze lingers on the Weasley before he turns away, addressing you both and the rest of the class. "L/N and Weasley, seeing as you have completed the task, you may be dismissed. However, by next class I expect a 2,000 word written report of your method and findings. That'll be all. The rest of you... you have fifteen minutes."

Groans and curses hidden under breaths echo through the room, you and Fred, however, turn to each other with eyebrows raised and stupid grins plastered over your faces.

Adrenaline kicks in, and you both scramble to clear up the desk and snatch up your belongings. You sprint out the door not after sending the Professor a 'thank you', and then you're out the door and sprinting into the courtyard, crisp winter air nipping at your extremities.

You pause by the fountain, leaning against the tall structure and Fred follows suit, situating himself in front of you. "I can't believe I did that," you say in a breathless tone still grinning, books hugging into your chest.

He chuckles in between his own pants of breath. "Feels good doesn't it, your highness?"

"I hate to admit but... yes."

You watch as his gaze on you softens, as well as his grin subduing into contentment. "You make a good partner-in-crime. I think I might just replace George."

"Then he will surely kill me once he's recovered! That is... if he doesn't already."

Fred winks, "I'll make sure that won't happen. A princess such as yourself deserves a knight-in-shining armour."

"Oh yes." You give a curtsy and wave of your hand, your voice forming a posh accent. Well, no more posh than you already sound. "Then will you do the honour of escorting me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

With a fist to his chest, Fred bows. "For you, my dear, anything."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

It's irregular of you to be so fashionably late. Last night you'd found yourself restless, thoughts of sleep hidden behind scenes of you and Fred eating candy together, laughing, using magic outside of class to throw snowballs at your Quidditch Captain. Despite the chill of a winter night, being covered by your duvet and blankets was suffocatingly warm, especially when you kept seeing Fred pull you behind a tree, gloved hands drawing you into him by your hips, noses barely touching and lips parted with warm butterbeered breaths.

Your chocolate-brown screech owl whinnies by the foot of your bed and you flinch, adjusting your beanie for the hundredth time. "What do you think, Prim? Do I look tired? I look tired, don't I?"

The owl blinks and gives another whinny, a sound similar to that of a miniature pony. You check the clock on the wall of your dormitory and bite your lip, jostling through your belongings and retrieving a small purse of galleons to shove into your coat pocket.

One more look in the mirror, just one more. Your hair looks surprising lovely, strands of it squished against your thick scarf, and fortunately covering areas of your blemished face that couldn't be covered enough by your concealer. "It'll have to do!"

Prim purrs when you stroke her head and then you're off. You almost trip at the bottom of the stairs and as a result you pause, taking in a breath, calming the pounding in your chest. This Hogsmeade visit is just like any other. Just like any other. You’re just… not alone this time. That’s enough to get you smiling, as you saunter through the halls and finally out the gates, where you see a few groups of students still hanging around Hogwarts.

At the top of the steps you crane your neck in an attempts to find Fred amongst the small groups.

“I was beginning to think you stood me up.”

You spin on your heels at the sound of his voice, and are greeted with a growing grin. Teeth sparkling and everything. It takes a toll on you not to tackle him in a hug right then and there. The thick hoody he’s adorning, as well as the adorable beanie all look extra cuddly. Those gloved hands that you’ve been thinking about slide out of the pockets of his jeans and reach for your scarf, gently tightening the fabric around your face and neck.

On the outside you seem unbothered by his action, but he already sees what you’re really feeling through those dolomitic eyes of yours. “A deal’s a deal,” you finally say. “But it was rude of me to keep you waiting so long, so I’ll buy you a butterbeer.”

He shakes his head, fiddling with the hem of the scarf. “You turning up is enough for me.”

You shake your head back, dipping your chin into the material to hide your smile. “I’m buying you one. Argument over.”

“Alright then.” He chuckles and gives your scarf a gentle tug. “No more time to waste, your highness, let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Sir Weasley.”

You’re perfectly giddy as you trudge your way to the little village. Fred tells you about his plans for Christmas and you tell him yours, not very big and not very exciting, but he adores listening to you speak. He tells you about George and his recovery, and teases you when he sees guilt written over your face. Then despite your many differences, you both bond over your love for Quidditch, especially the Irish team. Occasionally, your shoulders and arms graze, and other times your fingers, as you stomp through the snow covered grounds. With every touch your chest grows warm, and your belly flips. You almost forget that you should be looking out for any bad behaviour. You almost forget that you still have a duty to uphold to the school.

Hogsmeade is bustling with life when you finally arrive. More so now that you could share it with someone.

“Come on, let’s warm up first.” Fred tugs your scarf again and successfully gains your full attention. He pulls you into the Three Broomsticks, greeted immediately by a wave of warmth. He’s still pulling on your scarf so you swiftly ask for two hot butterbeers and allow him to lead you to a table at the far end of the room.

“Am I your pet? Leading me around like that.” You sit down opposite him, motioning to his hand still holding onto the end of the long material.

He hums for a moment, and doesn't look to have any intention of letting go. “More like restraining you from going into ‘prefect’ mode.”

"Hey! Some people need disciplining," you pout.

"You sound like a Professor..." he narrows his eyes at you, lacking the skills to stop smiling so big. "You're not Professor Snape using Polyjuice potion, are you? Trying to figure out my secrets for passing your class, huh?"

Slowly, meticulously you straighten your back and fold your hands over the table, and void any emotion on your face. Your voice is low and slow and articulating every syllable as you speak. "What a ri-di-cu-lous suggestion. However... while we are on the topic, you didn't... copy off me, did you?"

Fred is so bad at suppressing his smirk. "Bloody Norah, you found me out! You're so smart, Profess— I mean... your highness."

The clink of glass hitting your table interrupts yours and Fred's thoughts. Madam Rosmerta's standing over you and when you meet her gaze she winks. "Good to see you with company this time around, Y/N."

Your face squishes into the fabric that Fred's still holding onto as you feel heat rise in your cheeks. Desperate to eliminate the fact that she basically just called you a loner in front of him, you fish into your pocket and pull out some coins, placing them onto the woman's open palm. "Thank you, Madam Rosmerta."

"Pleasure, dears. Enjoy.” Another wink is sent your way and she’s off to tend the rest of her pub.

As you bring the hot beverage to your mouth, you peek through your eyelashes. Fred has removed one glove and is now using that bare hand hold onto his drink, allowing the warmth to transfer into his already warm skin.

"Thank you," he says.

Your brows press together, "what for?"

"For paying."

"Well... thank you too."

He raises an eyebrow as he takes a good sip of the butterbeer, waiting for you to elaborate.

"For inviting me," you say shyly, fingers sliding across the surface of the mug.

"Awh, that's nothing," he chuckles, gently swaying your scarf.

"It's not 'nothing'. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night because I was so excited to come with you."

The ginger-haired boy presses his lips together tightly and then leans his face closer to you. "Wait, really?!"

How many times has it been now that you've felt your face heat up around Fred? You could play so coy and confident before, but now you felt like any other girl-with-a-crush in your year. "As a matter of fact, yes." You raise your chin and attempt to sit up straighter. "I know it may seem that I only agreed to come because of a compromise, but... I really did — do — appreciate you considering me."

"I don't think we'll need to stop by Honeydukes, your highness. You're so sweet, that my teeth already ache."

"You're so...!" You smack his arm.

But he's grinning like a fool, pulling at your scarf. "I'm so what?"

"I'm gonna take points off Gryffindor, just because you asked."

He guffaws, "what is this abuse of power?"

You take a swig of butterbeer and shrug, head high and smirk on display. "I like to call them perks."

"See?" You feel on your neck as he gives a tug-tug. "This is why you need to be kept on a lead."

Before you can retort, you notice he's pointing at his upper-lip and quietly chuckling. It sets off your heart.

"Brilliant moustache you got there," he says.

"Oh... thank you." How embarrassing. You really thought he was suggesting something else for a moment there. You glance around the room to make sure no one's watching before you slide a tongue over the sweet foam above your lip. "Is it gone?"

"Just..." at first there's a second of hesitation, but then he pulls you in over the table and meets you half-way, un-gloved hand coming up to cup your face. Why is he always so warm? Why is it that one of the most notorious rule-breakers of the school is taking your fancy? And so easily at that.

It feels like an hour passes when his thumb smooths over the left corner of your mouth and you hold in a breath, fingers clenched around your mug. You simply cannot help the urge to look at his own lips; pretty, pink and gently parted, calm breaths passing through.

His movements pause all of a sudden, so you glance at his eyes, but he's already looking at you. Completely under your spell, completely forgetting how to move, and completely forgetting that you're in public. You seem to have forgotten the same, still not pulling away from his touch. He catches your eyes dip to his lips again and he swallows thickly.

Then he's moving away and sitting back down, clearing his throat. "There, now you're good."

"Thanks," you wipe a finger over for extra measure and then look out the window, clearing your throat and straightening your back.

"You know how you mentioned that part of the deal was that we'd do anything I want to do?" He inquires, finishing his drink with a last swig.

"Yeah. A deal is a deal," you answer, finally turning back to him, surprised to see a confident smile carved into his features.

"Perfect. There's something I want to show you, but first I have a really good idea to help you unwind and forget about your prefect-ness."

"That doesn't sound good," you tease, chugging the last bit of your own butterbeer.

He's smirking now, "you won't be saying that when you see what we'll be doing."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

You're both crouched behind a boulder that oversees the Shrieking Shack in the distance. The perfect spot to spy on anyone who visits the lookout point. The perfect spot to snog outside of school walls. And it also happens to be the perfect spot to stock up on snowballs and wait for one particular person to fall into your trap.

"I hate to admit, but you were right, Sir Weasley. Again," you mutter, rubbing your gloved hands together.

"The more you hang out with me, the more you'll find out just how right I always am." He peeks over the boulder for a moment and then his hand shoots up in alarm, speaking in barely a whisper, "he's here."

He is. You can hear your Quidditch captain now and a few of his buddies, chatting and laughing. Someone puts on a voice, and it makes the group howl, but makes your stomach churn. The closer they get to the lookout, the clearer their words sound and the more you're looking forward to breaking the rules.

"—thinks she's all that, just 'cause she's a prefect. Like, bitch, I'm older than you!"

Their laughter is equal to that of nails on a chalkboard. Pelting them with some snowballs might not be fulfilling enough.

"Nah, it's 'cause she's got Snape behind her, hah. Thinks she can say and do whatever she wants."

Fred is hearing all of this. You feel like screaming, and perhaps hexing the hell out of all of them. They need a proper disciplining.

"Yeah, that's probably what's happening!" The group laugh again, and the next thing they say is the last straw. "She only got prefect because she's fucking him."

The bottom of your vision is blurry, but you tell Fred you're ready and he only nods. You both raise your wands, and he counts to three.

One snowball hits the back of the captain's head and to your satisfaction he lands on his face. You and Fred are enjoying the scene a little too much that it isn't until one of the idiots shout your name, do you realise you've blown your cover.

"Shoot!"

"Quick! We need to unleash all we've got!" Fred takes your free hand and guides you up to stand beside him. "One, two, THREE!"

Adrenaline shoots through your veins, as together you swish your wands and the rest of your snow pile is sent into the air. One more flick of the wands, and the balls fly with the speed of a snitch. Straight toward their faces. Exclamations, grunts, yells echo through the woods and open winter air. They swipe at their faces and eyes, blinded by your attack. The captain's still trying to recover from the first hit, from head to toe the entire front half of him is covered in white.

You let out a laugh, and suddenly Fred takes your hand again and you're sprinting away from the crime scene.

"HEY!" The Quidditch captain shouts after you, pure rage in his tone.

But you couldn't care less, because that grin on the Weasley's face is too contagious as you run by him, gloved hand in gloved hand.

He peeks over his shoulder to meet your gaze, only resulting in a skip of his heart and a flip of his stomach. Losing that Quidditch match was absolutely worth it, and Fred had to remind himself to thank George later for taking the blow.

You share breathless laughter as the shouts increase in amount, but decrease in volume. You're both much too fast for them and manage to get back to the village where you could hide within the crowds.

Your feet slow to a walk, and you both check if any of the idiots followed. Fred spots two pass by a tree and squeezes your hand to gain your attention.

"In here," he jerks his head, and pulls you into a small alley between two buildings.

Finally having a moment to catch your breath, you realise that it isn't really an alley, and more like a small gap. The space is so narrow in fact that your body is essentially pressed up against his. Back against wall. Heaving chest against heaving chest. Feet and legs side-by-side each other as though woven.

You don't care to look to your left where those jerks could be looking for you. You simply can't. You can't because all you can see are Fred's parted lips again, and he's looking down at yours. After which, your gazes meet and you don't think you've ever felt so hot in the middle of winter before.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes. No grin, no smirk, no teasing, just facts.

"And you're..." Your eyes dip again.

His hand slides out of yours, and then you feel weight by your hips and he's squeezing against the material of your pants and sweater.

You crane your neck, and he dips his head, as those gloved hands of his pull you into him.

Your own hunger has your fingers smooth over his chest and grip the collar of his hoody, desperately tugging for him to come closer and closer, tension in the air building with each breath.

"And I'm... what?" He purrs.

Something stirs in the bottom of your abdomen as the scent of butterbeer fills your senses, just millimetres away now. And then he captures your lips. And it's like heaven, because his hands can't help but slide up under your sweater and hold you by the skin of your waist.

At first the kiss is gentle, hesitant, but then you open your mouth a little wider and Fred takes this as a clear invitation. He smooths a tongue over yours, the taste of the sweet foamy drink still lingering on your lips.

His bold action elicits a hum from you, and his grip only tightens, craving more and more of you and your pretty sounds. You go until you can't breathe, mouths parting reluctantly but eyes still closed.

Fred presses his forehead against yours, your noses brushing in a feather-like touch. His thumbs caress your sides as he whispers, "you never answered my question."

"You wanna know what you are, right?” You murmur, hands sliding down over his collarbone and resting on his chest.

“Yeah. You’ve said it twice now and never finished your sentence.”

“Okay,” you lean in, lips feathering over his. “You’re…”

Good Godric you’re addicting. He pushes his head forward to meet you, but you pull back with the most attractive breathy laugh he's ever heard. Your lips stay brushing against his, but you won't give him any more than that and he loves it.

"You're..." you say again on his mouth, and he hangs on every single one of your words. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me at Hogwarts."

He watches your eyes for a moment, and leans into you once more, hands climbing up to lay flat against your back, your sweater pooling by his wrists. And you share the softest kiss ever, full of adoration, full of care, full of absolute affection.

"You saying that, you being here right now... feels like I've just won the Quidditch cup," he says when you part.

"I really mean it, Fred." You wrap your arms around his middle and squeeze him there, cheek squishing into his chest. "You've heard how people talk about me, but you don't seem to care about any of that stuff."

He returns your gesture, his own cheek landing on the top of your head. "You're right. I don't care about it, because I've seen how much you care for the school and care for keeping things in order. A little too much, but to each their own."

"Oi."

"I have to tease, I have to. Still, joking aside, if anyone says that kind of shit about you and you hear about it, find me and tell me. Me and Georgie have your back."

"Just don't get caught," you smirk.

"You won't take points away if you catch us, will you?"

You pull away from the cuddle and send him that beautifully, intimidating smile of yours. "Not if you promise to keep losing your Quidditch games."

"Low blow, your highness!" He laughs and then you're running away, giggling like a fool.

You manage to slip through the crowds and head toward the woods by the Shrieking Shack lookout, your giggles only getting louder and more frequent when you see Fred bounding closer and closer to you. Your cadence slows when the ground starts to feel icy under your boots, and sooner than you think, you feel arms wrap around your stomach and you squeal.

Fred's laugh vibrates against your back, and after a few pants of breath he speaks into your ear. "There's still something I wanted to show you."

"Oh?" You spin around in his hold. "That's right. What is it then?"

"Surprise. Follow me." He's hasty in his movements, as he takes your hand, running further into the woods. Then he rounds the corner of a large tree trunk, his fingers slip out of yours as he twists around to face you and then he's pulling you by your hips, grin on display.

Your heart flips when your back meets with the rough surface of the tree, bodies pressing into one another and then his mouth is hovering over yours. There's hunger in his eyes, yet he's waiting for your next move.

"Wow. 'I have something to show you'. That was so corny," you tease in a whisper.

He chuckles, feeling your lips just barely touch his, "but you loved it."

"I did. You're right again, Sir Weasley."

"Always am, your highness."

He squeezes your hips. You lift your chin and you kiss for a third time that day.

[ibbythebee]

eeeeee, so short, but so sweet!!!!!!!

brb while I go read about theodore nott lore

playfight

A/N: first of all, she is REALLY in her active era, hold the applause. second this is so borderline smutty and disgustingly self indulgent... it had to be done gif creds: @drunkblushed

Pairings: Theodore Nott x GN!Reader

Summary: Theo finds a way to motivate you out of bed. Hint: it includes body heat and physical contact. 0.5k words

Warnings: fluff with like a self indulgent pinch of smuttiness, more like heavy petting and a little spicy, lovesickness

You'd been inside all day, soaking in the cool tranquility of the Parkinson family lodge. With your group of friends always nearby and a good book always in hand, it can't get better than this.

"Topolina mia..."

Theo calls you like an emergency siren before he pounces on top of you, straddling the backs of your thighs and leering over your shoulder like a hungry leopard. You whine and he just giggles boyishly into your ear.

"Theo!"

His cold, pink nose presses to your pulsing jugular, teeth pinching the delicate skin. You whine and reach around, cupping the back of his head and resting your book against the pillow. Soft puffs of air fan out across your throat. He groans with contempt.

"It's cold in here"—his fingers fuss with the edge of your sweater—"If you want to be cold, why don't you come outside with us?"

"Too cold."

His laugh rolls up your spine, and when you try to flip yourself over, he pins your forearms to the bed. Suddenly, you're defenseless and he spreads your thighs with his knee.

Theo whispers into the tender warmth of your temple, "you're losing."

You let him overpower you, resting your cheek on the mattress but wriggling in his grasp to test him. 

"Not fair," you protest, "Rules unclear."

It's not so entertaining to Theo who gives you a little less wiggle room, pressing his hips to yours. Slotting his hips between your thighs.

"Are you coming to the pub later?" he asks. You pinch your eyes closed.

"I could. Or I could stay here and nap."

He groans. Just one shift of his pelvis has you relaxing beneath him. It's snowing, but he keeps you warm.

"You've been napping all day. Come with us," he pleads, pushing your sweater up and smiling when you writhe under his icy touch, "per favore?"

You mumble something into the mattress.

"Can't hear you."

You lift your head and sigh. "Damn you. Oh, how I love to stay in. But then again, oh, how I love you."

With Theo's weight loose on your upper body, you manage to twist, and he smiles and nudges your nose with his like a lover. Like he's your lobster, but he looks more like a buck. Then he kisses you.

It's slow and syrupy. He wastes no time in pushing his tongue into your mouth. It's his favorite party trick because you always let him show it off. Only with the promise that you'll cradle his face while he does it, though.

Theo hastily pats your ass and rolls off the bed. Holding out his hand to you, he cocks his brow expectantly.

"Coming?"



masterlist

[ibbythebee]

Domestic Prompts

Send a character and a number for a ficlet!

"I love this." "What?" "Us."

"This house looks so different with you here."

"When was the last time we spent an entire day together, just the two of us?"

"The house doesn't matter, you are my home."

"I never want us to forget why we fell in love in the first place."

"What did I do to make you fall in love with me?"

"Happy anniversary!" "It's not-" "It's the one year anniversary of when we moved in together!"

"I made this for you."

"Did you ever think we'd make it this far?"

"What is this?" "A ten year plan!" "It's just pictures of us."

"Every morning I fall in love with you all over again."

"Ah, leftover takeout, the epitome of romance."

"Can we stay in bed for just a little bit longer?"

"Let's get dressed up for dinner tonight." "We just cooked-" "We don't have to go out!"

"I'm sorry I was so grumpy last night."

"The kid(s) are out..."

"We've been so busy lately, I feel like we haven't been home at all."

"Do you remember the first night we spent together in this house?"

"I feel so safe and warm in our cozy little nest."

"I want a kiss from my favorite person." "I don't think you can kiss yourself."

[ibbythebee]

wish it on your worst enemy

A/N: if you see me butchering british slang 🤨 it never happened 🤫

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your worst nighmare takes a nasty spill during a scrimmage because he was distracted by you. It’s only right you go and check on him. 1.9k words

Warnings: violence by bludger, description of injury, cursing, lovesick losers, enemies to lovers???? ‘enemies’ to lovers but really idiots to lovers

George taking a bludger to the face was not the kind of news you would have liked to wake up to. Something had gone wrong during an emergency weekend scrimmage. He was laughing at something Fred said or shouting at Ron or maybe he was just distracted by his own thoughts and hadn't noticed the pesky bugger barreling towards him with every intent to bludgeon him unconscious. So he took a nasty spill from a considerable height and has been passed out in the hospital wing since six forty-five.

You rush down the hallway in your pajamas, cursing under your breath, face scrunched into a scowl, dead set on your target. Bloody quidditch. A few first years watched you nearly trample a group of girls in the hall. They were traumatized. It was bad.

"He's gone daft! This is absolutely mental—nothing is that distracting!" you shout at Ron who is actively trying to defend himself against you. He stopped you at the door because he heard you storming down the hall a full minute before you arrived.

"Calm down! He’s still alive isn't he?" he says.

"Not for long if I have anything to say about it—"

"Oi," Fred shouts, lounging in a rickety chair beside George's cot, "would you wait 'till he's at least cognizant to threaten him?"

"You!" you fume, "why didn't you warn him!" Ron has given up trying to stop you at this point. You push past him, headed straight for Fred.

"I did! I shouted for him three times. The git was proper distracted. Must've been dreaming of something really special." He winks at you, and you think you could ring his neck right about now.

"I think you mean someone," Ron teases.

Both of them. You'll ring both of their necks.

"What the hell are you two chittering about?" you hiss.

"Oh, nothing at all, your graciousness. We'll leave you two lovebirds"—Fred clears his throat, standing and nodding to his youngest brother—"I mean friends... to it."

You grumble and flip them both off as they leave. You plop down into the chair just in time for Madam Pomfrey to come fluff the pillow propped beneath his left leg. She catches your weary glance over his limp body.

"I wouldn't worry too much, dearie. Nasty spills are what young men are made for. He just needs a little rest. Time to recover," she coos, smiling up at you from the base of the cot. You briefly worry the back of your neck before managing a nod.

"Thank you, madam. I appreciate it."

She grabs a quilt from the stack she had brought to his bedside and flattens it across his torso. You tug the side to even it out, a hitch in your breath when your fingers brush his cold knuckles.

"You know, when I attended Hogwarts, the quidditch boys were all the rage. My boyfriend was a Beater as well—"

"Oh, George—! He's not my..."

"He was wonderful. But of course, he was always getting into spills. It drove me mad to see the boy I loved in so much pain. In the end, I told him he'd have to be more careful or I'd call it quits. He told me he had to focus on his career anyway." She stands silently for a moment. Solemnly.

"That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"You live and you learn. Boys will be boys, I suppose." Out of her trance, she shrugs and gestures to the clipboard sat on the desk. You hand it to her.

"May I ask... what became of him?"

"He retired from Quidditch very young. Only a few years in and, bam: traumatic brain injury. Some people can't be helped!"

You can't help but snicker at her frankness. She smiles, pats your shoulder, and sighs.

"You just have to love ‘em while you can."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"Of course, dear. You let me know when he wakes up." She scuttles away.

You take the silence of the moment to look at him. While you can. You prop your elbows on the edge of the cot and rest your head in your hands.

"Not sure how I feel about all of that information. Not sure how much I trust that advice." You tell him like it’s a secret, nose scrunched like there’s anyone else within earshot.

How fragile he seems laid flat atop this plastic wrapped bed. How rich the watercolor purples and yellows of his bruise. Down his neck, out across his jaw. The subtle swoop of his lashes, the rosy bridge of his nose. Then down to his bird bone fingers, your heart skips at the thought of tracing over the delicate skin.

He twitches, and you startle and sit pin straight. His muscles relax, though yours refuse to. You notice a rip at the hem of his folded quidditch robes and perk up.

Eight minutes later, you’re tugging just the edge of his robe into your lap while the rest is feathered out across the linoleum floor. Your emergency sewing kit is perched on your other thigh as you thread your needle and begin stitching.

George blinks the ache from his eyes, finally awake just to find you with a thin string caught between your teeth, your brow furrowed, and your fingers pinching fabric together. He reaches up and presses the heel of his palm to his forehead.

"Thank Merlin I wore something under my uniform today—"

"George!"

The sewing kit clatters to the floor along with the robe and thread. Hopefully that needle will be easy to find. But you smile for now, and it’s one of the sweetest things he’s ever seen. No wonder he took a bludger’s hit. You’re bloody distracting. Even when you’re not around.

“I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey, she said—"

"Were you... stitching up my quidditch robes?” he says, just a hint of teasing in his hoarse voice.

You look down and gape at the mess.

"There was a tear in—when you fell, the bottom—there was a rip! I had a sewing kit on me, I was just... helping a friend."

He blinks. If he wasn’t completely crushing on you before, it’s safe to say that was the nail in the coffin.

"That's adorable," he warbles.

You look cross and put your hands on your hips and scoff.

“Well, you can’t very well play with a rip in your uniform!"

"No. No, of course not,” he mumbles, “Silly me.”

Usually, you’d mock him. You’d call him names and tease him for getting knocked on his ass by and inanimate object. But that smirk has you incapacitated. He's making this very difficult for you.

"Well!” he chirps, “Don’t let me bother you, I’ll just be lying here."

"But Pomfrey—"

"I'll live. My mind is alive, the neurons are firing. All is well, it can wait,” he says, “Please.”

Goddamn you, George Weasley. You muster up a pathetic sigh and sit back on the stool, getting back to work on his robe.

But he’s back to grinning like a fool, admiring the way your tongue pokes the corner of your mouth when you focus. It’s incredibly endearing.

"You're very beautiful."

Daggers. “Shut up.”

He chuckles. "What? I find you to be very agreeable, poppet."

"Gee, thanks, Weasley,” you huff, “Do you want this stitch fixed or not—"

"Don’t get your dear panties in a twist, I’m only trying to compliment you. Would you just take it while I’m too ill to make fun of you properly?"

But he finds you very agreeable. And now you know that out loud. More than an inkling. More than friends. Oh, he’s awful.

"Quit staring."

"Sincerest apologies."

You roll your eyes and glare at him while the needle punctures the thick fabric.

"Why don’t I just tell Madam Pomfrey—"

"And ruin a moment? Come on, let me get a good look at you, you're the reason I’m in this mess,” George mumbles.

"Me?"

"Yes, you! Your stupid face won't get out of my head."

"Be serious, Weasley—"

"I am! You’ve cursed me, poppet, can't think straight unless I’m thinking of you."

"That's not fair!" you say.

"No, it’s not," he huffs, "I love you."

Shock. From both of you. More than friends, and more than a simple crush, now. But love. Love, for Merlin’s sake! Do you love him?

"You're being idiotic—”

"No. I'm not. I've thought long and hard about it, and I love you, and you can't change my mind—"

"George, quit it,” you say.

"Everyone knows it, poppet, I adore you, and—"

"I love you, too, George, now would you shut up!"

Well, then. Secrets out, no holds barred.

And he’s smiling all smug to himself, even though his left side is a bit swollen. And you’re back to fiddling with the stitched up tear in his robe. You’ve got crazy eyes. He thinks you might murder the stitched up tear in his robe. Or confess your love to it.

You groan.

"Stop smiling like that. You look crazy."

He shrugs. "I am crazy…"

"Do not—"

"… Crazy in love."

"I hate you"

"I know."

You look at him. And he’s looking back at you terribly fondly. As fragile as he seems now, he feels invincible. You fold up his fixed uniform and set it on the desk.

"George,” you sigh, “you have to stop getting hurt."

He nods curtly. "Okay. I’m sorry."

You squint at him, suspicious and expecting just a little pushback.

"... It's... okay, I just worry about you. I don't like seeing you like this." The stool scrapes against the floor, and George reaches for your hand.

"I know you don't, poppet. It won't happen again,” he says.

"Good. And if it does, then—"

"Then I’ll quit the team.”

"What!"

"I’ll do it. I’ll quit for you. I’ve got other things to worry about anyway. More important things than some silly sport where balls fly at your face."

Your eyes sparkle. For him, and it makes him absolutely giddy. He presses his thumb to the back of your hand and cocks a brow.

"Now,” he sighs, “would you come here and give me my hard won kiss?"

"Oh, so you won a kiss.”

"Nobly so. Dutifully and honorably. Nothing less than the best for your highness."

"Fine, whatever, only because you think I’m beautiful.”

You lean over his arm, trying not to nudge any of his tender injuries. While you’re being so careful, he’s straining for your kiss, jutting his neck out and shuffling under the quilt. He grunts at the overexertion, and you sit back before he gets his kiss.

"Nope! I’m getting Pomfrey!"

"One peck! Swear, I won’t move an inch!"

"Madam, he's awake!”

"Wonderful news, darling!" she calls from the other side of the wing, preparing a jug of water and a two glasses.

"You're horrible, and you torture me. You don’t love me at all, witch!" he whines, voice low

"On the contrary, I love you a good deal too much, which is why I’m so horrible."

He grumbles something under his breath.

Then chirps: "Be my girlfriend.”

You fold your hands in your lap. "If I must"

"And let me be your boyfriend,” he pleads.

"Well, what else would you be?"

"Your servant, your house pet. A footstool if you needed it.”

“George Weasley, you’re a fool,” you tease, reaching over to fix a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Yes, I am. A fool who loves you very much.”

“Sap.”

masterlist

[ibbythebee]

masterlist of the bee

Also quick disclaimers:

All my writing is fictional and therefore are not intended to reflect any views or actions of anyone I write for, even Y/N.

All my works are for female readers.

If you are not 18+ do not read or interact with 'smut' stories. I will put 18+ warnings at the top of stories to indicate this too.

Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy :]

· · ────── · Peter Parker · ────── · ·

Late Night Study | smut, fluff | Peter’s having trouble with his homework, and you help him out... in more ways than one.

Prescription | big fluff, tiny smut | Peter feels like you're the only one he can go to when he's all bloody from his Spider-Man duties.

· · ───── · Fred Weasley · ───── · ·

Anything | fluff, slight angst, slow-burn ish | Fred would do anything to see you, 'Hogwart's strictest Prefect', loosen up.

· · ──── · Neville Longbottom · ──── · ·

Hospital Wing Hermits | so fluffy with a pinch of angst | From Neville's second year to his last, his most memorable times with you have been spent in the Hospital Wing.

· · ──── · Seamus Finnigan · ──── · ·

Green-Eyed | fluffy angst | Seamus shouldn't be jealous of Ginny spending more time with you. You're just a friend to him, nothing more... right?

· · ────── · Request rules· ────── · ·

I have the right to decline a request. Please do not feel hurt or ignored if I do not complete your request, as it might just be because I don’t feel particularly inspired or am busy with real life stuff. As we all are sometimes ╥﹏╥

I write for the following:

Any Peter Parker of any universe. All of them are precious bois

Harry Potter universe characters (mostly Neville, the Weasley twins, Harry, Ron, Draco, perhaps sprinkle in a few of the side characters like Seamus or Dean)

Maybe some other characters in the future??? Depends on which characters I'm obsessing over at the current moment

Please do NOT request the following:

Explicit scenes of sexual harassment/abuse or suicide/self harm (there may be mentions or implications but nothing ever explicitly told)

Rape play… look whether I'm kinkshaming or not, rape play just isn’t it guys. This do be my opinion, do what you gotta do, but make sure there is full consent!!

There’s probably other things, so I might update this slowly if I remember to hehe. You can always ask me, if in doubt.

Even if you don't want to request something and just want to chat, you're more than welcome to! I am also a shy person in real life, so don't hesitate to talk about anything that might be on your mind.

okey bye :]

[ibbythebee]

Prescription

pairing: college!peter x reader | acquaintances to lovers

summary: Despite merely knowing you for a little bit over a month, Peter feels like you're the only one he can go to when he's all bloody from his Spider-Man duties. A/N: Recently saw a post about how there's not enough bloody!Peter content, so I just had to write something about it.

genre: fluff for entree, fluff for the main course with a side salad of fluff and for dessert? some small smut.

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, blood, taking care of wounds, making out

words: 3.3k

»»————-　➴　————-««

Peter barely knows you. A friend of a friend to put it simply. You had no classes together, hadn't gone to the same high school, and only ever hung out when MJ would invite you both. A rare occurrence really.

Despite these fleeting moments of interaction, Peter has found himself with a dilemma that involves you.

His wounds had been bad before after a night of being the friendly neighbourhood hero, but tonight he knew he couldn't simply return to his apartment to heal. No. There is only one person on his mind that he can think of getting help from. The only person who happens to be at home. The only person that might actually be a doctor in the future. The only person in his circle of friends that doesn't know he's Spider-Man.

"She's a med-fuck." Peter remembers MJ introducing you the first time you two had met. You had rolled your eyes, but laughed at the girl's remark. You seemed like a sweet person. Clearly smart enough to study medicine and to capture the attention of Peter’s friend. MJ then commenced to tell the story of how she came to be your friend, after she had a nasty fall and you were there by her side as though someone had just called the paramedics. It turned out that she only needed a bandaid on the palm of her hand.

The story was so quick, and yet Peter kept it locked in the back of his mind, reserved until he needed your help. Which happens to be now, a month since he was introduced to you.

He checks his phone as if by some miracle your number would magically appear so he wouldn’t need to barge into your place. With a hiss, he hunches over to lessen the stinging sensations on his torso, his chest, his back. It almost burns more than it stings, and now that it has begun to rain he realises how much blood he’s losing. There's no time to lose.

With a curse under his breath, he swings toward your apartment complex. He’d been there once to drop off belongings you had left at a party. Your address was also locked in the back of his brain in preparation for this exact scenario. Although, he doesn’t feel prepared at all, now that it's happening.

“Hey I’m Spider-Man, I heard you’re studying to be a doctor? Well, guess what? You can practice on me,” he rehearses.

“Hey it’s me. Peter… Parker. Y’know, MJ’s friend? Yeah I’m also Spider-Man by the way… and I'm also dying.”

What will you say? How will you react?

“Please don’t freak out, but I’m losing a lot of blood. Also, it’s me Peter Parker.”

Will you even help him? Will you even remember who he is?

A few curtains are drawn, he notices, when he gets to his destination, though to his relief yours aren’t. Your room has a warm glow and you’re sitting on your bed chuckling at something on your phone.

Peter’s stomach twists at the sight. This was a stupid idea. Thinking he could simply unload so much of his problems onto you. Thinking that would help him out for free at this time of night.

You look so at ease. So warm and comfortable. Out of the rain and clean and injury-free.

Shoving his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress a pained groan, he climbs over the wall right next to your window. And against his better judgement he raises a hand, hesitating for a moment before knocking. You don’t move to the window, so he taps harder and then you’re searching for the source of the noise.

Your eyes meet his and you're frozen. A flash of lightning illuminates behind the figure by your window and you feel a chill run up your spine. They're covered with blood, dirt and rain, something straight out of your nightmares.

They knock on the window again and this snaps you out of your trance, turning on your phone and dialling the three numbers Peter does not want.

You're panting, eyes right on the figure. "Hi, my name's Y/N L/N, I live at--"

"No! No, no, no please!" He taps the window again, trying not to look like so much of a creep. Another flash of lightning makes you jump and he decides then there's only one thing he can do for you to let him in.

He rips his mask straight off and presses into the cool glass, eyes pleading for you.

"Hello? Are you there, Y/N? Stay on the line with me, you'll be alright."

"Um..." you stare, the cogs in your head trying to catch up with the information from your eyes. "I-It was a false alarm. I'm sorry."

To Peter's relief you hang up, and throw your phone to your bed, scrambling to open the window. It's a little heavy, but you manage to push it up.

"Oh my God." You instinctively wrap an arm around his back as he steps into the glow of your room.

"Thanks," he croaks, "nice to see you again."

“Are you ok— no you’re obviously not. Let me call an ambulance, okay? Here, sit down."

“Don’t!” Peter pleads with a groan, wrapping an arm around his waist once he’s settled. “Please don’t. I… they can’t know who I am.”

You were a second away from calling emergency services again, thoughts unable to settle. It's all too much. You feel an ache in your heart seeing Peter... Spider-Man so vulnerable. He's in your room, on your bed. Why here of all places, you think.

“Right sorry. I get it. I should’ve thought of that." You should have, but you simply can't. This really is all too much.

He swears under his breath, and your eyes travel to the origin of his pain. There's so much red, and you can't quite tell if it's just his dirty suit, or blood. It didn't matter, he needs help and he clearly came to you for a reason.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N." His voice is soft and laced with guilt. "I know we barely know each other, but--."

You forgive him immediately as you scuffle around, opening drawers, cabinets, bags, retrieving an array of medical items and placing them beside him. Full med-student mode on, you finally have all you need.

"We're gonna have to take your suit off, clean everything up." You stand by idly. When he barely moves, you lean over and tentatively wrap your fingers around the material. You try to strip him quickly, but you're so scared whenever he makes a pained noise. "I know, I know, I know. You're gonna feel better soon. I know, I'm sorry."

The burn of material and dirt moving across his wounds finally fades, as it all bunches up at his hips. He feels cold, as his bare chest is on full display.

"Shit," he says.

You barely smile as you hear him give a pathetic laugh. From head-to-hip he's covered in scratches, blood dried black with soot. Then there's a large gash tracing over his left rib cage up to his right collarbone. Fortunately, it's not deep but it's still wet. What the hell did this?

Concentrating on relieving the young man's pain, you bundle up a couple of your pillows, making sure to drape an old t-shirt over so that they're not fully covered with blood.

With no words spoken Peter is aided back into the mountain of pillows, till he lets out a sigh. His arms rest by his sides and his legs are outstretched over your duvet. Looking into your determined expression, he realises he made the right choice. Everything from your gentle gestures, to your soft voice, to the beam of light illuminating the edge of your features. You're the right choice.

"Good." You grab a hand towel and a warm bowl of water, knees touching the side of his thigh. "I'm gonna clean you now. You're gonna hate this."

He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. You notice there's a cut there too. There's half-dry and half-wet blood painted by his right temple, a bit under his dishevelled curls, and bruising high on his cheek bone.

"Squeeze me if you want... when it hurts too much."

To Peter's surprise you take his hand and put pressure there as an example, sending him a small smile. Your skin is so soft, your fingers so delicate.

You wring out some excess water from the towel with your other hand, and turn to him, starting with the smaller cuts around the larger wound.

"Does MJ know about you being...?"

"Yeah. Only a few of my closest friends know."

You make a face to lighten the mood, "damn, I thought I was the only one."

"Would it be okay, if you don't tell them about this?"

"You mean you coming here?"

He combs fingers through his rain-kissed hair, a few strands flopping to his forehead with the motion. "Yeah. Please. I don't want them to worry, especially about all the injuries."

"Sure, what's said in this room will stay in this room."

"Thanks, Y/N. For everything."

A smile curls onto your lips. It's both sad and thrilling to be let in on such a big secret. On one hand you felt honoured to be trusted with this information and to be the one to take care of his wounds, yet on the other, this probably wasn't going to be a one-time thing.

As you first clean around the larger wound, Peter's okay. Sharp breaths are the height of his reactions for the most part, and you praise him along the way. You note that he responds well to your compliments.

Peter squeezes your hand for the first time at the tiniest touch to the bigger cut on his chest. Under his quick breaths, he apologises to which you shake your head. You weirdly almost feel like crying. Seeing Spider-Man in the media, seeing superheroes in general, you naturally assume that they've got their lives together. That they are never in pain, or at least never in too much pain. Seeing him like this, so tender and sensitive under your touch, he really is just a boy in college trying to be an adult.

You wet the towel a bit more and press it into his chest firmer this time. Before he can groan, you enquire about the second interaction you had ever with him.

"Do you remember that time you came over to MJ's and I was already there?" The corners of your lips already perking up in amusement. "We were about to go to a convention, getting dressed--."

"Oh no," he throws his head back into the cushions, his grip tightening around your hand, as his other arm comes up to cover his face. You can just see his beet red ears underneath, it's a strangely endearing sight.

"Oh yes," you stifle a laugh.

"I had no idea that you were going to be--."

"Of course you didn't know. But, you have to admit it was some good timing."

He chuckles, "yeah, good timing for me. Maybe not for you."

"You told me I looked good in the spider-girl suit."

He finally reveals his heated cheeks and shrugs, "I don't like to lie."

"But you do like to keep secrets."

Peter swallows down a whimper of pain, when you take a long swipe. He sees your amusement and attempts at a smirk when the pain subsides. "Spider-Man needs to be. Now, you're in on it too."

"And good for you, I also like keeping secrets."

You feel your hand being squeezed, but you didn't touch his wound then. You take a glance at his face, and his eyes are already trained on you. With or without the injuries, it's no doubt that Peter is good-looking. The stress of the situation has receded since he entered your room and the opportunity to take in the sight of him has arisen as a result. In a way you aren't sure is sadistic, you find this beaten, wounded version of Peter to be immensely attractive. Perhaps it's the fact that you know that whatever fight he fought, he probably won. Or maybe you know that if you were ever in danger, he would be there to protect you. You glance at him a few more times and you deduce that it's just because he's already beautiful.

The wound on his torso is clean, with a final swipe of the wet material.

"See? Reminiscing about that time took your mind off of the pain. Even if it was embarrassing for you."

He peers at his chest. It looks bad, though vastly different than it did when he arrived. He feels hot at your words and doesn't cover his face, instead keeps his eyes level with yours. "I think from now on, just remember how you looked then will forever be my painkiller."

With a glance through your eyelashes, you stand up from the bed to discard the bloodied water. You can feel his eyes on you as you reorganise yourself, taking a few cotton pads and a wrap of bandage.

When you sit back down beside Peter, you make a show to move in closer to him. His undeterred gaze is enough for you to feel bold enough to make that first move.

The cotton pads are slightly damp as you press a line of them down the length of the wound. There's no sound of a groan this time as you work your way from his collar bone to the left rib. You'd press down a pad and then purposefully feather your fingers across the skin of his abdomen. It's the slightest of touches and yet you'd hear him breath a little heavier, or his stomach would tense a bit.

A small smile forms on your lips when the last cotton pad is placed. "Can you sit up a little for me?"

With a hand on his arm you guide him up. He makes a pained expression though no noise escapes his mouth so you take that as a sign that he's feeling better. As you stretch out the length of the bandage, he watches you.

"I'm gonna wrap this around your back. So, is it alright if I sort of..." You crawl over him and turn to straddle his thighs "...sit here?"

"It's good," he nods, running a hand through his curls before allowing it to fall back down and land on top of your own thigh. "Whatever the doctor needs."

Your smile grows, as you slowly lean into him, your arms coming around his back so that your hands meet in an almost hug. The bandage is passed from hand-to-hand as you wrap it diagonally, following the line of the chest wound. Over his back, then over his chest and repeating. Each time you go to pass the bandage behind his back, you dip your head, your nose getting closer and closer to making contact with his cheek.

It wasn't until you finished wrapping that you realised both his hands were resting on your legs. Even as you allow him to lean back into the pillows, his hands stay glued to you as though you'd leave if he didn't keep himself there. Not that you have any complaints.

With his worst wound successfully sterilised, you aren't quite yet finished with him, nor do you want to be finished.

Peter's chin is gently lifted with a finger, and you inspect every inch of him until you find yourself stuck on the sight of his lips.

"My eyes are up here," he says, with a laugh that reverberates in your room. The vibration of the sound carries through the nerves in your legs and up your spine.

It's your turn to feel hot in the face and you let go of his chin, reaching to grab a fresh, wet cotton pad. It makes contact with the cut on his lip, resulting in a flinch from him and a smirk from you.

"That's exactly what I was looking at," you defend, nevertheless feeling warm from being caught staring earlier.

"Uh-huh, sure it was just the cut," he says with playful sarcasm. "Does it look bad?"

You squint for a second, feathering a thumb over the small bump, observing the way he thickly swallows at your touch. "Here, lemme get closer. I can't really tell."

Breath practically fanning each other's faces, Peter's head tilts up to give you better access. His eyes are hooded, but trained on you. "So?"

"Just wait..." You push in closer, and it feels like a minute is passed before you press a chaste kiss right over the cut. "I can confirm, it's not bad."

There's light pressure on your thighs as Peter responds. "Are you sure? Like a hundred percent?"

"Now that you mention it, maybe eighty-one percent sure?"

He doesn't need to wait, as you lean into his face once more, this time the tip of your tongue hesitates over his bottom lip prior to placing a kiss there.

There's a hint of vanilla in the taste of him, a flavour that had already come to your mind the first time you ever laid eyes on the young man.

"We're getting close. Eighty-nine percent," you say.

When your lips meet again, his hands are at your hips, tugging your sweatpants toward him. For a second, you forget why he entered your room in the first place and that you'd just discovered he's the notorious hero of New York. You're kissing Spider-fucking-Man.

The moment your bodies are flush against each other, do you realise his strength and are brought back to reality, mouths parting with a pop. "Am I hurting you?"

"What? No! I wouldn't be... kissing you back if you were."

With a content sigh, you bow in relief connecting your chin with his bare shoulder, arms wrapping around him like a soft blanket.

Peter is confused. You've been nothing but gentle since he interrupted your night. If anything, your kisses were making his lip sting less.

"Can I ask what even happened? What were you fighting?"

"Oh, you'll probably see it on the news tomorrow." The answer isn't enough to smooth the crease between your brows, so Peter continues with a reassuring grip on your thighs. "Rhino got out of prison again, set on taking me out as usual. It almost feels like every time he's locked up, so is his rage, and so when he gets out he's way stronger than before."

"But you won?"

He smiles when he nods, the wrinkles on your face finally relaxing. "Barely, but yes... only after destroying a few buildings and feeling like I might bleed to death, but yes."

"Damn. You really are Spider-Man," you say, voice slow in a whisper.

"And you really are cute."

Feeling a rush of heat, your heart skips a beat in reply. Unbeknownst to you, Peter can hear this, it's music to his ears. In fact, every heightened sense of his is completely enticed by you. He sees you as though you are an angel, something bright and straight out of heaven. The perfume on your skin smells like a bakery; comfortable warm and sweet. The clothes you wear, your hair, your skin is all delicate under his touch and he needs more of you now.

He initiates this time, capturing your little gasp of surprise and craning his neck to deepen the kiss, smoothing a tongue over your own. Even the taste of you is addictive; you must've previously been eating candy, because you're just so sweet to Peter.

The smack of wet lips resound, as both your hands begin to roam. Each movement is slow but passionate, ensuring to digest every second that passes and every bit of available skin is touched.

A sensual few minutes pass before you both disconnect with swollen lips, catching your breaths. You run your fingers along the length of the bandage on his chest, as he draws circles underneath your shirt on the skin of your back.

You break the silence, "does it still hurt?"

"No. Like I said before, just thinking about you is a painkiller enough."

You giggle, combing a strand of his slightly damp hair away from his forehead. "Okay. I hereby prescribe you kisses for any pain that you may feel." A peck on his bruised cheek confirms your doctoral advice like a signature. "You may request a kiss any time of the day or night, but if request is taken longer than six minutes, this will result in an increase of sexual arousal."

"I'll be sure to take that into consideration," he winks. "But Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you a hundred percent sure the cut doesn't look bad?"

[ibbythebee]

Prescription

pairing: college!peter x reader | acquaintances to lovers

summary: Despite merely knowing you for a little bit over a month, Peter feels like you're the only one he can go to when he's all bloody from his Spider-Man duties. A/N: Recently saw a post about how there's not enough bloody!Peter content, so I just had to write something about it.

genre: fluff for entree, fluff for the main course with a side salad of fluff and for dessert? some small smut.

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, blood, taking care of wounds, making out

words: 3.3k

»»————-　➴　————-««

Peter barely knows you. A friend of a friend to put it simply. You had no classes together, hadn't gone to the same high school, and only ever hung out when MJ would invite you both. A rare occurrence really.

Despite these fleeting moments of interaction, Peter has found himself with a dilemma that involves you.

His wounds had been bad before after a night of being the friendly neighbourhood hero, but tonight he knew he couldn't simply return to his apartment to heal. No. There is only one person on his mind that he can think of getting help from. The only person who happens to be at home. The only person that might actually be a doctor in the future. The only person in his circle of friends that doesn't know he's Spider-Man.

"She's a med-fuck." Peter remembers MJ introducing you the first time you two had met. You had rolled your eyes, but laughed at the girl's remark. You seemed like a sweet person. Clearly smart enough to study medicine and to capture the attention of Peter’s friend. MJ then commenced to tell the story of how she came to be your friend, after she had a nasty fall and you were there by her side as though someone had just called the paramedics. It turned out that she only needed a bandaid on the palm of her hand.

The story was so quick, and yet Peter kept it locked in the back of his mind, reserved until he needed your help. Which happens to be now, a month since he was introduced to you.

He checks his phone as if by some miracle your number would magically appear so he wouldn’t need to barge into your place. With a hiss, he hunches over to lessen the stinging sensations on his torso, his chest, his back. It almost burns more than it stings, and now that it has begun to rain he realises how much blood he’s losing. There's no time to lose.

With a curse under his breath, he swings toward your apartment complex. He’d been there once to drop off belongings you had left at a party. Your address was also locked in the back of his brain in preparation for this exact scenario. Although, he doesn’t feel prepared at all, now that it's happening.

“Hey I’m Spider-Man, I heard you’re studying to be a doctor? Well, guess what? You can practice on me,” he rehearses.

“Hey it’s me. Peter… Parker. Y’know, MJ’s friend? Yeah I’m also Spider-Man by the way… and I'm also dying.”

What will you say? How will you react?

“Please don’t freak out, but I’m losing a lot of blood. Also, it’s me Peter Parker.”

Will you even help him? Will you even remember who he is?

A few curtains are drawn, he notices, when he gets to his destination, though to his relief yours aren’t. Your room has a warm glow and you’re sitting on your bed chuckling at something on your phone.

Peter’s stomach twists at the sight. This was a stupid idea. Thinking he could simply unload so much of his problems onto you. Thinking that would help him out for free at this time of night.

You look so at ease. So warm and comfortable. Out of the rain and clean and injury-free.

Shoving his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress a pained groan, he climbs over the wall right next to your window. And against his better judgement he raises a hand, hesitating for a moment before knocking. You don’t move to the window, so he taps harder and then you’re searching for the source of the noise.

Your eyes meet his and you're frozen. A flash of lightning illuminates behind the figure by your window and you feel a chill run up your spine. They're covered with blood, dirt and rain, something straight out of your nightmares.

They knock on the window again and this snaps you out of your trance, turning on your phone and dialling the three numbers Peter does not want.

You're panting, eyes right on the figure. "Hi, my name's Y/N L/N, I live at--"

"No! No, no, no please!" He taps the window again, trying not to look like so much of a creep. Another flash of lightning makes you jump and he decides then there's only one thing he can do for you to let him in.

He rips his mask straight off and presses into the cool glass, eyes pleading for you.

"Hello? Are you there, Y/N? Stay on the line with me, you'll be alright."

"Um..." you stare, the cogs in your head trying to catch up with the information from your eyes. "I-It was a false alarm. I'm sorry."

To Peter's relief you hang up, and throw your phone to your bed, scrambling to open the window. It's a little heavy, but you manage to push it up.

"Oh my God." You instinctively wrap an arm around his back as he steps into the glow of your room.

"Thanks," he croaks, "nice to see you again."

“Are you ok— no you’re obviously not. Let me call an ambulance, okay? Here, sit down."

“Don’t!” Peter pleads with a groan, wrapping an arm around his waist once he’s settled. “Please don’t. I… they can’t know who I am.”

You were a second away from calling emergency services again, thoughts unable to settle. It's all too much. You feel an ache in your heart seeing Peter... Spider-Man so vulnerable. He's in your room, on your bed. Why here of all places, you think.

“Right sorry. I get it. I should’ve thought of that." You should have, but you simply can't. This really is all too much.

He swears under his breath, and your eyes travel to the origin of his pain. There's so much red, and you can't quite tell if it's just his dirty suit, or blood. It didn't matter, he needs help and he clearly came to you for a reason.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N." His voice is soft and laced with guilt. "I know we barely know each other, but--."

You forgive him immediately as you scuffle around, opening drawers, cabinets, bags, retrieving an array of medical items and placing them beside him. Full med-student mode on, you finally have all you need.

"We're gonna have to take your suit off, clean everything up." You stand by idly. When he barely moves, you lean over and tentatively wrap your fingers around the material. You try to strip him quickly, but you're so scared whenever he makes a pained noise. "I know, I know, I know. You're gonna feel better soon. I know, I'm sorry."

The burn of material and dirt moving across his wounds finally fades, as it all bunches up at his hips. He feels cold, as his bare chest is on full display.

"Shit," he says.

You barely smile as you hear him give a pathetic laugh. From head-to-hip he's covered in scratches, blood dried black with soot. Then there's a large gash tracing over his left rib cage up to his right collarbone. Fortunately, it's not deep but it's still wet. What the hell did this?

Concentrating on relieving the young man's pain, you bundle up a couple of your pillows, making sure to drape an old t-shirt over so that they're not fully covered with blood.

With no words spoken Peter is aided back into the mountain of pillows, till he lets out a sigh. His arms rest by his sides and his legs are outstretched over your duvet. Looking into your determined expression, he realises he made the right choice. Everything from your gentle gestures, to your soft voice, to the beam of light illuminating the edge of your features. You're the right choice.

"Good." You grab a hand towel and a warm bowl of water, knees touching the side of his thigh. "I'm gonna clean you now. You're gonna hate this."

He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. You notice there's a cut there too. There's half-dry and half-wet blood painted by his right temple, a bit under his dishevelled curls, and bruising high on his cheek bone.

"Squeeze me if you want... when it hurts too much."

To Peter's surprise you take his hand and put pressure there as an example, sending him a small smile. Your skin is so soft, your fingers so delicate.

You wring out some excess water from the towel with your other hand, and turn to him, starting with the smaller cuts around the larger wound.

"Does MJ know about you being...?"

"Yeah. Only a few of my closest friends know."

You make a face to lighten the mood, "damn, I thought I was the only one."

"Would it be okay, if you don't tell them about this?"

"You mean you coming here?"

He combs fingers through his rain-kissed hair, a few strands flopping to his forehead with the motion. "Yeah. Please. I don't want them to worry, especially about all the injuries."

"Sure, what's said in this room will stay in this room."

"Thanks, Y/N. For everything."

A smile curls onto your lips. It's both sad and thrilling to be let in on such a big secret. On one hand you felt honoured to be trusted with this information and to be the one to take care of his wounds, yet on the other, this probably wasn't going to be a one-time thing.

As you first clean around the larger wound, Peter's okay. Sharp breaths are the height of his reactions for the most part, and you praise him along the way. You note that he responds well to your compliments.

Peter squeezes your hand for the first time at the tiniest touch to the bigger cut on his chest. Under his quick breaths, he apologises to which you shake your head. You weirdly almost feel like crying. Seeing Spider-Man in the media, seeing superheroes in general, you naturally assume that they've got their lives together. That they are never in pain, or at least never in too much pain. Seeing him like this, so tender and sensitive under your touch, he really is just a boy in college trying to be an adult.

You wet the towel a bit more and press it into his chest firmer this time. Before he can groan, you enquire about the second interaction you had ever with him.

"Do you remember that time you came over to MJ's and I was already there?" The corners of your lips already perking up in amusement. "We were about to go to a convention, getting dressed--."

"Oh no," he throws his head back into the cushions, his grip tightening around your hand, as his other arm comes up to cover his face. You can just see his beet red ears underneath, it's a strangely endearing sight.

"Oh yes," you stifle a laugh.

"I had no idea that you were going to be--."

"Of course you didn't know. But, you have to admit it was some good timing."

He chuckles, "yeah, good timing for me. Maybe not for you."

"You told me I looked good in the spider-girl suit."

He finally reveals his heated cheeks and shrugs, "I don't like to lie."

"But you do like to keep secrets."

Peter swallows down a whimper of pain, when you take a long swipe. He sees your amusement and attempts at a smirk when the pain subsides. "Spider-Man needs to be. Now, you're in on it too."

"And good for you, I also like keeping secrets."

You feel your hand being squeezed, but you didn't touch his wound then. You take a glance at his face, and his eyes are already trained on you. With or without the injuries, it's no doubt that Peter is good-looking. The stress of the situation has receded since he entered your room and the opportunity to take in the sight of him has arisen as a result. In a way you aren't sure is sadistic, you find this beaten, wounded version of Peter to be immensely attractive. Perhaps it's the fact that you know that whatever fight he fought, he probably won. Or maybe you know that if you were ever in danger, he would be there to protect you. You glance at him a few more times and you deduce that it's just because he's already beautiful.

The wound on his torso is clean, with a final swipe of the wet material.

"See? Reminiscing about that time took your mind off of the pain. Even if it was embarrassing for you."

He peers at his chest. It looks bad, though vastly different than it did when he arrived. He feels hot at your words and doesn't cover his face, instead keeps his eyes level with yours. "I think from now on, just remember how you looked then will forever be my painkiller."

With a glance through your eyelashes, you stand up from the bed to discard the bloodied water. You can feel his eyes on you as you reorganise yourself, taking a few cotton pads and a wrap of bandage.

When you sit back down beside Peter, you make a show to move in closer to him. His undeterred gaze is enough for you to feel bold enough to make that first move.

The cotton pads are slightly damp as you press a line of them down the length of the wound. There's no sound of a groan this time as you work your way from his collar bone to the left rib. You'd press down a pad and then purposefully feather your fingers across the skin of his abdomen. It's the slightest of touches and yet you'd hear him breath a little heavier, or his stomach would tense a bit.

A small smile forms on your lips when the last cotton pad is placed. "Can you sit up a little for me?"

With a hand on his arm you guide him up. He makes a pained expression though no noise escapes his mouth so you take that as a sign that he's feeling better. As you stretch out the length of the bandage, he watches you.

"I'm gonna wrap this around your back. So, is it alright if I sort of..." You crawl over him and turn to straddle his thighs "...sit here?"

"It's good," he nods, running a hand through his curls before allowing it to fall back down and land on top of your own thigh. "Whatever the doctor needs."

Your smile grows, as you slowly lean into him, your arms coming around his back so that your hands meet in an almost hug. The bandage is passed from hand-to-hand as you wrap it diagonally, following the line of the chest wound. Over his back, then over his chest and repeating. Each time you go to pass the bandage behind his back, you dip your head, your nose getting closer and closer to making contact with his cheek.

It wasn't until you finished wrapping that you realised both his hands were resting on your legs. Even as you allow him to lean back into the pillows, his hands stay glued to you as though you'd leave if he didn't keep himself there. Not that you have any complaints.

With his worst wound successfully sterilised, you aren't quite yet finished with him, nor do you want to be finished.

Peter's chin is gently lifted with a finger, and you inspect every inch of him until you find yourself stuck on the sight of his lips.

"My eyes are up here," he says, with a laugh that reverberates in your room. The vibration of the sound carries through the nerves in your legs and up your spine.

It's your turn to feel hot in the face and you let go of his chin, reaching to grab a fresh, wet cotton pad. It makes contact with the cut on his lip, resulting in a flinch from him and a smirk from you.

"That's exactly what I was looking at," you defend, nevertheless feeling warm from being caught staring earlier.

"Uh-huh, sure it was just the cut," he says with playful sarcasm. "Does it look bad?"

You squint for a second, feathering a thumb over the small bump, observing the way he thickly swallows at your touch. "Here, lemme get closer. I can't really tell."

Breath practically fanning each other's faces, Peter's head tilts up to give you better access. His eyes are hooded, but trained on you. "So?"

"Just wait..." You push in closer, and it feels like a minute is passed before you press a chaste kiss right over the cut. "I can confirm, it's not bad."

There's light pressure on your thighs as Peter responds. "Are you sure? Like a hundred percent?"

"Now that you mention it, maybe eighty-one percent sure?"

He doesn't need to wait, as you lean into his face once more, this time the tip of your tongue hesitates over his bottom lip prior to placing a kiss there.

There's a hint of vanilla in the taste of him, a flavour that had already come to your mind the first time you ever laid eyes on the young man.

"We're getting close. Eighty-nine percent," you say.

When your lips meet again, his hands are at your hips, tugging your sweatpants toward him. For a second, you forget why he entered your room in the first place and that you'd just discovered he's the notorious hero of New York. You're kissing Spider-fucking-Man.

The moment your bodies are flush against each other, do you realise his strength and are brought back to reality, mouths parting with a pop. "Am I hurting you?"

"What? No! I wouldn't be... kissing you back if you were."

With a content sigh, you bow in relief connecting your chin with his bare shoulder, arms wrapping around him like a soft blanket.

Peter is confused. You've been nothing but gentle since he interrupted your night. If anything, your kisses were making his lip sting less.

"Can I ask what even happened? What were you fighting?"

"Oh, you'll probably see it on the news tomorrow." The answer isn't enough to smooth the crease between your brows, so Peter continues with a reassuring grip on your thighs. "Rhino got out of prison again, set on taking me out as usual. It almost feels like every time he's locked up, so is his rage, and so when he gets out he's way stronger than before."

"But you won?"

He smiles when he nods, the wrinkles on your face finally relaxing. "Barely, but yes... only after destroying a few buildings and feeling like I might bleed to death, but yes."

"Damn. You really are Spider-Man," you say, voice slow in a whisper.

"And you really are cute."

Feeling a rush of heat, your heart skips a beat in reply. Unbeknownst to you, Peter can hear this, it's music to his ears. In fact, every heightened sense of his is completely enticed by you. He sees you as though you are an angel, something bright and straight out of heaven. The perfume on your skin smells like a bakery; comfortable warm and sweet. The clothes you wear, your hair, your skin is all delicate under his touch and he needs more of you now.

He initiates this time, capturing your little gasp of surprise and craning his neck to deepen the kiss, smoothing a tongue over your own. Even the taste of you is addictive; you must've previously been eating candy, because you're just so sweet to Peter.

The smack of wet lips resound, as both your hands begin to roam. Each movement is slow but passionate, ensuring to digest every second that passes and every bit of available skin is touched.

A sensual few minutes pass before you both disconnect with swollen lips, catching your breaths. You run your fingers along the length of the bandage on his chest, as he draws circles underneath your shirt on the skin of your back.

You break the silence, "does it still hurt?"

"No. Like I said before, just thinking about you is a painkiller enough."

You giggle, combing a strand of his slightly damp hair away from his forehead. "Okay. I hereby prescribe you kisses for any pain that you may feel." A peck on his bruised cheek confirms your doctoral advice like a signature. "You may request a kiss any time of the day or night, but if request is taken longer than six minutes, this will result in an increase of sexual arousal."

"I'll be sure to take that into consideration," he winks. "But Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you a hundred percent sure the cut doesn't look bad?"

[ibbythebee]

Prescription

pairing: college!peter parker x reader | acquaintances to lovers

summary: Peter feels like you're the only one he can go to when he's all bloody from his Spider-Man duties. Only problem is, you don’t know he’s Spider-Man.

A/N: Recently saw a post about how there's not enough bloody!Peter content, so I just had to write something about it.

genre: fluff for entree, fluff for the main course with a side salad of fluff and for dessert? some small smut.

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, blood, taking care of wounds, making out

words: 3.3k

masterlist

»»————-　➴　————-««

Peter barely knows you. A friend of a friend to put it simply. You had no classes together, hadn't gone to the same high school, and only ever hung out when MJ would invite you both. A rare occurrence really.

Despite these fleeting moments of interaction, Peter has found himself with a dilemma that involves you.

His wounds had been bad before after a night of being the friendly neighbourhood hero, but tonight he knew he couldn't simply return to his apartment to heal. No. There is only one person on his mind that he can think of getting help from. The only person who happens to be at home. The only person that might actually be a doctor in the future. The only person in his circle of friends that doesn't know he's Spider-Man.

"She's a med-fuck." Peter remembers MJ introducing you the first time you two had met. You had rolled your eyes, but laughed at the girl's remark. You seemed like a sweet person. Clearly smart enough to study medicine and to capture the attention of Peter’s friend. MJ then commenced to tell the story of how she came to be your friend, after she had a nasty fall and you were there by her side as though someone had just called the paramedics. It turned out that she only needed a bandaid on the palm of her hand.

The story was so quick, and yet Peter kept it locked in the back of his mind, reserved until he needed your help. Which happens to be now, a month since he was introduced to you.

He checks his phone as if by some miracle your number would magically appear so he wouldn’t need to barge into your place. With a hiss, he hunches over to lessen the stinging sensations on his torso, his chest, his back. It almost burns more than it stings, and now that it has begun to rain he realises how much blood he’s losing. There's no time to lose.

With a curse under his breath, he swings toward your apartment complex. He’d been there once to drop off belongings you had left at a party. Your address was also locked in the back of his brain in preparation for this exact scenario. Although, he doesn’t feel prepared at all, now that it's happening.

“Hey I’m Spider-Man, I heard you’re studying to be a doctor? Well, guess what? You can practice on me,” he rehearses.

“Hey it’s me. Peter… Parker. Y’know, MJ’s friend? Yeah I’m also Spider-Man by the way… and I'm also dying.”

What will you say? How will you react?

“Please don’t freak out, but I’m losing a lot of blood. Also, it’s me Peter Parker.”

Will you even help him? Will you even remember who he is?

A few curtains are drawn, he notices, when he gets to his destination, though to his relief yours aren’t. Your room has a warm glow and you’re sitting on your bed chuckling at something on your phone.

Peter’s stomach twists at the sight. This was a stupid idea. Thinking he could simply unload so much of his problems onto you. Thinking that would help him out for free at this time of night.

You look so at ease. So warm and comfortable. Out of the rain and clean and injury-free.

Shoving his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress a pained groan, he climbs over the wall right next to your window. And against his better judgement he raises a hand, hesitating for a moment before knocking. You don’t move to the window, so he taps harder and then you’re searching for the source of the noise.

Your eyes meet his and you're frozen. A flash of lightning illuminates behind the figure by your window and you feel a chill run up your spine. They're covered with blood, dirt and rain, something straight out of your nightmares.

They knock on the window again and this snaps you out of your trance, turning on your phone and dialling the three numbers Peter does not want.

You're panting, eyes right on the figure. "Hi, my name's Y/N L/N, I live at--"

"No! No, no, no please!" He taps the window again, trying not to look like so much of a creep. Another flash of lightning makes you jump and he decides then there's only one thing he can do for you to let him in.

He rips his mask straight off and presses into the cool glass, eyes pleading for you.

"Hello? Are you there, Y/N? Stay on the line with me, you'll be alright."

"Um..." you stare, the cogs in your head trying to catch up with the information from your eyes. "I-It was a false alarm. I'm sorry."

To Peter's relief you hang up, and throw your phone to your bed, scrambling to open the window. It's a little heavy, but you manage to push it up.

"Oh my God." You instinctively wrap an arm around his back as he steps into the glow of your room.

"Thanks," he croaks, "nice to see you again."

“Are you ok— no you’re obviously not. Let me call an ambulance, okay? Here, sit down."

“Don’t!” Peter pleads with a groan, wrapping an arm around his waist once he’s settled. “Please don’t. I… they can’t know who I am.”

You were a second away from calling emergency services again, thoughts unable to settle. It's all too much. You feel an ache in your heart seeing Peter... Spider-Man so vulnerable. He's in your room, on your bed. Why here of all places, you think.

“Right sorry. I get it. I should’ve thought of that." You should have, but you simply can't. This really is all too much.

He swears under his breath, and your eyes travel to the origin of his pain. There's so much red, and you can't quite tell if it's just his dirty suit, or blood. It didn't matter, he needs help and he clearly came to you for a reason.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N." His voice is soft and laced with guilt. "I know we barely know each other, but--."

You forgive him immediately as you scuffle around, opening drawers, cabinets, bags, retrieving an array of medical items and placing them beside him. Full med-student mode on, you finally have all you need.

"We're gonna have to take your suit off, clean everything up." You stand by idly. When he barely moves, you lean over and tentatively wrap your fingers around the material. You try to strip him quickly, but you're so scared whenever he makes a pained noise. "I know, I know, I know. You're gonna feel better soon. I know, I'm sorry."

The burn of material and dirt moving across his wounds finally fades, as it all bunches up at his hips. He feels cold, as his bare chest is on full display.

"Shit," he says.

You barely smile as you hear him give a pathetic laugh. From head-to-hip he's covered in scratches, blood dried black with soot. Then there's a large gash tracing over his left rib cage up to his right collarbone. Fortunately, it's not deep but it's still wet. What the hell did this?

Concentrating on relieving the young man's pain, you bundle up a couple of your pillows, making sure to drape an old t-shirt over so that they're not fully covered with blood.

With no words spoken Peter is aided back into the mountain of pillows, till he lets out a sigh. His arms rest by his sides and his legs are outstretched over your duvet. Looking into your determined expression, he realises he made the right choice. Everything from your gentle gestures, to your soft voice, to the beam of light illuminating the edge of your features. You're the right choice.

"Good." You grab a hand towel and a warm bowl of water, knees touching the side of his thigh. "I'm gonna clean you now. You're gonna hate this."

He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. You notice there's a cut there too. There's half-dry and half-wet blood painted by his right temple, a bit under his dishevelled curls, and bruising high on his cheek bone.

"Squeeze me if you want... when it hurts too much."

To Peter's surprise you take his hand and put pressure there as an example, sending him a small smile. Your skin is so soft, your fingers so delicate.

You wring out some excess water from the towel with your other hand, and turn to him, starting with the smaller cuts around the larger wound.

"Does MJ know about you being...?"

"Yeah. Only a few of my closest friends know."

You make a face to lighten the mood, "damn, I thought I was the only one."

"Would it be okay, if you don't tell them about this?"

"You mean you coming here?"

He combs fingers through his rain-kissed hair, a few strands flopping to his forehead with the motion. "Yeah. Please. I don't want them to worry, especially about all the injuries."

"Sure, what's said in this room will stay in this room."

"Thanks, Y/N. For everything."

A smile curls onto your lips. It's both sad and thrilling to be let in on such a big secret. On one hand you felt honoured to be trusted with this information and to be the one to take care of his wounds, yet on the other, this probably wasn't going to be a one-time thing.

As you first clean around the larger wound, Peter's okay. Sharp breaths are the height of his reactions for the most part, and you praise him along the way. You note that he responds well to your compliments.

Peter squeezes your hand for the first time at the tiniest touch to the bigger cut on his chest. Under his quick breaths, he apologises to which you shake your head. You weirdly almost feel like crying. Seeing Spider-Man in the media, seeing superheroes in general, you naturally assume that they've got their lives together. That they are never in pain, or at least never in too much pain. Seeing him like this, so tender and sensitive under your touch, he really is just a boy in college trying to be an adult.

You wet the towel a bit more and press it into his chest firmer this time. Before he can groan, you enquire about the second interaction you had ever with him.

"Do you remember that time you came over to MJ's and I was already there?" The corners of your lips already perking up in amusement. "We were about to go to a convention, getting dressed--."

"Oh no," he throws his head back into the cushions, his grip tightening around your hand, as his other arm comes up to cover his face. You can just see his beet red ears underneath, it's a strangely endearing sight.

"Oh yes," you stifle a laugh.

"I had no idea that you were going to be--."

"Of course you didn't know. But, you have to admit it was some good timing."

He chuckles, "yeah, good timing for me. Maybe not for you."

"You told me I looked good in the spider-girl suit."

He finally reveals his heated cheeks and shrugs, "I don't like to lie."

"But you do like to keep secrets."

Peter swallows down a whimper of pain, when you take a long swipe. He sees your amusement and attempts at a smirk when the pain subsides. "Spider-Man needs to be. Now, you're in on it too."

"And good for you, I also like keeping secrets."

You feel your hand being squeezed, but you didn't touch his wound then. You take a glance at his face, and his eyes are already trained on you. With or without the injuries, it's no doubt that Peter is good-looking. The stress of the situation has receded since he entered your room and the opportunity to take in the sight of him has arisen as a result. In a way you aren't sure is sadistic, you find this beaten, wounded version of Peter to be immensely attractive. Perhaps it's the fact that you know that whatever fight he fought, he probably won. Or maybe you know that if you were ever in danger, he would be there to protect you. You glance at him a few more times and you deduce that it's just because he's already beautiful.

The wound on his torso is clean, with a final swipe of the wet material.

"See? Reminiscing about that time took your mind off of the pain. Even if it was embarrassing for you."

He peers at his chest. It looks bad, though vastly different than it did when he arrived. He feels hot at your words and doesn't cover his face, instead keeps his eyes level with yours. "I think from now on, just remember how you looked then will forever be my painkiller."

With a glance through your eyelashes, you stand up from the bed to discard the bloodied water. You can feel his eyes on you as you reorganise yourself, taking a few cotton pads and a wrap of bandage.

When you sit back down beside Peter, you make a show to move in closer to him. His undeterred gaze is enough for you to feel bold enough to make that first move.

The cotton pads are slightly damp as you press a line of them down the length of the wound. There's no sound of a groan this time as you work your way from his collar bone to the left rib. You'd press down a pad and then purposefully feather your fingers across the skin of his abdomen. It's the slightest of touches and yet you'd hear him breath a little heavier, or his stomach would tense a bit.

A small smile forms on your lips when the last cotton pad is placed. "Can you sit up a little for me?"

With a hand on his arm you guide him up. He makes a pained expression though no noise escapes his mouth so you take that as a sign that he's feeling better. As you stretch out the length of the bandage, he watches you.

"I'm gonna wrap this around your back. So, is it alright if I sort of..." You crawl over him and turn to straddle his thighs "...sit here?"

"It's good," he nods, running a hand through his curls before allowing it to fall back down and land on top of your own thigh. "Whatever the doctor needs."

Your smile grows, as you slowly lean into him, your arms coming around his back so that your hands meet in an almost hug. The bandage is passed from hand-to-hand as you wrap it diagonally, following the line of the chest wound. Over his back, then over his chest and repeating. Each time you go to pass the bandage behind his back, you dip your head, your nose getting closer and closer to making contact with his cheek.

It wasn't until you finished wrapping that you realised both his hands were resting on your legs. Even as you allow him to lean back into the pillows, his hands stay glued to you as though you'd leave if he didn't keep himself there. Not that you have any complaints.

With his worst wound successfully sterilised, you aren't quite yet finished with him, nor do you want to be finished.

Peter's chin is gently lifted with a finger, and you inspect every inch of him until you find yourself stuck on the sight of his lips.

"My eyes are up here," he says, with a laugh that reverberates in your room. The vibration of the sound carries through the nerves in your legs and up your spine.

It's your turn to feel hot in the face and you let go of his chin, reaching to grab a fresh, wet cotton pad. It makes contact with the cut on his lip, resulting in a flinch from him and a smirk from you.

"That's exactly what I was looking at," you defend, nevertheless feeling warm from being caught staring earlier.

"Uh-huh, sure it was just the cut," he says with playful sarcasm. "Does it look bad?"

You squint for a second, feathering a thumb over the small bump, observing the way he thickly swallows at your touch. "Here, lemme get closer. I can't really tell."

Breath practically fanning each other's faces, Peter's head tilts up to give you better access. His eyes are hooded, but trained on you. "So?"

"Just wait..." You push in closer, and it feels like a minute is passed before you press a chaste kiss right over the cut. "I can confirm, it's not bad."

There's light pressure on your thighs as Peter responds. "Are you sure? Like a hundred percent?"

"Now that you mention it, maybe eighty-one percent sure?"

He doesn't need to wait, as you lean into his face once more, this time the tip of your tongue hesitates over his bottom lip prior to placing a kiss there.

There's a hint of vanilla in the taste of him, a flavour that had already come to your mind the first time you ever laid eyes on the young man.

"We're getting close. Eighty-nine percent," you say.

When your lips meet again, his hands are at your hips, tugging your sweatpants toward him. For a second, you forget why he entered your room in the first place and that you'd just discovered he's the notorious hero of New York. You're kissing Spider-fucking-Man.

The moment your bodies are flush against each other, do you realise his strength and are brought back to reality, mouths parting with a pop. "Am I hurting you?"

"What? No! I wouldn't be... kissing you back if you were."

With a content sigh, you bow in relief connecting your chin with his bare shoulder, arms wrapping around him like a soft blanket.

Peter is confused. You've been nothing but gentle since he interrupted your night. If anything, your kisses were making his lip sting less.

"Can I ask what even happened? What were you fighting?"

"Oh, you'll probably see it on the news tomorrow." The answer isn't enough to smooth the crease between your brows, so Peter continues with a reassuring grip on your thighs. "Rhino got out of prison again, set on taking me out as usual. It almost feels like every time he's locked up, so is his rage, and so when he gets out he's way stronger than before."

"But you won?"

He smiles when he nods, the wrinkles on your face finally relaxing. "Barely, but yes... only after destroying a few buildings and feeling like I might bleed to death, but yes."

"Damn. You really are Spider-Man," you say, voice slow in a whisper.

"And you really are cute."

Feeling a rush of heat, your heart skips a beat in reply. Unbeknownst to you, Peter can hear this, it's music to his ears. In fact, every heightened sense of his is completely enticed by you. He sees you as though you are an angel, something bright and straight out of heaven. The perfume on your skin smells like a bakery; comfortable warm and sweet. The clothes you wear, your hair, your skin is all delicate under his touch and he needs more of you now.

He initiates this time, capturing your little gasp of surprise and craning his neck to deepen the kiss, smoothing a tongue over your own. Even the taste of you is addictive; you must've previously been eating candy, because you're just so sweet to Peter.

The smack of wet lips resound, as both your hands begin to roam. Each movement is slow but passionate, ensuring to digest every second that passes and every bit of available skin is touched.

A sensual few minutes pass before you both disconnect with swollen lips, catching your breaths. You run your fingers along the length of the bandage on his chest, as he draws circles underneath your shirt on the skin of your back.

You break the silence, "does it still hurt?"

"No. Like I said before, just thinking about you is a painkiller enough."

You giggle, combing a strand of his slightly damp hair away from his forehead. "Okay. I hereby prescribe you kisses for any pain that you may feel." A peck on his bruised cheek confirms your doctoral advice like a signature. "You may request a kiss any time of the day or night, but if request is taken longer than six minutes, this will result in an increase of sexual arousal."

"I'll be sure to take that into consideration," he winks. "But Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you a hundred percent sure the cut doesn't look bad?"

[ibbythebee]

Hi! :) Could you write frat!Peter during a lazy morning showing reader that little vídeo he recorded back in Berlin in Homecoming? And he's like: you see, I wasn't always this hot!!! And you tell him he was still so cute and that you'd have loved dated him back then as well?

i watched it as i wrote it and i fell back in love with the lil cutie.

watch peter's vlog here

Peter hisses and shakes his arm from where you have your teeth sunk in. 

“I’m sorry baby, but I can’t believe you weren’t always this juicy.” 

“I’m not a steak, you can’t just take a bite of me.” 

You wink and run your hand down his naked chest, “no, but you are a delicious hunk of meat.” 

Peter groans and pushes your hand off, you wriggle in closer to his body, your bare chest sticks against his ribcage, evaporated sweat glues you together. 

“I’m telling you now, you wouldn’t have said that like five years ago.” 

You kiss his chest, his hand tries to lay down your hair, “I’d take you up on that bet.” 

“Oh really?” 

You frown when your lips meet air, the skin you dotted kisses cross ripped away to the other side of the bed, peter sees your empty pout and rolls his eyes, “gimme a second,” he rolls back the other way, his half charged phone in his hand, you softly cheer and continue to press kisses against the swell of his chest. 

“Tell me you’d still date me.” 

Peter’s phone is in landscape mode, his finger hovering over the play button until your attention is captured. The thumbnail was a black screen with tile words, you try to hold back a snort at the ‘A Film by Peter Parker.’  You held his wrist to angle his phone more towards you and motion him to play it. 

“Oh my god!” You squeal out the words and pinch your boyfriends wrist, “you sound like such a baby! Oh my god, you’re so cute.” 

“Not even ten seconds in,” peter presses play. 

“You’re not supposed to show anyone this, but you’re showing me? Oh my god, that is so cute, I love you so much.” 

“Are you going to do this when you see me at fifteen?” 

You press against him further, he can feel your heart beating quickly against his side, you were terribly excited.

You scream when he finally flips the camera, it makes him jump slightly and you fly upright and pull the phone from his grasp to bring it three inches from your face. You jump between the screen and the boy on your right, trying to place which one you like better, both are awfully cute. 

“You are such a baby! Look how cute you are, oh my god! You sound so little, look at your widdle cheeks here!” You push the phone back in his face, he finds it comical, you bring your hands to try and pinch at his cheeks but over the years he’s become more defined and has much less baby fat. 

“What the fuck is that!” You choke out a laugh at his suit, you assume it was the homemade one he very briefly, one time mentioned. Peter’s blush confirmed the assumption, “hey! I did what I could.” 

“I saw that montage of pretty berlin girls, petey, imagine if they knew you were a hero.” You laugh when he reaches a hand to pinch at your side, your positions changed, no longer laying next to Peter you’re sitting with your legs tucked underneath, your knees poking the side of his thigh. You’re both naked, his top sheet pooled around your waists, chests bare to each other. 

Peter’s phone is in your grasp, his left hand rests on your thigh, eyes tied at your face to watch your reaction, he’s happy you’re enjoying it this much, he thought for sure you’d make fun of him and pray to the heavens you found him now, but he’s now thinking you may have liked him better as a kid. 

You pout and awe at him, “you looked so happy when you got your new suit, I love you so much, oh my god.” 

Your jaw drops at the end, “were you a virgin when you filmed this?” 

Peter snorts, “sure was.” 

“Literally, how? Cause you are so fucking hot here, like after the shower? You know your wet hair is my weak spot, and the flip? Why don’t you flip for me more, like now I know that’s a thing you can do, why are you not doing it? Like, babe, I’d fuck the shit out of you here, like my fifteen year old self would.” 

Peter takes his phone back, “you’re still convinced you’d date me back then?” 

He is chuffed, he won’t admit how ego inducing your praises were. 

You move to lay back up against him, settling with your head on his chest you smile at him. 

“You said the best day of your life was when you got your new suit, how could I not love you?” 

Peter winces, “that’s not the best day of my life.” 

You frown, “it’s not?” 

He shakes his head confidently, “nope, it’s been updated.” 

You tilt your head, “oh, to when?” 

Peter kisses your forehead, “to the day I met you.” 

[ibbythebee]

Late Night Study

»»————-　➴　————-««

pairing: college!peter parker x reader

genre: fluff, such big fluff and smut

summary: Peter’s having trouble with his homework, and you help him out… in more ways than one. And a scene inspired by ‘Fangirl’ by Rainbow Rowell

warnings: 18+ content, because there is sexy time and tiny bit of swearing. No established relationship.This is protected sex, and vanilla, because it’s my favourite flavour. Also consent is sexy.

words: 3.6k

Keep reading

[ibbythebee]

Late Night Study

»»————-　➴　————-««

pairing: college!peter parker x reader

genre: fluff, such big fluff and smut

summary: Peter’s having trouble with his homework, and you help him out... in more ways than one. And a scene inspired by 'Fangirl' by Rainbow Rowell

warnings: 18+ content, because there is sexy time and tiny bit of swearing. No established relationship. This is protected sex, and vanilla, because it's my favourite flavour. Also consent is sexy.

words: 3.6k

masterlist

You’re ready for bed. Skincare done, pyjamas on, teeth brushed and now melting into the mattress of your bed, sinking underneath the mountain of plushies, just enough so you can still see the computer screen on your lap, playing a movie. 

You finished your work for the night and felt accomplished enough to reward yourself with a lazy night in. As far as you were aware, your neighbours from your floor had dolled up to go out. At first you considered it, but Peter had just recommended you to watch the movie About Time, and you knew you were not going to get to sleep unless you fed into your curiosity.

Peter was right. The movie was amazing. By the end you felt so warm, soft and complete, that had you not heard the knock on your door, you would’ve been out cold.

You rub your eyes and don’t move for a moment. Maybe you were just hearing things.

The knock comes back, and this time there’s a rhythm to it. You smile, knowing the culprit.

“Come in!” You yell, “you know my door’s carded.”

Familiar brown curls peek from the door and then Peter’s there, closing the door quietly behind him. He barely sees you beneath the plushies and chuckles, immediately dropping his belongings by your bed. He speaks to you through his eyes for a moment, and when he goes limp you immediately tense up, knowing exactly what he's about to do.

He ignores your squeal, landing right on top of you and the soft objects. "Ah, so soft." His head buries into the blankets, fully aware of his dead-weight crushing you. 

“Get...” you squirm underneath him, pushing upwards, shifting your legs to try and escape, but to no avail. Giggles pass your lips as you squeal again, “get off me! I can’t freakin’ move!”

His laugh rumbles against your body, and after a few minutes he finally rolls off, reaching down to grab his bag from where he dropped it. “Alright, but for real, I was actually wondering if you could help me study for a bit?”

You both straighten up, to look over his work book. It’s a bit awkward for you, so you shuffle across your bed, and tug on his hoody till he moves to sit beside you, backs pressing against the plushies. 

“Well, what do you need help with? This is very unorthodox, Pete.”

He laughs, combing fingers through his hair. The action does little to keep his locks away from his forehead. They droop right back down and it takes everything in you not to reach up, push the strands to the side and kiss his forehead. 

Peter takes you out of your trance, flipping to a page of his notebook and then his textbook, resting half of it on your thighs. “This section.”

You gloss over the text, and then look at his notes. He’s silent as you do this, watching your previously playful expression turn quickly to concentration. 

Peter thinks you’re cute when you’re focused. Something about the way you seem to be in another world, the way you can recite pages of text about different technology, physics, designs, and be humble about your abilities at the end of the day. Bonus was, he could stare at your face for a while and you wouldn’t mind, because you just wouldn’t know that he was observing.

“I can help you,” you finally say, “but it’s like 1am.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but I gotta get this done for tomorrow. My tutor’s been on my back about this since the start of semester.”

You make a face at him, “you have Flynn, right?”

“Exactly!” He laughs when you give a dramatic shudder of your shoulders. The older man was a good teacher, yet all anyone remembers from his class is the smell; as though he hadn’t showered in a month, and then tried to mask it with spray deodorant. “And you know what he told me? He said that you aced your exam, and that I need to come to you for help.”

“Nah, I don’t believe you.”

“He also said you’re like really pretty or whatever, so I have to come to you anyway.”

Your face feels warm, and you drop your head when you smile. You respond coyly, “yeah, now I believe you.”

“So, you’ll help me out? I can make it up to you.”

“I was gonna help you out anyway, but I’m listening. What’s my reward?” You had an inflection to your question, which you hoped Peter wouldn’t miss, though at the same time, hoped he'd dismiss as a joke.

He licks his lips, and then nudges your shoulder with his. “It’s a secret. Let’s study for a bit, and then I’ll give you your reward.”

Now, he definitely had meant something when he said ‘reward’. It sent a hot flush to your cheeks, and you press your thighs together subconsciously.

“Yes, sir.”

»»————-　➴　————-««

“Historical uses of engineering. Progress is not made without recalling our past.” You were reading out loud, voice low. At first you would read and then quiz Peter to see if he remembered anything about what you recited.

It was no surprise to you that after a few minutes you both made an unspoken decision to let you keep reading without stopping for quizzes. There wasn’t enough time in the night for quizzing and Peter’s brain was like a sponge.

“Ancient era, middle era, renaissance era, and modern day--”

You cut yourself off, shifting uncomfortably. Suddenly your neck and back were all sore, and you found no escape for the pain. “Sorry,” you mutter, massaging the corner where your neck curves into your shoulder.

“Wait, what about this?” Peter moves a few of the plushies to your desk and situates himself right in the middle of the bed, his back against your pillows.

You move up to your knees as his legs and arms spread. A bold invitation, to which you accept without hesitation. Turning around you fall between his legs and press your back against his chest.

“Better?” He gently asks.

“Not quite.”

As though he could read your mind he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“That’s better,” you add in barely a whisper, allowing your neck to rest by nesting your head on his broad shoulder.

He smells divine. A freshly showered kind of smell with remnants of his usual cologne by the collar of his hoody. It feels so good and safe here. You melt further into his warmth and twist around till you could feel the material of his clothes under the side of your head and your hair tickling the bottom of his chin.

Once you get comfortable you continue reading, catching yourself eyeing how beautiful his hands are, entwined together right by your rib cage. Not close enough to your breasts.

Another long half-hour passes and he just listens to you. His heart beating calmly underneath your ear, small breaths blowing against loose strands on your hair. At some point, you had both slid into the bed sheets and now you’re both lying on your sides facing each other. The book is the only thing keeping you from moving in closer.

From what began as your normal voice turned to a whisper as you read for another hour. You finish a paragraph on computer-aided design fundamentals, and look up at Peter, who's already gazing at you.

The silence is comfortable, yet thick. You press your knees together, feeling your tummy stir when his dolomitic eyes dip to your lips.

A sudden weight on your waist pulls you in, closing the gap between your hips.

You don't read on and instead close the book, all while keeping your gaze on his face. It's clear that there is only one thing on your minds.

His masculine hand comes down from your hip to grip the top of the book.

"I think it's about time I gave you your reward." You allow him to take the thick object out of your hands, placing it on the ground and turning to you immediately, hand tentatively resting back onto your hip.

You wiggle in closer, free from the obstruction of the book and hold onto the fabric of his hoody by his waist. "I have an idea of what it might be."

"Do you now?" He smirks, meeting you in the middle and closing the gap between your chests. "Since it's a surprise, can you please close your eyes?"

No hesitation, you do as told, excitement running through your body as you feel his fingers feather across your cheek, until they settle by the back of your neck.

Sheets shuffle as he moves with care, taking in the scent of you, the softness of your hair and skin under his hand and how long your eyelashes look.

Peter's breath fans over your lips and on instinct, your mouth opens slightly. With a final shift, your lips finally touch and you melt into him, tugging his hoody toward your direction, resolving to hook a leg over his and softly grinding your hips into his own.

He reciprocates your hungry action, cupping your jaw with both hands, and making sure to worship your bottom lip. It's so soft and intoxicating, he just has to kiss you there. He smooths his tongue over, muffling the gentle moan you emit.

Hands begin to roam while your heads twist with each kiss. Your fingers finally crawl into his locks and then it's his turn to make a sweet noise when you give a light tug.

He pulls away to look at you for a moment, drawing his hands down to your hips, before slipping his fingers just underneath the hem of your shirt.

"Can I?"

You nod immediately, taking a hot breath in as he traces over your belly, and then over your ribcage. Closer and closer, your shirt pooling by his wrist.

He watches you watching him, and smiles when your eyes meet. He's barely begun and your response to him is a clear invite to keep tracing up your bare skin.

The tip of one of his fingers touch your nipple and you realise you had been holding your breath. It hardens at the contact, sending electricity straight to your lower abdomen and your legs tangle further into Peter's.

With your mouth already open, he comes back to your lips. The kisses get wetter as he gives a squeeze to your chest. After a while, Peter pulls away from the kiss, with your bottom lip between his teeth. He's obsessed.

Your eyes open with the action and you share a smile, caressing his cheek as your lips disconnect. You run a thumb over his mouth, and then your other hand and fingers are there grazing over the skin of his face. They trace from his forehead to the tip of his nose, and then gently move over his eyelids, around his cheeks and down his jaw till they make contact with his Adam's apple.

He purposefully swallows his saliva to make the bump on his neck move. As soon as it does, your mouth is there and he exhales when he feels your tongue ease over it. You're obsessed. He's completely mesmerising. His jaw is sharp, but his skin is so soft. He's so masculine and bold, yet so boyish and sensual.

An abrupt moan escapes your lips and you slap a hand over your mouth. You hear a chuckle and then he's on top of you, hoody strings dangling over your bare breasts.

His fingers have curled into your pyjama pants while you were distracted with his neck, already feeling wetness there. The flushed look on your face is encouraging and he presses down on your clit, acutely aware of how your eyes cannot help but shut and your legs squeeze together.

"You're so beautiful," he says, voice low and smooth. "You don't have to hold back, okay? Everyone's gone out."

You're completely under his spell, and you barely whisper out a response, before he presses against your pants again, eliciting a hum. Your hands go to his arm, feeling the way his muscles work to ensure you respond with pleasure. While he rubs, you manage to slip your shirt off, letting it fall to the ground by your bed.

You watch with lustful eyes as his head dips to your chest, attaching his lips to your right nipple. Upon impulse your hands tangle into his hair, giving tugs when new waves of arousal wash over your body.

You suddenly feel cold as he sits up, leaving your breasts with the sound of a wet smack and removing his hand from your damp pyjamas. You almost whimper when he meets your stare and smirks, pulling his hoody over his head. You then help him with his shirt, pushing yourself up from lying down, and the moment the material hits the ground with a thwump, you're at his lips again, fingers roaming over every inch of his chest and waist.

Peter pushes you back with a firm kiss till your head meets the pillow.

He kisses the tip of your nose and hooks his hands under your legs, pushing against the back of your thighs, until your knees are facing the ceiling. "You comfy?"

Before responding, you guide his hands to your hips, where you help him grip the edge of your pants. Taking the hint, he shimmies the last bit of your pyjamas off, adding it to the growing pile on the ground. Then before he can even take a look at you, you're pulling down on his trackies and underwear.

"I'm comfy now," you giggle.

Both of you are naked and drunk with lust. There's no visible sense of discomfort on your face, but Peter is a gentleman and has been since he's entered your room, and so he has to check in with you before continuing. "You okay to keep going?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes."

He laughs, sliding his hands along your thighs. "Well, thank fuck for that, because I don't think I can hold it in anymore."

Your eyes dip downward, a smirking playing on your lips. "I never would have guessed."

He gives you a face before leaning down to share an ardent kiss.

"You have a condom?" You enquire with a hushed tone when he pulls away, keeping your foreheads together.

"Do I?" He feigns shock and reaches into his backpack retrieving his wallet. Suddenly he reveals a handful of condoms which you question how they had even fit.

Your jaw drops at the amount, chuckling with a mix of surprise and arousal. Why is the sight of Peter holding a bunch of condoms so hot to you?

"I know it looks like I'm just out here having sex every other day, but the truth is Aunt May insisted I take all of these."

"She's a wise woman. Protection is very important."

"Absolutely, you never know when they'll come in handy.

"You can come in my handy."

"Y/N."

He picks one out, tearing it open with his teeth. You've always fantasised having a guy tear a condom wrapper open with their teeth. Something about the action guarantees that you will be turned on, and with Peter doing it without being asked - without knowing how much of an effect he has on you - takes you into overdrive and you bite down a moan.

You watch with increasing excitement as he rolls over the latex. The sight of his beautiful, long fingers working is enough for you to feel that electricity in the bottom of your abdomen again.

When he's done he positions himself between your already trembling legs and begins to slide himself along your folds. You both sigh at the contact, and instinctively gauge at each other's dazed reactions.

"You're actually so wet," he breathes, a crease forming between his brows as every stroke forward and back already feels like heaven.

"That feels good... oh my- can you press harder?"

And he does. Boy, does he deliver. Hands planted on either side of your head, he hovers over you for a better angle. A few times you feel pressure by your entrance, which result in whimpers when he doesn't fully go in.

Unbeknownst to you, Peter's thinking the same and his patience is beginning to run thin with every stroke.

"I'm gonna put it in now, okay?"

Hearing him is like music to your ears, and you hum eagerly in response.

One of his hands come down to steady himself, and the other comes up to yours where your fingers intertwine. "Tell me if it hurts, or if you want to stop. I want you to feel good. This is your reward after all."

You give him a nod and squeeze his hand. There's pressure at your entrance again. This is it. You suck in a breath as Peter's hips slow forward and then the pressure is replaced by a full feeling. It's been a long time since you last had sex, and you thought it would sting a little, but to your pleasant surprise, Peter fit in perfectly and it feels surreal.

Yours and Peter's moans echo in your room when your hips meet. He pauses for a moment, taking a mental picture of you beneath him; the way your eyelids are drooped, the way your whole face somehow looks more kissable. As he dips his head down to meet with your lips, his hips begin to move again. In and out. Slow and steady. He leans on his elbows now, chest against chest, thumbs caressing your cheeks.

You have to put your hands by his lower back, squeezing his skin there when his hip dips into you. Such a simple action of the curves of his back drives you crazy and your toes curl when he hits a spot.

Peter muffles your pleasure-filled noise with his tongue, addicted with your taste and the vibration of your voice. Heat radiates off the two of you, as the pace quickens and you don’t realise that you’re getting wet in more than one place.

Peter’s groans fill your senses, as he sits back on his knees, pulling you back into him by your waist. If he wanted to, he could easily lift you up, move your body around to fit his sexual needs. You kind of wanted him to do that. To use you the way only he wishes.

As if reading your mind yet again, he scoops you up from the sheets, keeping you connected as you settle on his lap. A new wave of arousal washes over you with the new position. You were already close together while doing missionary, yet this position feels so much more intimate and sensual.

You wrap your arms around his neck and arch your back into him, finding a sweet angle which forces your head back in pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispers with heat by your ear while his hands squeeze your bum, aiding your movements.

Sighs, moans, wet sounds and the creak of the bed all mix, echoing in your room and probably the hallway too, but either of you couldn't care less. The pleasure and the images of your movements were all you can think about.

Your hips rock into his at a moderate pace, the addictive feeling of him and the sounds he's making begin to increase the urge to climax and you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

Your voice by his ear consumes Peter's entire body and he starts to tremble underneath you, his thrusts becoming messy.

"Ah, think I'm gonna finish," he says at the speed of light, his hold on you tight and only tightening my the second.

"M-Me too," you respond airily, your head full of stars.

"Oh my God, Y/N."

His arms lock around your torso, pulling you flush against his chest. With your name passing Peter's lips and the beautiful messiness you're creating you spiral off the edge, squeezing your thighs and knees into the side of his hips.

Drawn out noises of pleasure escape yours and Peter's lips, as you share the moment. Eyes are shut tightly and heads are fill with ecstasy.

His movements pause for a second and then he's riding out the climax, thrusts slow but hard. His grip around your back loosens, and soon you're staring at each other.

His cheeks are tinted pink, eyes hooded and mouth open slightly to catch his breath. A few curls are slick on his forehead, and you don't think you've seen Peter look so attractive before. You drink in the sight, whimpering when he lifts you up, pulling himself out of you.

He sets you down against the pillows, brushing his lips over your own hot cheeks. You reward him with a breathy giggle as he traces up to kiss your nose. Then he's back down to your mouth, this kiss in some way more special than every other he shared; it's full of warmth, safety and complete adoration of you.

After when he stands to discard the condom, you feel so cold. There was no way you were going to let Peter go back to his room for the rest of the night.

"Hey, Pete?"

"Yeah?" He beams at you, throwing away some tissues from cleaning himself up and promptly returning to you on the bed.

You laugh as he flops right next to you, a hand over your waist. "Wanna shower together?"

"There's no way... that I'd want to do anything else right now than shower with you."

Your eyes squint at him, as you give him a playful push. "You had me in the first half not gonna lie."

"No, I don't think I want to leave your room tonight. Or maybe ever."

There's a silent pause. At his answer, you're practically squealing and kicking your feet in your head, though all you explicitly express on your face is an ear-to-ear grin.

"You're so... ugh!" He attacks you with kisses. Your adorable, post-sex-glowy face is too much for him. "So fucking pretty. I can't."

With every kiss you laugh and your heart is so full and warm, you forget that you have classes to go to in the morning and that it's around 4am now.

"From now on come over anytime you need help with studying. Please," you say once you've settled from your laughter.

"You too. Call me if you ever need help. I've got more rewards up my sleeve."