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luveline · 3 years

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a special friend, part 4 [Fred Weasley x reader]

summary: you finish school, get a job, break your hand and make away with fred weasley in the process

tags: mutual pining, getting together, implied/referenced self-harm, the self-harm isn’t graphic but it is there so be aware before reading, hurt/comfort, mental health issues

word count: 9.5k

read part one / part two / part three here

The summer after you turned 18, you worked in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for the managers, your best friends, Fred and George Weasley. You’d finished your NEWTs, scraping a few Acceptable’s and a sad bunch of Poor’s. This didn’t matter too much to the boys, as they didn’t bother sitting their own at all.

Oh, how Molly raged. She sent you letters, begging you to tell them to reconsider. You sent them letters, begging them to do as their mother said. They never bloody listened to anybody once they made their minds up. You struggled through your last couple of months at Hogwarts whilst they set up shop. By the time you finished school, the shop was the most brightly lit and overly loud storefront on Diagon Alley.

You didn’t have the mind for arithmetic, so that ruled out being their accountant. And a lot of their stock was handmade, so you couldn’t help with that either. This resulted in you mostly running their errands and stocking the floor.

It was a disgustingly nice life considering you were simply mooching a job from your friends. You still lived at home with your mother, though you often spent the night in the sofa bed upstairs.

Admittedly, it had taken you a while to recover from the upset that being alone had caused you. To be fair to them, as soon as the twins had left, Ron and Ginny had (obviously) been tasked with checking up on you, inviting you to breakfast and quidditch matches. It was awkward and transparent, but by the end of the year Ron tolerated you and Ginny could speak to you without cracking up, so strides were made. Still, you’d been lonely. The twins knew this, and deep down you thought that they were still trying to make it up to you by being overly kind and loving. The steady supply of gifts they’d sent you during your NEWTs continued to this day, though they were given in person.

Ridiculous things, jars of sweets that were bigger than your head and enough throw blankets to fill a caravan. And horribly thoughtful things - books on meditation, boxes of plasters with smiley faces drawn on each one in biro and an abundance of letters.

They were the best and worst parts. You kept them in a drawer in your bedroom. Your favourite one was one they’d sent the week they’d left. It was especially apologetic.

Our darling ghost, our most precious friend, our radiant star.

Every letter said the same thing in different words.

Take care of yourself, look after yourself, are you eating, Ron says you’re getting skinnier, Ron says your hand was bleeding at breakfast, please take care of yourself, we can come and get you if it’s what you need.

On Hogsmeade weekends you’d meet up for hours at a time in the Three Broomsticks where they’d grovel and fawn over you like you were a dying woman. You couldn’t count how many times you’d been apologized to or how many hugs you’d been forced into.

They were right to be concerned. The terrible thing about suddenly having friends again was that it hurt worse to be alone afterwards. You could barely eat, submerged in a lonely haze. You struggled to talk, though you made a big effort when seeing any Weasley. One or both of them must have expressed concern to their mother, who sent you letters herself asking after your health.

‘We’re so excited for you to finish up school, dear. Work hard and take care of yourself.’ She had written once. You’d cried for hours.

And you’d done it! You finished school. The train ride home had been sickeningly bittersweet. Your sour mood had dissipated completely when you noticed that right beside your mother, Fred and George waited. You had almost ran to them and Fred had spun you in circles, showering you with compliments.

“Brilliant girl,” he’d said.

Brilliant girl. He said it in your dreams sometimes.

You didn’t feel so brilliant now. Your hair was sticking to your sweaty forehead, struggling free from your ponytail. You preferred to stock the shelves by hand instead of using magic, it helped you feel as though you were actually working for your pay instead of mooching off two fools who liked you too much for their own good.

The shop would be closing soon. In the snug darkness of the stockroom, you could hear one of the twins shepherding stray patrons out of the door.

You took a moment to sit on the stool tucked away for moments like this. George had made it very clear when you’d started working there that at any time if you felt overwhelmed you could make a break for the storeroom. You tried your hardest to keep these visits to a minimum, but some days were worse than others.

You covered your face with your hands that smelled faintly like the hand soap from the upstairs bathroom, breathing in deeply.

For once, you’d been having a great day. You hadn’t smashed or broken any merchandise, it had been weeks since the last time you’d been the victim of a punching telescope and even longer since you’d been bitten by a Pygmy Puff. It had been a customer.

You often worked the floor and helped anyone who needed assistance. This included multitudinous students from Hogwarts, many of which recognized you in some far off way or vaguely knew your face. But today was the worst. A girl from your dormitory had been browsing the love potion display (a display you had strongly contested). You’d had many conversations with her, had maybe even had something close to friendship when you’d been younger. Feeling mildly confident, you’d said hello, asking her how she’d been since Hogwarts was over for you both.

She’d stared at you so blankly. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

On the outside you’d laughed it off, saying how you must be confused.

You were taking it hard. It was so difficult for you to talk to people and put yourself out there and encounters like this with women like her made it so much more difficult.

Angelina, George’s girlfriend and someone you’d also shared a dorm room with, had been passing by and assured you that you weren’t silly for asking how she was. “She’s a stuck-up bitch,” Angelina had said, smiling at you kindly. “Try to ignore it.”

You tried. You always tried. It wasn’t ever good enough.

Now you sat in the stock room, breathing hard. Were you forgettable, unlikable? The unfortunate interaction helped confirm your suspicions that you were invisible to others. And when they could see you, they didn’t want to, not one bit.

The loneliness was palpable sometimes. Fred and George were amazing friends, and though you had a huge crush on Fred, that was what they would both stay. If you couldn’t even get a girl who’d lived in the same room as you for seven years to acknowledge your existence, how would you ever find a person who could stand you enough to love you? Would you ever be loved so deeply, or would you be alone forever and ever?

You knew it was silly to worry about these things. Fred loved to remind you that you were young and pretty and capable all by yourself because somehow you always doubted it. You couldn’t help it. It was second nature to assume the worst of yourself.

The tears were quiet and ugly. You really didn’t want to cry. You sniffled and dabbed at your eyes, though the tears showed no signs of slowing down, hands covering your face.

It felt hopeless.

You heard movement near the door. You flinched, using your long sleeves to dry your face off and pinch your nose clean.

You finished sorting through the Pygmy Puff food as quickly as you could and locked the stock room door behind you as you left. George and Angelina were lurking near the register, flirting like schoolkids whilst George counted up the proceeds of the day. You looked in the mirror stationed above the Peruvian darkness powder display at your red face.

Your hair was rumpled, your baby hairs frizzy and unordered. Your lips were chapped and dark circles peaked through the concealer you’d applied uselessly this morning. You felt so horribly miserable at that moment, everything condensing atop you that it caused a new wave of tears to start.

You turned your face so that George nor Angelina could see it and prayed you sounded normal.

“I’m going out for some air,” you said as loud as you could manage.

You didn’t wait for a response. The bell above the door jingled behind you.

The warm summer air felt nice on your damp face. You looked up at the big empty sky and sniffled again. You felt ugly inside and out today. Sitting on the cold pavement outside the shop you pressed your face deep into your knees, trying to escape the nauseous feeling that had followed you around all day. When it refused to dissipate, you pinched red polka dots from wrist to crook of your elbow and gave in to it.

You felt so alone.

You spent a long long while like that, knees dirty. The shop door opened and you forced yourself to look normal, rolling down your scrunched up sleeves.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Fred asked.

He was dressed in black slacks and a navy button down, hair tousled perfectly. He was as handsome as ever and the summer sun had brought all of his freckles out marvellously, giving him a sun-kissed look that drew you in like a moth to a flame.

You more often than not stayed for dinner to avoid the speech that came with skipping meals. And because you liked him very much.

“Yes, please.”

“So polite,” he said, crouching to be eye level with you where you sat on your knees.

“What’s the matter?”

“Sorry,” you said, wiping the wetness from your eyelashes. “I’m just tired.”

“Not too tired for minestrone, I hope.”

“Never,” you laughed at him.

“Good work today,” he said, standing up. He offered you a hand and you accepted, though when he pulled you up you almost fell back down with your aching knees.

“You staying over?” he asked, holding the door open for you.

“Can I? I’ll only have to floo back for your mum’s tomorrow morning.” You said, starting up the stairs. You were referring to Molly’s standing invite for breakfast on Saturday’s now that everyone was either all grown up or on summer holidays.

“Course you can,” Fred said, ascending the final few steps to the upstairs flat.

The door was open already. George and Angelina were probably hidden away in his bedroom, waiting for Fred and yourself before they started making dinner preparations.

“You want a toastie too?”

“No,” you said, dropping unceremoniously into one of the well-worn dining table chairs.

“Not even half?”

“No thanks, Freddie,” you said, endlessly fond.

“Vagabond.”

You held your head up with your hand. You could imagine a life with him like this where you both came home from work and cooked dinner and slept in the same bed. Watching as he started taking out the leftover vegetables from the fridge and frozen stock, you knew you should be helping him, especially because he was making minestrone because you liked it so much, and that made you feel like screaming very loudly until you couldn’t breathe.If he had his way the twins would be living off takeaway and plates from Molly’s kitchen.

You were planning on helping, definitely, but your head felt as heavy as your heart at that moment. Without thinking you put your face down on their hardwood table, eyes tracing scratches in the wood grain, covering your head with your hands like a child afraid.

Fred was talking about how the punching telescopes were probably going to need to be locked away because the price of bruise balm he had to give out was getting on top of them. You wanted to tell him that he should stop having a huge heart and that he should be selling the balm instead of giving it out - he was a prankster, after all - but you couldn’t get the words out.

You were spiralling and you knew that. The worst part is that being self-aware about your meltdown didn’t make them easier to handle, it made you feel more embarrassed.

You tried to say something about helping make the soup and it came out garbled against the table.

“You stay right there.”

Easy. The sounds of chopping faded away. Your ears were ringing so loudly you couldn’t hear much else. You gave yourself five minutes of this, the table and the ringing and the bad feelings, then you clawed your way out. Fred was watching you as you resurfaced, with that look on his face where you knew he felt sad for you but didn’t want you to know. Too bad he was an open book.

“It’s not that bad today,” you said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He turned the soup to simmer and ladled a bowl for himself and a bowl for you, transferring the toastie he’d made onto his plate. It all smelled amazing. He’d cut the carrots as small as you liked. He put the plates down and sat in the chair next to you.

You knew even if it made you sick you would’ve attempted the whole bowl to show him how much you appreciated him. He might’ve known this too because he always gave you very reasonable portion sizes.

He broke the toastie apart in his hands and put half on your plate without saying anything.

“Where’s George and Angelina?” you asked, dipping the bread in your bowl. Fred was blowing the steam from his spoonful.

“I regret to inform you, I’m 98 per cent sure that they are, in fact, canoodling.”

You bit down on your cheek so hard it made you flinch.

“Canoodling,” you said, shocked.

“They’re fucking.”

“No, I knew what you meant, Fred,” you said, sounding strangled.

“Right,” he said regretfully. “Those crazy kids.”

“It’s not so crazy, really. Isn’t that what people our age do?”

“We’re our age and we don’t,” Fred said through a mouthful.

“We don’t?”

“Well, do you?” Fred asked, looking at you quizzically.

“I think you’d probably know if I was,” you said. “Are you?”

Fred was silent.

“Oh my god,” you said. “You are!”

“Are you messing with me? No, sweetheart, I’m not fucking anyone.”

This was not a conversation to be had over soup.

“Have you ever…”

“Had sex? I’m 19, so guess.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” you laughed, shaking your head. Your scalp was starting to ache from the weight of your ponytail. You pulled it out, running your fingers through the limp hair to try and hide your bobble line and then tucking it behind your ears, feeling relieved.

“What, then?” he asked. He put your half-full bowl in his empty one, taking them to the sink. You followed him, planning on stealing the washing-up duties from him.

“Have you had a girlfriend before? Or a boyfriend?”

He laughed. “I saw Angelina on and off after the Yule ball. But not really, otherwise.”

You nodded, beginning to scrub the bowl you’d picked up with renewed vigour. Fred reached around you to put the frying pan in the sink, his arm against yours. He was on drying duty, a tea towel over his shoulder.

“What about you? Any school romance?”

“Don’t you think this is the kind of stuff we should already know about one another?”

“No,” he said easily, taking the clean bowl from your hands before you could set it on the drying rack. “Maybe. It’s never mattered.”

“I had a boyfriend. For a year and a half, 5th and 6th year.”

He heard the bitterness in your voice.

“Johnathan Cronus. He was on the quidditch team-”

“-before he got kicked off for trying to push Diggory off his broom,” he finished. “He try pushing you?” he asked, mouth pursed.

“No! God, no. He was nice, most of the time.”

“The rest of the time?”

You turned off the tap and dried yourself off with the towel he held, looking up into his face to smile reassuringly.

“He didn’t understand why I couldn’t be happy. When he realized I wasn’t going to get better, we got into a stupid fight, then we broke up. It was a long time ago,” you said, leaning on the counter behind you both.

“It must’ve hurt still.”

“He ended up with my best friend, so yes.”

“He didn’t end up with me,” Fred joked, nudging your shoulder with his.

You smiled. He was right about that, whoever your best friend had been, Fred was your best friend now. That’s why all that stuff that happened before, all the pain and grief of losing friends and loneliness, was bearable now. It was still annoying to think about and hurtful in the acute way ending friendships was, but it was bearable.

You leaned heavily into his side and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders like you’d hoped he would.

That night you lay on the sofa bed feeling intensely jealous. George and Angelina had eventually appeared for dinner, looking exuberantly happy. You and Fred had been sitting on the sofa watching tv, some weird show about muggle doctors who kept falling in love with each other. George and Angelina had been holding hands while they warmed up the minestrone.

They’d sat on the floor to watch tv with you, making funny jokes and laughing loudly. You and Fred had a healthy two inches of space between you.

You hadn’t thought much of it at the time besides that it was nice to see such earnest love between two people, especially a friend who’d taken care of you and supported you so often.

But now, sleeping on the twins' pull out futon, you couldn’t help but wish to do what they were doing. It was grating. You knew that tonight, George and Angelina would sleep together as they did most nights, content. You wished you could be doing the same with Fred.

You were a coward, you always had been, so it made sense that this would never happen. Maybe Fred would find a perfect girl like Angelina, stunningly attractive, motivated and determined. A girl who didn’t need to calm herself down from the throes of panic each time something slightly bad happened to her. You were jealous of a future partner that didn’t exist.

You stared at the tv on mute for hours. The sofa bed creaked each time you moved so you waited until you were certain you needed a drink before moving.

You padded through the darkened hallway to the kitchen, lit by the streetlamps outside, the warm yellow light throwing golden lines up the cupboards and walls. You didn’t bother with the light, feeling out the handles and your favourite glass, a rounded cup adorned with tiny glass indents in the shape of flowers, by memory alone.

Sipping slowly at your water, you swore you could make out the familiar soft snore of the boy you adored.

As the summer drew to a close your shifts became longer. Many times Fred and George had tried to send you home at your usual finishing time, but the store had still been packed with your wizards and witches looking for the perfect concoctions to store away for the forthcoming school year. You found yourself working long hours, as did the boys, the three of you non-stop stocking and restocking. It got so busy you found yourself on the till a couple of times.

Today was one of those days. Fred had gone to scrounge up some more puking pastilles, their top sellers, and George had been fixing a display that somebody had knocked over and was proving difficult to repair.

This was the part of the job you liked least, finding it difficult to keep up a facade with customers and to talk to people you were unfamiliar with. You’d known Fred and George’s mother for almost 9 months and could still barely manage a conversation with her over dinner. What hope did you have of manoeuvring chit-chat with strangers?

Very little hope, it turned out. Many were dissatisfied with your awkward lilting voice and trembling hands. One bold man even offered to take over the tills himself when it took you a solid three minutes to work out what change he needed. You weren’t stupid or slow, though there was no shame in being either, you struggled to think under the pressure.

You slammed the mechanical till shut on your fingers and had to take a moment to yourself. You pulled it open with a gasp, the customer in front of you gawping at you as your eyes filled with tears. Your hand was bright red, already purpling in stripes where the metal had squeezed you too tightly. You examined your shaking hand in front of your face, the blood leaking at an astonishing rate, and found yourself sitting on the floor.

George was minding his own business, narrowly avoiding becoming a human doormat as he attempted to right the broken interior of a wooden display case that was refusing the loving reparo’s he had sent its way when a young man approached him.

He must have been around 11-years old. “Mr Weasley,” he said urgently. “The girl at the back is bleeding really badly!”

George felt his eyebrows come together in concern. He rushed to his feet, firmly patting the kid on the shoulder in thanks.

You were indeed bleeding very badly, sitting behind the countertop that housed the till. A small crowd had gathered to watch. You noticed none of this, staring at your bloodied fingers in an awful expression of horror. George frowned at the tears on your face, not knowing for a split second what to do. He leaned forward and hooked his arms under you, lifting you up.

“Alright! Shop’s closed for today! Thank you for your business!” He shouted to be heard over the hubbub, the people who’d gathered by the tills peeled away, some bemoaning their missed purchases. George pushed you so that your back was leaning against the countertop and took your bleeding hand into his own.

“How have you done this?” he asked you.

You looked at him blankly.

He could feel his heart beating in panic. You weren’t responding.

“Y/N? We’ll fix it, okay?”

You nodded, fat tears rolling down your cheeks out of sync.

He couldn’t do a mending charm without causing bad scarring, that he knew. He couldn’t cast Vulnera Sanentur to save a life! And what if your fingers were broken? From the state of you, he assumed they were.

Fred appeared in the nick of time, arms full of boxes. “Where’d everyone go? Oh, Y/N!” He exclaimed, half dropping the boxes to the floor.

“How’ve you done this?” he asked, perfectly mirroring George, his arm instantly finding a comforting place around your arms.

“Slammed in the till,” you stuttered, face white.

“Mending?” Fred asked George.

George shook his head. “The scars, look how she’s bleeding.”

He wanted dittany more than anything, but he had no clue where the little bottle they kept was - the first aid kit? The bathroom?

“Accio dittany,” he said, pointing his wand in the general direction of the flat. The tiny vial whizzed down the stairs and would’ve hit the door full pelt if he hadn’t pulled it open just in time, catching the dittany in his hands.

He pulled the cork clean with his teeth, tipping the contents onto your crooked fingers non too gently. The dittany quickly began mending the many cuts, sewing the skin together before your eyes. The leftover ran into the blood, creating a murky copper liquid that dribbled down your wrists and onto the hardwood flooring.

Your hands still hurt, the skin still darkened and purpled. Fred pulled his wand out and pointed it at your hand, taking a steadying breath. He performed a moderate mending charm, watching with bated breath as the skin yellowed, reddened, and then returned to its normal complexion.

You were still shocked, the memory of the pain hard to forget. You were usually good with pain, the shock and the intensity definitely catching you out.

“Thanks,” you said stuffily.

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” The twins said in unison.

You felt embarrassed. “Godric, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you dolt,” said George.

“Accidents happen all the time,” said Fred.

“Like that time Fred burnt his eyebrows off making burning bonbons,”

“Yeah,” Fred said testily. “Or the time George pissed himself drinking wine coolers at Lee Jordan’s Garden party last summer!”

“Or the time Fred fell down the stairs trying to spy on the beauxbatons girls!” George exclaimed, saccharine.

“I wasn’t spying, dickhead. You were literally standing right next to me!”

“Semantics,” George said.

You chuckled weakly, wiping your face. You didn’t trust your freshly healed hand, though you didn’t doubt Fred’s spellwork. It still felt wrong.

“I’m sorry you had to close early.”

“Nah, don’t be. I think you deserve a nice night off after that whole malarky.” George said.

“You’ve been working too hard, doll,” Fred said. George turned from you both to return the puking pastilles again to their respective shelf.

“Pot,” you said.

“You’re a pot. I’m the kettle.”

You mock glared at him. “You’re a thorn in my side.”

“Don’t be like that,” he said much too closely, face so close you could feel the exhale on your cheek. You were still shaking from your injury, adrenaline pumping. The skin of your arm was still streaked in blood and dittany.

“Alright, let’s go clean you up,” Fred said, essentially carrying you up the stairs to the flat.

You made your way to the bathroom, Fred clicking lights on as you went. It was a small room, a countertop about 8 feet wide with a sink in the middle, the cupboard underneath rammed with miscellaneous things, bathroom related and not so much. You couldn’t stop trembling long enough to hold your arm under the sink.

“Okay, up we go,” Fred said, lifting you with ease to set you on the countertop. You couldn’t stop looking at your hand.

Fred procured a washcloth and held it under the warm water. He washed the blood from your arm with all the gentleness and softness you’d come to expect from him. He held your arm lightly over the sink so any bloody dripping would land in the sink, though you couldn’t understand why - your clothes were already smattered in red flecks.

The pain was over but you were still overcome with emotion; the shock, the hurting, Fred’s tenderness. It was a lot - it was too much. You used your cleanest arm to wipe the fresh tears away.

Fred took a double-take. “Still hurts?”

“No,” you said weakly.

He dumped the cloth in the sink. “Hey,” he said, wrapping his arms around you from under your armpits, almost like he was going to lift you up. You hugged him back without thinking, pressing your damp face into the neckline of his shirt.

“You’re overwhelmed,” he reassured you, his throat moving against your shoulder with each word. “Take a deep breath. It’ll go away. Take a deep breath.”

“It was supposed to be easy. I couldn’t even do the easy stuff right,” you said mournfully.

“You’re not even supposed to be on till, Y/N. It’s my fault.”

“No,” you whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

He squeezed you tightly to his chest.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered back.

“It’ll go away,” you repeated his words back to him.

The only person you ever got angry at was yourself. You used to get angry at everything, everyone when you were younger. But something happened to you as you grew, the people-pleasing and the lack of forgiveness in people soured everything about you, and now you were this quiet, pathetic mess who couldn’t let it go.

Fred stayed with you that night, both of you with your feet up on the sofa and that respectable 2-inch gap, and you were so angry at yourself you couldn’t bear to look at him.

He kept turning his head to look at you in your peripherals. You ground your teeth together, jaw-locked, wanting to go home. If you could go home you could be angry at yourself in private, you could punish yourself however you wanted. And you did want, you’d made a stupid mistake today that had not only inconvenienced Fred and George - you’d lost them money. Not that they would ever say this to you, but you had. And you knew times were hard for the Weasley’s and you never ever wanted to be a cause for those hard times.

You had to close your eyes against the feelings of self-loathing. George had given Fred a meaningful stare before he left for Angelina’s. You couldn’t decipher what he’d meant.

The tv was set to a charts show channel. Both yourself and Fred were pretending to read your own respective books, though you were a much better actor, remembering to turn pages and move your eyes. Still, you hadn’t managed to take in a single line in the last hour.

You were sickeningly mad and you couldn’t hurt yourself without hurting Fred.

Feeling eyes on your face, you turned. Fred was staring at you.

You offered him a look that said, what do you want?

He held his hand out, palm up.

You glanced at it confused. He gestured at you more firmly. You raised your eyebrows, placing your hand atop his in what you hoped was the correct response. He threaded your fingers together and nodded, going back to his book.

You kept your gaze on him expecting an explanation that he didn’t want to offer. You let your joined hands rest on the sofa between you and turned back to your book, feeling the anger seep down your freshly healed hand and into his, where it stewed and dissipated.

He fell asleep like that, hand still clutching yours, book half opened in his lap. You watched him, much less angry. You were filled with that shameful feeling, then, that he was all you could ever want and you were so much less. It was hard to see the prankster in him when he never showed you that side of him; he had his reputation for a reason, but you knew if people could see the softer side of him he’d be known for much more than his pranks.

Neither of you was in pyjamas or ready for bed, you’d skipped dinner, and if you let him sleep that way he’d wake up with a terrible crick in his neck. Just five more minutes, you thought, the feeling of his hand in yours enough to put you at ease. Five more minutes.

You had a really great month. The shop stopped being so busy when the kids went back to school. After a week or two, the boys let you back on tills. You didn’t hurt yourself, you smiled, you went to every Weasley breakfast. George stopped checking in on you every hour you work, Fred stopped getting that sad confused look on his face and you didn’t ever let yourself space out.

And you felt amazing! You were glowing, doing chores around your mother's house, helping the twins cook dinner, you and Angelina even had a few girls nights. Everything was perfect and everyone was happy.

Deep down, you’re running on empty. Everything you do has this high strung energy beneath it - you’re throwing up after every meal, but it’s fine. You’d gotten spectacular at silencing charms. You didn’t even cry when you threw up. It must’ve been normal.

Right?

You bought a new dress, muted green and satin. You weren’t sure you’d ever wear it or where you’d wear it too, you’d seen it in a store window and loved it. It was asymmetrical, one thigh covered and one thigh less so. You analyzed the old scars on show in the mirror, pulling the skin taught on your leg. There was always so many more than you remembered doing. How many nights had you sat there, hurting yourself? They weren’t remarkable in anything but amount.

You missed it. You functioned better when you hurt yourself, allowing all the emotion you stored away to come out in a way you could control. When you stopped cutting yourself, you began looking for pain in different ways, an addict snorting paracetamol when they ran out of flake.

And every addict knew the only thing to satiate the craving was the drug of choice.

You could feel your heartbeat in your ears. Was it worth it to break your clean? To relapse, to throw it all away?

You were doing so well, but you knew if something didn’t give sooner or later you would go looking for relief in places you shouldn’t.

Fred and George would never have to know. You could complete the act and wash up and put your jeans back on and they’d never know.

You rummaged through your trunk from school, looking for your box cutter, heart racing. It was exactly where you left it, wrapped in cloth. You pulled it out into your trembling hands and examined the blunted tip. You dug it into the wall beside you and snapped the old blade off, pushing the new blade free.

You sunk to the floor, your dress riding up your legs so that both thighs were on display. A clean, unbloodied expanse of skin. You would do it again, just once. They’d never find out and you could keep making everybody happy.

One time was never one time, and every addict knew that, too.

You forgot how easy it was to go too far.

The itching was insufferable, especially against your denim jeans. You opted for a knee-length skirt and the darkest tights you owned, hoping they’d make you less uncomfortable. Your shoes were a sad pair of brown converse. It would have to do.

You tugged at the skirt in preparation. Then, you apparated to outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, 93 Diagon Alley. The new posters looked amazing up in the window. You grinned at ‘Fred Weasley’s Basic Blaze Box’ indulgently. You’d help think up the name. Well, you’d suggested the name on a whim and Fred had instantly taken to it.

Opening the door, keys jangling, you grinned at the dark shop floor. You always opened up shop early, these days having to come in earlier and earlier before Fred could get there first and do the morning tasks, claiming he’d woken up early that morning totally coincidentally. Nothing to do with you, ghost.

Your self-inflicted injuries started to give you grief after 20 minutes of unpacking and lighting. You sat on the (new, George mandated) stool at the till holding your hand over the healing cuts in an attempt to prevent yourself from scratching and reopening them. That reminded you, you wanted to pick up a book on medical spells. You were a full-grown adult now, you should definitely have a firmer knowledge of healing. Hogwarts had never been praised for its organized curriculum.

You could go upstairs and annoy the twins until opening. However, that would result in one of them or both tag-team bullying you into eating a breakfast you didn’t want. You turned on the quaint little wireless you kept under the counter, one of Molly’s favourites playing, a newer tune, and you hummed along, head in hand and elbow on the counter.

There was a stack of Hogwarts mail-order forms on the side that caught your eye. You smiled bitterly, reminiscing about your time at Hogwarts. Those long months with them, you and the twins (and sometimes Lee Jordan) against the world. Lee Jordan was on the other side of the world now, following his own path. He didn’t need to rely on the success of his friends to make a life for himself as you did.

You picked at the cuticles of your nails. You’d never been one to shy away from a hangnail, ripping them off with little sympathy for yourself. It was disgusting, really, as half your nails were infected or crusted with a little blood in the seams. You frowned, looking through your purse - the Star embossed pouch the twins had given you what felt like so long ago, that you’d D-I-Y’d into a shoulder purse - for the tin of plasters George had given you. The tin had a smiling tiger on the front and had once

contained tiger-striped plasters, but had long been replaced by standard brown ones.

You smiled at it softly, clicking it open. You dabbed your freshly bleeding skin with a little germolene before wrapping it up tight with a plaster. You did this another two times.

Oh, how put together you looked, taking care of yourself. The twins would be relieved. They could never know about your other activities.

You jumped at the sound of the flat door opening, tin tumbling to the floor. You bent down to retrieve it but couldn’t find it. Had it gone under the counter?

“I fear I’ve walked in on something personal.”

Hardy-hair, you thought. You knew nothing was on show, your skirt was long enough to cover everything even in this position.

“I’ve lost Tammy the tiger.”

“Oh,” Fred said. “That’s truly a tragedy. I’ll call in the search party.”

Despite his sarcastic tone, he was quick to kneel beside you and reach his longer arm under the counter, retrieving the tin. You accepted it gratefully, dropping it back into the pouch. It clacked and clinked against the various items you kept inside: an umbrella, your tweezers, bobby pins, a water bottle. And the box cutter.

“Hands?” Fred asked. You presented them obediently. Although you’d mangled them over the years, this month you’d allowed yourself to grow them out and paint them with a semi-translucent pink colour. Most of the skin was healed apart from the bandaged ones.

“What’s with the plasters today?”

“Picking,” you admitted, even though he knew.

He scanned your arms. The bottle green strappy vest you wore left nothing to be hidden. Pleased at the apparent lack of scratching or picking, he nodded. You dropped your hands to your sides, pinching the fabric of your skirt to make sure it hadn’t ridden up.

“Hair’s nice today,” he said, already reaching for the mail order forms to start filling them.

“Thank you,” you said. God, it should be - you’d purchased a dozen ceramic rollers and had never felt frustration so strongly before using them, and it had enough product in it to style a village. You’d brushed out the curls and oiled and hairsprayed until your eyes burned. The aim was to make your hair look like you’d put very little effort in whilst putting in lots and lots of effort. It fell in soft, shiny and most importantly subtle waves.

Should you return the compliment? His hair always looked good.

“You smell good, too,” he said, already penning down the things you’d need to collect from the storeroom. “Special occasion?”

“No,” you said. The occasion was trying to make your best friend return the feelings you felt for him by becoming enticingly put together and feminine. “Felt like a change.”

“It’s nice.”

“Mandora, Lilac and Patchouli.”

“Mandora?”

“Type of orange.”

“Oh, for sure. You smell very citrusy.”

“I can’t tell if you’re teasing me.”

“Me? Teasing you? I’m wounded you’d think that, Y/N, I really am.”

“We’re standing in a joke shop you own. You literally capitalized off of your ability to tease people.”

“And when have I ever teased you?” Fred asked. You must’ve been imagining the flirty undertones of his voice because his body language was saying the same thing as always: preoccupied.

“Only every day since you met me.”

He laughed through his nose, shaking his head at the list he was making.

“That’s how he shows affection,” George said from the doorway. “It’s an affliction.”

“You must both suffer that particular ailment,” you said, tapping your foot on the floor. You opened the till to count the change from yesterday though you’d already taken a note of it the night before.

“I’m wounded,” George gasped.

“It’s how she shows affection,” Fred mocked.

The change was right. You closed the till slowly, still wary of your previous accident. Fred held out the checklist he’d written for you. There was a little drawing of a mushroom at the top with a speech bubble that said, ‘you’re a fun-guy,’.

“You’re a funner-guy,” you told him.

“Oh my god, you maneater. Stop flirting with me in front of my brother.”

“Sorry, George.”

“You should be,” George said lightly from the front of the store. He was fixing up the window displays with a casual wand flick that made you sick with envy. If the shop had been open and filled with patrons you wouldn’t have been able to hear him.

You picked at the thread-work on your skirt. It was a really nice skirt. You smiled to yourself. A year ago, you wouldn’t have allowed yourself to wear something so nice. You were so focused on making yourself small and hiding your personality that you never would’ve had the courage to wear something so nice.

It was strange how having a lack of self-esteem could make you embarrassed to show even the smallest amounts of personality. How Fred and George even found it in themselves to befriend you when your likability was so low, you couldn’t comprehend.

For once, you felt like a person. They’d given you so much: friendship, love, security. They never once made you feel lesser for being unhappy and messy. They’d given you everything you needed to grow as a person, a real person, instead of a ghost.

And you paid them back by cutting yourself and lying to their faces.

You pushed it from your mind. They would never find out, so it didn’t matter what you did. You’d been staring at nothing, the floor by your feet, and Fred had been staring at you.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Fred said. “I wasn’t saying anything.”

You laughed, faking a grin. “How unusual for you.”

“I must be ill,” Fred agreed.

You got to your feet, stretching your hands in front of you and rolling your shoulders.

“I’ll start these,” you said, clutching the checklist to your chest.

“Don’t rush.”

“That’s not a very boss thing to say,” you joked.

“I’m not really your boss.”

“How else would you define it?”

“I’m not sure our relationship would be appropriate if I was your boss.”

“Of course,” you said, arm brushing his jacket as you whispered past him.

You remained an image of calmness until the storeroom door shut behind you. Then, you let your mouth hang open.

‘Our relationship’? Relationship? Our relationship!

Inappropriate boss/employee relationship? You screamed to yourself silently. What had he meant by that? What else could he mean? It would be inappropriate if he were your boss and you his employee and you were in a romantic relationship, right?

You felt crazy. Maybe you’d read into it wrong? But what else could that mean?! Maybe he hadn’t meant to phrase it that way.

You pulled the light switch on. You could hardly read his boyish handwriting with how your hands were shaking.

By the time you’d collected about half the orders, you were thinking straight again. He probably hadn’t meant anything by it. It would be inappropriate for a boss and his employee to have been friends for so long, is what he probably meant. Plus, you’d shared a bed a few times, a sofa bed even more. He must’ve been implying your closeness in general.

Because you and Fred Weasley weren’t in a relationship, and you probably (definitely) never would be.

The next order on the list wanted 5 boxes of nosebleed nasties. Godric, where did kids get this kind of money from? And why did they need to skip so many lessons?

“Y/N? I’m coming in,” Fred said.

He pushed the door open, hands full of paper. “I found some I missed from yesterday.”

You nodded, letting out a steady exhale. The storeroom was longer than it was wide, meant for one person.

“This would go a lot quicker if you used your wand.”

You rolled your eyes. If you used your wand it would be over in minutes, and then what were they paying you for? Basic summoning? If you thought about it, they didn’t need you there at all.

Your thigh itched against the tights and you scratched, forgetting yourself.

You glanced up at Fred with a deer caught in the headlights look. He was close and stepping closer until your hands brushed.

Don’t be a coward, you thought.

“Fred… why would it be inappropriate if you were my boss?”

Fred hadn’t expected that. He seemed to be gathering his courage too.

“Well… well bosses don’t usually sequester their employees in darkened storerooms, do they?”

“Only the ones with mal-intent.”

“And do you think I have malicious intentions towards you, ghost?”

“Of course not,” you said honestly. Fred, hurt you? It was a bad joke.

“Tell me if I need to stop,” he said. To stop? Whatever would he-

Fred ducked down until your lips were an inch apart. His hand hovered over your face. Do it, you begged him. Please, make this real - this thing between us. Tell me it isn’t solely on my end. You could feel his breathing against your mouth. He used his hand to tilt your head upwards, and then you were kissing.

You didn’t know what to do, and that was obvious to him. For a split second, he must have felt like he was kissing a ghost. Then, everything you’d ever wanted to say to him was fighting to come out of you. You selfishly grabbed his face with both hands, pulling him down, down to meet you. He nudged your nose with his and you opened your mouth for him, kissing him so ardently you worried you’d bite him.

Fred kissed you exactly like you expected him to, lovingly, blissfully, like you were the most treasured thing on the planet - he was gentle to your hungry.

He broke first, turning to the side to breathe. You gasped, leaning your head into his chest. You laughed against his shirt, feeling his skin vibrate underneath you.

“What’s funny?” he asked, peering down at you.

“Again,” you said instead, on tip-toes to catch his mouth with yours.

“I don’t usually miss a joke,” he said in between kisses.

“Wasn’t a joke,” you said against his mouth. “Just-” another kiss, “-was funny.”

His spare hand was pulling you closer to him, your heaving chests flush, the fabric of your vest top was so thin you may as well have been naked for the way his touch was making your skin prickle.

“You’re right,” you said quickly, grinning at him, nose tips touching. “This is inappropriate.”

“You insufferable thing,” he said, tilting your head up again, mouth at the juncture of your jaw. “Lovely thing,” he said, doing something completely illegal to the skin there.

Your hand was in his hair. You tried not to tug too hard. A pathetic whimper escaped you, resulting in his mouth curling up against you.

“Make that sound again.”

“Dimwit.”

You made the sound again. From that point on there was much less talking. A haze clouded your brain, your fingers curling into his skin and hair and shirt, you could hardly think from his ministrations. You pulled him back up to kiss you on the lips to escape the torture of his love bites.

A firm knock rattled the door. “Fred, a hand!” George’s voice sounded.

Fred clutched your hands together and pressed them to his chest. “I wish I’d eaten him in the womb.”

You gasped, completely forgetting the make-out session. “Fred Weasley, you take that back.”

“Yeah, super funny!” George said sarcastically, still standing outside the door. “Still need assistance.”

“I’m going to fleece him,” Fred whispered, kissing you once, twice, on the corner of your mouth.

Then you were alone, fingers probing the sore spot he’d created.

Had that really happened?

The day wrapped up agonisingly slowly after that, you and Fred stealing looks at each other from all over the shop. It was a surprisingly busy day, neither of you finding a spare moment to seek the other out - the three of you even skipped dinner when an influx of Romanian tourists flooded the store, babbling and bartering as they went.

You managed to shove the last few wizards out the door 20 minutes after closing and locked the door, remembering to breathe, hands still on the lock.

“God, that was a long one. I’m starving,” George said, leaning heavily against the countertop. “Chinese?”

“Actually, Y/N and I are going out.”

That was news to you.

“Nice, I’ll get my coat,” George said.

“Mate - only me and Y/N.”

“Right… right! Oh, that worked out well, 'cos I was actually gonna pop and see Angie anyways. So…” George said, grinning from ear to ear in a way that made you blush.

George disappeared upstairs. Fred had your jacket in his hands.

“Where are we going?” you asked, trying to keep the unadulterated happiness in your voice to a bare minimum.

“I thought we’d walk there,” Fred said evasively, shrugging on his own outerwear.

“Lead the way,” you said.

It was brisk out for the time of year, you thought, pushing your fingers into the pockets of your dark brown jacket.

“Quite the bruise,” Fred remarked.

Your hand automatically moved to cover the hickey he had so generously provided you.

“Bruise isn’t the word I’d use.”

“What word would you use? I’m desperate to know.”

He was teasing, his perfect teeth peeking out from his perfect smile. He was the insufferable one, and the fact that he felt cheeky enough to think otherwise made you want to turn away from him - he was going to ruin you.

“Don’t get red for me now, ghost.”

“Would you shut up?” you hissed.

“Make me?”

You could; you knew exactly what you both wanted, but you wouldn’t allow him the pleasure.

“I like you,” you said seriously. Why did the word ‘like’ feel ten times bigger than ‘love’? He must know by now that you loved him very much. But to like him. It was different.

“I like you too,” he said promptly.

“You could do better.”

“You think I don’t think the same of you?”

“There’s no one better than you, Fred.”

“I’m so scared that you think so little of yourself, you’d allow any young man to come along and be kind to you and kiss you in storerooms. So forgive me, but I have to ask you. Are you sure?” he asked, words creating a fog of warm air. “Are you sure you like me? Because honey, I’ll take you any way you’ll have me. You won’t… lose me, if you reject me.”

You frowned at him. “Freddie, I just told you I like you.”

“I know,” he said, looking so closely at you, you thought he could see the soul inside of you. “I won’t take advantage of you, so I need to know.”

You were silent for a moment, searching for what to say.

“I’ve been so lonely for so long, but I know how love feels,” you told him firmly. “So I want to be brave and have you even if I think I don’t deserve you, and I’m asking you to do the same.”

Fred moved fast as a whippet then, gathering you up in his arms and spinning you around and around until you were dizzy and giggling. “I won’t make a pretty girl like you ask me twice,” he said breathlessly. You were hugging so hard you could feel his sternum touching yours.

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Aren’t I supposed to now?”

“Now?”

“Now I’m trying to get you to go out with me.”

“I’ll go out with you,” you said.

“Well now it’s not fun anymore,” he joked, dotting another quick peck above your eyebrow. His arm remained firmly around your shoulders. “Anyways, I was totally lying. I have no idea where to take you for dinner.”

“I want Chinese.”

“Of course you do.”

It was impossible to put into words how pleased you were to be holding hands with Fred as you ate your supper that night. You’d watched George and Angelina do this same thing a hundred times before. Now you could fully understand why they bothered with it.

It was a very nice thing to be tethered to the person you liked and to be sure they liked you back. That they wanted to be holding your hand as much as you wanted to hold theirs.

It even made eating a less miserable experience for you.

“What?” Fred asked.

“Hmm?”

“You keep looking at me.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” he said through a laugh.

“S’weird,” you mumbled.

“You done?”

You reluctantly let go of his hand so he could wash the plates. You took a huge drink of water and swished it around, hoping he was going to kiss you again and not wanting to taste of sweet and sour sauce. You were supposed to go home that night for tea and buns with your own mother, but you’d managed to give her a quick ring from the phone box outside the Chinese.

So… that was that. You were about to spend the night at your boyfriend's house for the first time. Was it even a special occasion, considering you’d slept over so many times before? This time, you’d get to sleep in his bed - maybe. That’s what girlfriends did, surely? You’d had school boyfriends, no sleepovers, messy hookups that were more because you were expected to want to rather than actually wanting to.

It was different with Fred. And you wanted to sleep in his bed and do all the stupid couple stuff right then and there, but maybe you’d have to wait for some of them. That was fine, you could wait all your life for Fred.

“Alright, Y/L/N. Bed, before you fall asleep at the table.”

You had been nodding off, your thoughts sluggish. You nodded your head where it rested in your palm and pushed to your feet on tired legs with all the grace of a newborn doe.

“Carry me, Fred.”

“It’s 2 feet away,” he said, walking behind you to push you forwards.

You’d been in his room a few times before. It was way less crowded than his room in the burrow, as George had incited the ‘no jokes in the house’ rule. This rule went largely ignored, though there was no stock or product in the flat. There were several sketches on his desk, product ideas and blueprints, schematics and things you didn’t understand.

“Where’s your nightclothes?”

“I didn’t bring them.”

“Oh my god.”

Fred searched through his clothes for something suitable to fit you. He chucked a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a shirt that would be a bit big on you in your general direction.

“You put those on.”

He disappeared to the bathroom with his own change of clothes.

“How conscientious,” you said to yourself, giggling.

You shed your skirt and tights first, assessing the scabbing lines on your thigh in the warm amber glow of the overhead light. They were healing okay, though the deepest one still seemed a little weepy, burning familiarly when you pulled your borrowed bottoms on.

You ignored the shirt, feeling warm enough without the extra layer. You thought about taking your bra off, uncomfortable from a long day, but wondered if that would seem too forward. Blushing, you left it on, burying your face in his pillow. You groaned. It smelled of him. You tucked one leg up towards your chest and hugged yourself, feeling as though this might be heaven.

The door was pushed open gently.

“I forgot how messy you are,” he said, weaving around your discarded clothes.

“Sorry Freddie,” you murmured.

“If you knew how often I’d pictured your clothes on my bedroom floor, you wouldn’t be apologising.”

He pulled the duvet from underneath you like you were weightless. The single bed realistically wasn’t big enough for both of you, but he squeezed in anyways.

“You need a bigger bed,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder.

He tucked the sheet over your shoulders. “We’ve fit on a twin sized bed before.”

“You remember that?”

“Course I do.”

You kissed his shoulder, eyes heavy. “I was a nightmare back then.”

“Prettiest nightmare I’ve ever had,” he said, lips gracing the top of your head.

<3333

a/n i think there will be another part for the nsfw i was too shy to include here hahaha

taglist for a special friend: @wanniiieeee

#fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred and george #Fred Weasley x sad reader #self harm trigger warning #please don’t read if triggering for you #platonic George weasley x reader #mutual pining #friends to lovers #first kiss #fluff #hurt/comfort

621 notes · View notes

heyyyharry · 3 years

Text

Happier

(inspired by happier by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.4k

I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

Part 1: Drivers License

Part 2: Deja Vu

A/N: I edited the original lyrics to match the POV :)

Harry had come up with a thousand scenarios of how this day would play out. Actually, he’d been thinking of this day since the moment he’d received the news. He didn’t dare to hope that she’d say yes to coming back for a sequel. He’d been sure that they would write her character off, give a lame excuse for how his love interest could not make a return and make his character forget about her completely to move on with a new girl in town. It would have been great if it was that easy in real life. Once someone was written off the script, they were gone for good. Real-life relationships were not that simple. Goodbye didn’t mean ‘never see you again’. You would still share the same friend circle and social bubbles, and it was worse when you two worked in the same industry. Harry didn’t know how he’d lasted a year without running into her, not since the Grammys.

“Didn’t you two date?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, but his eyes stayed glued on Y/N from across the room. She wasn’t looking his way, too busy saying hello to everyone else. “No,” he repeated, more to himself than to his co-star. “We didn’t.”

“But she wrote an entire album about you,” said the other twin. What was her name again? Lulu?

“Luna!” cried her sister, Lex. “You can’t ask him that!”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry said with a tight smile, slightly annoyed by the blonde twins, but he didn’t want to seem like an ass on the first day of filming. “And I don’t know if it was for me. You should ask Y/N.”

“Ask me what?”

Harry flinched when he looked up and saw Y/N padding towards them. She hugged the twins, who seemed way too excited. Harry guessed they were Y/N’s fans. They gave off crazy fangirl vibes, probably just pretending not to know the drama to interrogate him. He couldn’t blame them for assuming he was the villain and definitely could not blame Y/N for portraying him as one. It was more important that he knew who he was and how much he had changed since his last relationship. Maybe they could finally be friends.

“Were they bothering you?” Y/N asked him once the twins had left.

Harry nodded. “They’re your friends?”

“Oh, I met them last year on tour. I’m surprised you don’t know them. They were on Disney.”

“I don’t watch Disney,” Harry admitted with a smile. “Well, not today’s Disney.”

“Understandable.” Y/N nodded and bit her lip. She seemed guarded with her straight back and hands hidden behind her. She eyed him up and down, quite subtle yet noticeable. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” he said, nodding slowly. “You?”

“Yeah, but mostly tired because of tour.”

“You’re done?”

“Yup, last night was the last show.”

“Nice.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

Harry blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Y/N giggled. “You still sound very...you.”

“Well, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, you should. But it’s been a year so…I mean, you haven’t changed much.”

“Right,” he said lowly, his eyes falling to his feet. Harry supposed he should say something else, perhaps bringing up another random topic to discuss, but all he could think about was what had happened between them. Things had been messy, hadn’t they? How could they go back to before that? Before her first song about him. Before he’d chosen someone else over her.

Or he could talk about her new relationship. She’d been in a happy relationship for almost six months, right? No wait, hadn’t they broke up two weeks ago? He wasn’t sure because he hadn’t been catching up. If they’d broken up, he’d sound like an ass to even mention her ex’s name. He should just stay quiet.

“I’ll see you later?” she said, gesturing at her stylist who was waiting by the door.

Harry could ask her right now -- the reason she’d agreed to film the sequel to their first movie together. He’d heard from a very reliable source that she’d specifically asked her agent to decline any project that he was in. So did this mean they were good? That she didn’t hate him anymore? He could have gathered his courage and got the answer right then…

“Yeah, see you.”

...but he didn’t.

And so she gave him a smile and a little wave, then happily returned to her stylist.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

“See you, Annie!” Y/N said as she put the rest of her things into her tote bag. Her new driver had got her schedule mixed up, and so she had to wait here for another half an hour. She was in no rush. It had been a light first day, and she’d had a fun time getting to know the new cast members and catching up with old friends.

She sat on the sofa in the lobby, legs crossed, texting her best friend about her day. She’d purposely left out the short off-screen conversation with Harry, and her best friend didn’t even bother to ask. In their world, he didn’t exist, and his name was censored in every conversation like a curse word that was even worse than ‘cunt’. Nevertheless, she didn’t hate him anymore. She was doing just fine on her own, being busy with her career, and she’d been in a happy relationship after her fall out with him.

She and the guy, a model, had broken up two weeks ago due to long distance and some differences that they could not change. They had ended on good terms and decided to stay friends. They said you could only stay friends with your ex when you still had feelings for each other, or you had never loved each other that much in the first place. For her, it was probably the latter. Her previous relationship had been more platonic than romantic, apparently. So she had nothing but the best to say about him.

As she was going through her camera roll, just reminiscing about the past, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to find Harry. He offered a smile and gestured to the spot beside her on the sofa. “May I sit here? My ride is late.”

“Yeah, sure.” She hurriedly scooted over.

“Good job today,” he said. “You were great.”

“Thanks, so were you.” She smiled, and they both looked away at the same time. This was so awkward. She hated small talk. She’d never had to have small talk with Harry. Conversations with him used to be so easy and natural and silly. Whatever this was, it wasn’t them.

“Can we just be normal?”

At first, Y/N thought she’d been the one who’d said it, so when she realised it’d been Harry, she was speechless.

He swallowed and sat a bit straighter, still not looking at her. “I don’t want us to be weird and awkward.”

“Okay,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Wanna try again?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, not to sound like an ass but when Joey kept forgetting his lines, I was so pissed off, I could throw a chair at the wall.”

“Right?!” exclaimed Y/N, feeling free to have finally broken out of her shell. “Like, he doesn’t even have many lines. I know he’s new but damn...you can’t get far if you don’t learn your goddamn lines.”

Harry shook with laughter. “Oh God, we sound like dicks, don’t we?”

“Maybe.” Y/N laughed, covering her mouth. “But you know what? We can’t be nice in this industry. It’s impossible.”

“Shhh, if someone heard this, we would be into big trouble.”

“Oh please, I’ve had worse articles written about me than ‘Y/N speaks facts about her lazy co-star’.”

Harry tossed his head back and cackled. “The worst one I’ve got this week was ‘Harry Styles hates therapists.’”

“What?!” Y/N gasped. “No way! That’s so stupid!”

“Right?” Harry rolled his eyes. “I could get all my therapists to speak up for me but I’m kinda immune to bullshit now.”

“Therapists? Like plural?”

“Yeah, one in every city.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N rubbed her hands onto her legs. “Rough year?”

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he leaned back. “You have no idea.” Then he swept his hair out of his eyes, sucked in a breath, and finally looked at her. “I wish I could have talked to you, though.”

She bit her tongue, knowing what she was about to say next would disappoint her best friend so much, but she had to. “So do I.”

Harry looked taken aback before his lips curled into a smile. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I haven’t talked to you in a year, and I feel like I know everything that’s happened to you except that I don’t.”

What he’d just said might make no sense for most people, but Y/N knew exactly what he meant. She nodded and wetted her lip. “You only know as much as everyone else does.”

“Yeah, I got updates on you from the news and our friends.”

“Same.” Y/N smiled back. “I hate how they write articles about your new haircut but not mine.”

“I like your new hair colour.”

“Thanks. I like your new car.”

Then they both burst out laughing. It was fun and also a little bit strange that Y/N didn’t feel the same anxiety talking to him as she used to. It must be because they had grown and were now meeting again as better people.

“Damn, my ride's here,” Y/N said as she read the text from her driver. “I gotta go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry stood up and followed Y/N to the entrance. “Hey, just wondering--”

“Yeah?”

“Am I...am I still blocked?” He looked a bit flustered as she tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “On your phone. Because I remember you having my number blocked--”

“I unblocked you on your birthday.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugged. “I should’ve sent you a happy birthday text but...I didn’t want your girlfriend to get the wrong ideas.”

“My ex.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They smiled at each other one last time before saying goodbye. Y/N knew it was silly, but she was hoping he would go after her.

Ding.

A notification popped up when she was in the car. She was almost home, and it was from Harry’s number. He’d sent her a link with a message that said, “Hope you like it :)”.

Curious, she tapped on it and was directed to an audio file titled ‘Track 5’. The upload date was last year. About two weeks after their short conversation at the Grammys.

Hurriedly, she fumbled inside her bag for her iPods and put it on before she pressed play.

“Hey, Jeff, I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this song. Listen and let me know if it should go on the album.”

Then came the piano intro. It sounded good, so Y/N wondered how it hadn’t ended up on his last album.

But when he started to sing...

We ended a while ago Your friends are mine, you know, I know You've moved on, found someone new One more guy who brings out the better in you

And I thought my heart was detached From all the sunlight of our past But he’s so nice, he’s so funny Does he mean you forgot about me?

Oh, I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

And does he tell you you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen? An eternal love bullshit he might not even mean Remember when you were with me I meant it when you heard it first from me

And now I'm pickin' him apart Like cuttin' him down will make you miss my wretched heart But he’s charming, he looks kind He probably gives you butterflies

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better

I hope you're happy I wish you all the best, really Say you love him, baby Just not like you loved me And think of me fondly when your hands are on him I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

The song was for her. He’d written it when her new relationship had gone public. Y/N sat there, staring blankly ahead until the honking of a car tore open her inner peace, and reality came crashing back in. The driver dropped her off at her house. Instead of going inside, she stood on her front steps and replayed the song one more time. When it ended, she decided to text him: Why didn’t this make it to the album?

She didn’t know where he was now, but it showed ‘typing’ in less than a second, as if he’d been waiting in their chat since he’d sent that link.

You would’ve hated me, Y/N.

True, she replied. Still, I would’ve loved the song lowkey. And added, I love it btw.

He took so long to type that it was driving her crazy. She flopped down on the concrete stair with her phone clutched in her hands, her heart thundering against her ribcage. Anxiety popped like a balloon when his message appeared: Were you happier?

She reread it again and again.

No.

I wasn’t either, he responded. I kept getting deja vu.

Ha, nice reference.

That song is my guilty pleasure. Love listening to you roasting me on loop.

That last message made Y/N bury her face into her palm and giggle like a fool. She thought for a second and wrote: I could come roast you in person now if that’s what you prefer. I think we’ve never had a proper roasting.

Can we meet, Y/N? Or are you busy now?

No, not busy.

Great, I’ll pick you up.

Just tell me where, she responded with a smile on her face. I got my drivers license now :)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic

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apparentlyaswarmofbees · 4 years

Note

can you do a hc of the bros and would they help mc feel better. like mc is sad and what would the brothers say and do to make them feel better. idk if this has been done so yeah :)

Lol, let's see if I remember what being sick is like, haven't caught a single cold since the start of the year, and thank fuck for that too-

Also, once again, one more time, third time actually, it's hard to focus things on the MC as I try to make it possible for many to put themselves in the story (I know I have written one on MC liking insects but that was very self indulgent lol)

I will change things up a bit on the request, but if it was with my own MC, she would be fairly practicle, checking up on the brothers, giving them water and asking if they wanted food, even keeping company if not contagious. It will look like she is just being considerate but it actually pains her to see them sick, it's just that she is used to expressing herself in acts of service.

When Your Seven Demons Get Sick

Warning: a LOT of uncensored swearing

Lucifer

We all know this can go two ways: either this piece of shit refuses to acknowledge that he is coughing like a damn nuclear explosion or he responsably takes his work home and refuses to fully rest because he needs to keep and eye on not only his brothers but also on the man child he works under that he somehow has come to fondly call a best friend.

So, yeah, tomato tomato.

His stress is reaching levels higher than celestial realm and he definetelly has been staring at a piece of document for way too long and not making any progress.

You will have to literally german suplex this man into his bed if you want him to get more than 5 seconds of shut eye.

It will take a while for his brain to process that 'oh yeah he can trust you to keep at least 10% of the house intact while he recovers'.

He may be a bit insufferable as he will attempt to work again, but it is a very adorable sight to have him whining, being way too happy at small gestures, and of course, his squishy cheeks as he sleeps soundly.

Mammon

As long as he is being dramatic about it, you know he will live.

Though he probably won't realize he even is ferverish until someone points it out that his responses are much slower than normal.

Like, it took him one second too long to screech in terror and start running for his life when he spotted Levi's all nighter dying body crawling out of his bedroom!

And oh yes was he delighted to be deprived of his obligation to go to RAD until he got back to his full health.

Until he was not allowed to not do anything but rest for the entire day that is.

Yes he will be restess and willing to do anything just to be allowed to stand on the front porch for five seconds and yes you will end up threatening to tie him to the bed in a non kinky way and yes you will only be half joking.

Just make sure to keep close attention to his levels of drama so that you can spoil him properly when he truly feels bad.

Leviathan

With him it can also go two ways: either he also doesn't fully realize until someone points it out or he will immediatelly let you a "Oh hell no" the moment he gives out a single cough that feels just a little bit out of the ordinary.

How he will take care of himself, if at all, will depend of the situation.

If there is absolutely nothing to lose from being sick other than the hability to breathe through his nose he would definetelly spent the entire recovering process binge watching slice of life animes while laying confortably on his tub.

If he had plans related to the things he is passionate about though?

I wish you luck because he is definetelly not backing down and will consequently make himself even more sick afterwards.

Although the extremelly satisfied expression we wears even when he can barely laugh without having a coughing fit kind of makes it all worthy in the end.

Satan

The most chill sick person you will ever encounter and will always make sure to be responsable and nurture himself back to full health.

The catch though?

This big brained idiot definetelly doesn't know how to judge between what is small cold and straight up dying when it's about his own body.

So yes he is the kind of person who will always take some painkillers, drink water, lay on bed and read a book until he falls asleep no matter what the fuck he actually has.

So much for knowledge is power smh.

First off, he deserves to be vibe checked with the thickest medicine book you can find in the cluttered mess he calls a bedroom.

Second off, he is so much more prone to being pissy when he's sick. It's almost funny how fast he goes from :) to >:( in half a second the moment someone who isn't you steps inside his bedroom.

And last but not least, cat videos. No further explanation needed.

Asmodeus

Oh someone have pity on this poor baby. He took so much care to not get himself sick and has managed to avoid even the worst of pandemies for centuries! So why now?!

He is basically so desperate to recover to the point he actually makes it take longer due to him stressing things out.

And he feels so sticky, he will basically want to take 5 showers per day.

Also his voice is basically gone?? And that just makes him want to s c r e a m ????

Locks himself inside his bedroom and throws a pity party.

Many of his posts on the media are something like "Oh no! I think I got sick? I am feeling a bit under the weather right now so, will you nurse me back to health~? Pretty please~ ❤" while in real life he is pretty much sneezing and coughing at the same time every 5 minutes.

If you bring him consolation sweets he might cry. Both because you're making him happy and because he is definetelly going to have to lose those extra calories later.

As much as he wants to cuddle he doesn't let you too close in case it's contagious and damn if he isn't rocking the pale skin, runny nose and swollen eyes.

He doesn't agree.

Beelzebub

Big boy is definetelly one of the easiest demons to take care of when sick seeing he will to his most to not feel like a chore to you.

Yes he will lie when he feels unwell so that you don't worry.

And that's when you should vibe check him with a spoon.

Like yes you may be getting out of your way to take care of him but no it's no problem at all because yes you love him a lot and would do anything to see him get better and you know he would to the same if not more for you if switched places.

Happiness is the re ocurring 'aah's as you spoon feed your bed ridden man and watching as he keeps on smiling throughout each bite and eats everything like a good boy.

But you can't tell me he doesn't manage to get drunk on cough syrup though.

He is definetelly not as hungry as usual but damn this cough syrup tastes great.

The results are Beel going on a cursed chain of crypid comments in which he makes sure to whisper them in the strangeat ways you could imagine at the most random times always giving a happy smile once he is done.

He apparently doesn't recall any of it the next day-

Belphegor

How he reacts to being sick completely depends on who is close enough to hear him whine.

Most of the time, whenever he feels anything out of ordinary, he will immediately text Beel in case this is just one more of their cases of twin-powers.

If he is actually sick though?

He will not stop whining, but then he gives a cute smile when he sees you and even makes a motion closely resembling grabby hands with his fingers as he raises one arm in your direction while saying some shit like "I missed you" when you literally were only gone for exactly 2 minutes to go grab him a cup of water and I think you can understand the power this little of shit has.

Be prepared to roll your eyes so much your eyes will probably start hurting.

The good side though? He is the only brother who listens exactly to what you tell him to do without feeling bad about being a burden. Though it's all because he doesn't wants you to worry about him any further than necessary.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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thora-jane · 3 years

Text

Twin-Way Mirror (pt vi)

(a/n): Hey everyone. My mental health's getting a little bit better. These past few weeks I've had some depression/anxiety episodes but I think I might be on the better end of it now? I will say that the stories I post may be more spread out over time (I had a lot of this already written before I made the tumblr account, and I haven't had the time/energy to write more of the story. So like...idk thank you for your patience and understanding? anyway, I hope you enjoy this :)

Summary: Thanks to the Weasleys, you start to recover from the attack at the world cup

Word Count: 2,229

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries, reader has a bit of a ptsd attack, also things get a little bit spicy but nothing nsfw.

TAGS!: @aliiiyyaaah @superblyspeedydragon @bamboozledflamplant

***

Someone was moving you. Everything was spinning. Mudblood. Mood. Blood. Mud and blood filled your mouth, swirling with bile and spit. Spit. Something smelled terrible, you smelled terrible. Reeking.

You felt a hand on your cheek. The pain stabbed across your face like a knife.

You bolted upright.

And screamed.

“Hey, hey hey hey it’s alright,” you heard George’s (or was it Fred’s?) voice through your ragged and panicked breaths, his hand placed gently on your back, “(y/n), we’re safe now, we’ve made it home.”

You finally looked around, you were on the couch in the burrow’s living room.

“Home?” You asked. You looked up, George was rubbing your back and Fred was sitting on the arm of the seat, eyes flitting back and forth between looking at you and down at his hands with what appeared to be shame. You looked back at the rest of the room, where the others had managed to find room standing and watching you, Harry and Ron stone-faced, Ginny with her jaw clenched, Hermione appeared to be on the brink of tears, Mr. Weasley looked awfully serious, and Mrs. Weasely was holding her muddied and bloodied hand to her chest, a damp rag in the hand at her side and fear on her face.

You felt your face gingerly, most of the caked on mud and blood had been smudged off, except for the grime around the large bruised and scarred lump on your face.

“Yeah, home,” George nodded again with a smile, “How are you feeling?”

You held your head in your hands, “Who was that?” You felt your eyes well up as you sat up more and looked down at the rest of your body, you were still covered in mud, and there appeared to be a boot print right in the middle of your shirt.

“Death Eaters,” Harry piped up from the back, “Voldemort’s followers. They stormed the campgrounds and-” He stopped, looking at you, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” His voice trailed off, and it took you a second to realize you were crying, the salty tears stinging the wound on your face.

“Oh it’s alright Harry,” you interrupted yourself with a shaky breath, “I don’t mind, keep talking-”

But Mrs. Weasley interrupted you, “Alright everyone, I think it’s best we give her some space. I’ll come back in a bit to help clean you up more, sweetie. Get some rest.”

The others filed out of the room quietly, but Fred and Geroge stayed beside you in silence, after a moment you sighed and bit back a smile. “I don’t suppose I look any better than either of you now, eh?” You chuckled, but it came out more like a twisted sob. George’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as he pulled you into a gentle sideways hug, “I wouldn’t say that. Why, look at Freddy over there, you could hardly believe we shared the same womb! He’s hideous!” He chuckled softly, squeezing your shoulder. You let out a wince at the pressure and he frowned, turning to you, “you’re in pretty bad shape, (y/n), but I doubt it will last. Is there anything we could do to help?

You looked back down at your crusted and soiled shirt, “A change of clothes would be helpful. And cleaning up doesn’t sound like the worst idea either.” you smiled, or at least offered what you could manage of a smile without hurting your face, “I’ll go get my clothes-” You started trying to get off the couch with a long and pained groan. Everything hurt, your stomach, your legs, your hand. And Merlin, you could barely move your wrist without tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

George seemed to catch on, and he carefully eased you back onto the couch, “I’ll go get you a change of clothes. Stay here, alright?” he stroked the back of your head for a moment before getting up and leaving.

You and Fred sat in silence for a moment before nuding him with your foot, “Oi, I don’t think I’ve seen you this quiet since...well, I can’t remember.”

“(y/n)...I’m so sorry this happened.” He said, looking up at you hesitantly.

“Hey, it’s alright. We’re both here now, yeah?” you shifted in your spot on the couch, leaning forward as you tried to maintain eye contact, but he only looked away again.

“No, no (y/n) it’s not alright. I shouldn’t have let you out of my reach. I shouldn’t have let the crowd separate us, I should have forced my way back sooner-” his voice was dead serious, something that you hadn’t thought was possible before now.

“I don’t want you blaming yourself for this,” your voice was a little uneasy, you could feel it as you tried to keep your breathing steady, “Because I’m fine now. We’re home, you heard your brother-”

“No, but (y/n) you’re not fine!” he snapped, standing up and gesturing to your body in one big sweep of his arm, “They were going to kill you! And whose fault would that have been? It wouldn’t have been yours I can tell you that!”

“Freddie,” George’s voice was stern as he returned to the room, a change of clothes in hand, “Go get some things to clean up. What’s done is done and we can only start moving forward. I don’t think either of you are in a state to start pointing fingers,” He walked towards you on the couch as Fred went off to the kitchen, his hands balled into fists.

George knelt down beside you, brushing the hair from your forehead and dabbing at your lingering tears with the edge of his sleeve. “How are you feeling?” he asked, holding his hand under your chin carefully and examining your face.

“A bit banged up, surprisingly,” you quipped. You paused, looking down at the clothes in his hand, “So...should I change?” You looked back up at him, a bit embarrassed by your current lack of mobility.

“Oh! Yeah,” he agreed with a bit of a start, “You can’t quite be up and about right now, huh?” He glanced around the room before snatching the blanket off the back of the couch and holding it up in front of him as a curtain between you two, “I swear on Fred’s life I’m not going to move this until you say you’re done, and I will scream bloody murder if anyone walks in,” He delcared in what you assumed was a mock-stoic voice from the other side of the blanket.

You began to peel off your muddied pants and slide your sore legs into the new pair. It wasn’t until after you had them on that you realized how this unfamiliar stripey pair fit quite loose, “These aren’t mine?” you mumbled to yourself, and from the other side of the blanket you could hear George clear his throat.

“I uh...couldn’t figure out how to open your trunk so I..grabbed a pair of my pajamas. I promise they’re clean. I can get you yours later it was just...short notice and I didn’t want to be a bother-”

“It’s alright,” you assured him as you started to lift your shirt over your head, “At least they're clean- OW!” you felt a screaming pain stab it’s way through your wrist after you had managed to get one arm out of your sleeve.

“Are you ok?” His voice was nervous, and you saw the blanket shift beside your head-

“Oi!” You almost shouted, “Watch the blanket!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” you heard him mumble as the blanket lifted up a little bit, “I guess we’ll call it even from this morning.”

You had managed to carefully wrangle your way out of your shirt and pull one of the sleeves of George’s shirt before it dawned on you, “Oh Merlin, did you see me? Just now?” Your stomach twisted as you shrugged on the second sleeve and looked at the open front of the shirt, “Damn buttons.”

“If it’s any comfort, I only saw your shoulder. And I looked away as soon as I saw-” He stammered out nervously, as you gave the buttons down your front a calculated stare.

“Just...never bring this up again, yeah?” You muttered mostly to yourself before your first attempt at buttoning up your shirt. But your try was unsuccessful, pain twisting the muscles and bone in your wrist as your right hand went to try and help the button through the hole. You let out a faint gasp of pain, and from the other side of the blanket you heard George shift his stance awkwardly.

“Do you need any help?” he piped up from his side.

You paused, sighing as you carefully moved the shirt to cover your front without buttoning it, “If I must. But if you try to pull something then so help me Godric the second I get my wand back you’re dead.” He let the blanket fall to the floor and his hands flew up to his face, squinting through his fingers. It was clear he was trying to lighten the mood as he perched himself on the edge of the couch. You chuckled at his efforts and reached for one of his hands with your good one, placing his fingertips on the buttons of his shirt, “You don’t have to do it with your eyes closed, dimwit.”

George smirked, opening his eyes slightly and making it clear he was staring directly at the buttons he was fastening, “Y’know, I don’t usually do this for folks,” he smiled looking back up at you with a dramatic wink. His eyes stayed latched to yours as he worked his way up the trail of buttons, making a point to not stare at your chest.

“Oh? This isn’t a regular occurrence between you and your roommates? You don’t sit in a circle helping each other tie your ties each morning? You don’t fix Fred’s hair and make sure Lee’s robes are nice and straight?”

George laughed, “Keeping Lee’s robes straight is Fred’s job.”

“Well someone ought to tell him he’s not doing a very good job of it, Lee’s robes wouldn’t stay smooth unless he used a charm,” you sighed, a weak smile lingering on your face.

“Oh! That reminds me,” George reached into his pocket and pulled out your wand, “managed to get it out without a scratch!” He tucked it into your messed-up hair and smiled, “Good as new!” His hand lingered on the side of your face, carefully touching the area around the swollen and bruised gash for just a moment, “You don’t look that bad, really. A little roughed up but give it some soap, water, magic, and time, you’ll be back to your wonderfully-faced self,” his voice was encouraging, but your thoughts had drifted off to elsewhere.

“Oh my god, you took on a Death Eater.” You blurted out, eyes widening, “Are you ok? Did he get you at all? Are you alright?” Your hand reached for his face, there was a scratch just below his cheek bone but other than that and a few smudges of mud he appeared fine,

“I’m alright, (y/n), really,” he patted your hand.

“Oi, I got you out of there too, y’know.” Fred interrupted from the doorway, “Where’s the worry for me?”

“Oh my god, Fred!” Your voice was startled as you scrambled off the couch and stumbled across the floor over to him. He had just barely managed to set down the bowl of water and sponge before you practically collapsed in his arms, “are you alright? What on earth were you two thinking? Running into danger like that? You could have gotten yourselves killed!” You winced at the pain pulsing through your body, but you only hugged Fred tighter. After a second you let out a muffled sob into his chest and you could feel his arms wrap around you, patting your back.

“But it’s alright,” you heard him whisper, “You said it yourself, we’re home,” He placed a kiss on the top of your head, and you could feel another body hug you from behind.

“We’re here, (y/n). Now c’mon, it’s late and you should get some sleep,” You felt George lean down and kiss your cheek before helping you shuffle back to the couch and wipe the last bit of mud from your face.

***

You woke up the next morning feeling sore, but minimal agony in comparison to the night before. As you opened your eyes, you realized you were face-to-chest with one of the twins. You figured the two of you had slept on the couch the night before. As you poked your head out from behind his shoulder, you saw the other twin asleep in the chair. Neither of the boys had changed their clothes from yesterday, and you looked down to see the large gold “G” against a green sweater, with its sleeves wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

“Mmm, (y/n), are you up?” George murmured, his eyes not opening.

You smiled softly at his warm embrace, “No George, go back to sleep,” you whispered, laying down again with your head against his shoulder.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he nodded, barely awake as he pulled you closer and nuzzled his face into your hair with a sleepy sigh.

#fred and goerge weasley #fred wealsey fic #fred x you #fred x y/n #fred weasly x reader #fred x reader #fred weasley #george x you #george wealsey imagine #george wealsey x reader #george x y/n #george x reader #george weasley

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percydarling · 3 years

Text

Percy rant because this blog needs more posts

Listen, Percy Weasley is a member of the Weasley family so as much as you dislike him atleast respect the fact that Percy exists because if you don't that is just insulting to the character to pretend he doesnt exist.

And if you do that you're as bad as the movies where Charlie wasn't there.

Next-

I think I resent the twins a little is because there is absolutely no character development shown. Apart from Gryffindor traits(brave, courageous, etc) and being funny, the twins wouldn't exist.

Notice how I say twins because there is absolutely no difference highlighted between them. They're both same or similar. All these differences are headcanons by fans. That's not what pisses me off the most.

The fact that there is no remorse or guilt for the pranks they play. There is no apology for sending Percy dung. No apology for catering to Ron's acronophobia. No apology for anything.

And when Percy comes back, Fred says he's a moron. Okay maybe that's brother talk but seriously?

There's no growth. They were immature when they were little and still immature at 20.

And then there's the whole leaving from school. I mean you are in your last year. All that is left are your exams but you make the reckless decision to leave immediately. After which there are no consequences of your actions. Your parents forgive you and all is well.

The twins never receive any punishment which obviously bolsters their confidence and they become more wild.

Percy is a good person and a good brother.

If someone insults you constantly and it's your own family who does so. Imagine

In your mail you receive animal dung.

You get trapped into a pyramid

You overhear your brother talking about how you're the worst person to their best friend

Your father laughs at you and doesn't show you respect.

Your father accuses you of betraying them

Your father tells you you got the promotion due to him and not from your hardwork

Your brothers take your things and ruin it constantly

Your brothers make fun of you in front of your boss

Your brothers and sister throw food at you

You have a special nickname known as git which is not used fondly

Your gf is in a coma and you overhear your brother making fun of her.

You are accused of being an accomplice to your boss's illegal work and are about to go to court for a trial and your family is not bothered.

So you're tired of the torture. You leave.

And besides your mother noone tries to contact you.

Why should Percy return?

Let me make this very clear:

HIS DAD OR ANY OF HIS SIBLINGS DID NOT TRY TO MAKE AMENDS. THEY DID NOT CARE.

They weren't even worried about him DURING A WAR?????

So when I say Percy shouldn't have to apologise first I mean it.

Another thing

People who believe Percy left his family over a promotion.

Did you not read how Arthur accused Percy of being a spy?

Did you not read how he was treated by the twins?

Did you just ignore how Ron talked about him?

Did you ignore the fact that they believed a villain supposed to be dead was alive?

The entire Magic community believed that Harry was lying?

Did you not read how everytime he talked people kept shutting him down?

Did you not read the way his Dad kept disrespecting him?

It wasn't about the job. It was about the lack of respect in the Burrow. It was about the way he was ignored. It was about the way he is made fun of for being different. It was about the fact that being quiet is wrong. It was about how being smart is wrong.

It was about how Percy didn't fit in the Burrow and noone bothered to comfort him about it.

Finally people who believe that Percy was responsible for the Chamber opening.

1 question -How ?????

How is Percy stopping Ginny from telling Harry about the diary equivalent to opening the Chamber?

People who believe this, I can't waste my time on yall. I seriously can't.

And the real ending-

People who hate that Percy is alive and Fred dead.

Listen you're allowed to have favourites. But hating someone because they lived instead of your favourite character is too much a stretch don't you think?

You can have your opinions. You can dislike Percy. All that I'm asking is that you find legitimate reasons to dislike him.

Don't hate him for surviving a war.

I'll just like to end this with:

I relate to Percy Weasley and I believe that he is one of the best complex side character written and we should appreciate him more.

#percy weasley #percy weasley deserves better #percy weasley centric #weasley family criticism

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weasleyswizardpleases · 3 years

Text

Funny Girl (Fred x reader, George x reader)

Summary: Being serious has never been your thing, but when you find yourself at the center of a conflict that tears Fred and George apart in the midst of the second wizarding war, it’s hard to find something to laugh about.

Warnings/Notes: Language, kissing, violence mentions, love triangle?, angst, arguing. Vaguely conceptually inspired by the musical of the same name. Written for @acosmis-t ‘s 2.2k writing challenge!

You’re sitting with George outside of Lee Jordan’s flat, waiting for Fred to finish recording Potterwatch so you can all three grab dinner. You listen absentmindedly on a small radio George produces from his coat pocket, fiddling with your wand.

“Rapier,” you laugh, “I know it’s called ‘pirate’ radio but it is a bit swashbuckling, don’t you think?” you say, poking fun at the moniker Fred’s chosen for the program.

“I suppose Lee thinks so too, this makes it the third program in a row where he’s called Freddie ‘Rodent’ instead. I’d laugh if we didn’t have the same last name!”

“Well, it suits you both. You’re devious as a couple of weasels and fuzzy, too,” you say, prodding at George’s springy ginger hair playfully. He grins and brushes you off, but your touch seems to stir something in him.

“What is it, did I hit your factory reset button or something?” George smiles halfheartedly, but his brooding becomes more apparent as he tries to cover it up. “C’mon, what’re you pouting about Georgie?”

“Y/n, I have to tell you something,” he says. Your heart sinks at the words. It sounds oddly serious.

“Oh, this can’t be good news,” you mutter, looking at him expectantly. He takes a deep breath.

“Well, I suppose it’s up to you whether it’s good or bad. But hey, look, you have to promise not to tell Fred if it winds up being bad.”

“Deal.”

“Y/N,” he says, turning down the radio, “I like you,”

“Well gee, I like you too. We’ve been friends for about nine years and you’re just now figuring out that you like my company? Some people, I swear.”

“No, I like you. I mean, I, uh, I have feelings for you! But it’s complicated.” Your jaw drops and your hand flies to your mouth.

“Oh! What? You mean-”

As you’re searching for the right words, the door swings open and Fred spills out into the hallway, tugging his long winter coat over his slim shoulders. You try to cover your blush, glancing between them. Fred and George. George and Fred. Your two best friends since first year, your greatest confidants, and now, the two people you trust most amidst the terror of the war. You know instinctively that to be with George would be to close a door to Fred, not just in terms of romance but also friendship.

“Later,” you hiss excitedly in George’s ear. Fred eyes the two of you suspiciously, but before he can say anything, you’re mocking him boisterously.

“Good show, Rodent!” you say, clapping him roughly on the back. George composes himself nervously and follows as you and Fred turn to leave. “How about a hunk of cheese? I’ll take you out for something real nice, maybe a wheel of gruyere,” you add. Fred chuckles and throws his arm around you. You’ve always had a more physical friendship with Fred, whether it’s snuggling on the couch or shoving each other about over who gets the better seat on the train. You hope that he can’t feel how tense George’s proposition has made you, and you wriggle out of his arms and jog ahead playfully.

Because of the affectionate nature of your relationship, you’ve always suspected that Fred may have feelings for you, but never George. You’re blindsided by his confession, and you know it’ll only come between you. Your train of thought is interrupted when the boys ask if you want to come back to theirs for dinner instead of going out. You agree absentmindedly, and Fred steps away to call for takeaway. You willfully ignore George’s pointed glances and look around airily.

“Y/N,” George says quietly, but forcefully. You sigh.

“Is there something wrong, George?” you say at a normal volume.

“Hush, would you? Well, have I made you uncomfortable or something? You’re being odd, Fred will wonder what’s the matter.”

“You haven’t told Fred?” you sing loudly, hoping to pull the other twin into the conversation. George smacks his forehead and groans, but Fred isn’t paying any attention.

“Y/N, can’t you be serious for one second?”

“Bloody hell, can’t you let me alone for one second?” you snap, surprised at the bite in your voice. George cowers and frowns, but Fred returns before the conversation can continue.

The next few weeks are relatively normal, and you begin to think that your strategy of avoiding any acknowledgement whatever of George’s advances is working. You avoid spending any time alone with George. Most people wouldn’t think it, but you know the twins keep secrets from each other sometimes, like any siblings do, and he obviously hasn’t told Fred about his feelings.

While you’re evading intimate moments with George, you take time to think: do you have feelings for him? The answer is, of course, yes. You’ve always thought he was more classically handsome than his brother, even though a lot of your classmates still couldn’t tell one from the other after years living with them. George’s face is slightly longer and more defined, and the severity of his features can be quite striking, in the right lighting. He’s also always struck you as more outwardly sensitive and caring, in that he notices your feelings more readily. If you’re having a bad day, George is the one to lend a listening ear. He’s seen you at your worst and apparently likes you quite a lot in spite of it.

Fred, on the other hand, is more like you in every way: he’s the louder one of the twins, more boisterous, a bit rougher looking. Like you, it takes a lot to ruffle his feathers, but once something gets to him, he’s quick to anger. Your tempers have rarely led you to fight, but when it’s happened George has always been there to smooth things out between the two of you. You’d even say that you’re slightly closer to Fred, although your relationship with him is more intuitive than your friendship with George- with George, you explain yourself, but with Fred, there’s no need.

You’re pondering the situation on the boys’ sofa when Fred bursts through the door, looking quite cheeky. His shifty eyes belie some sort of mischief.

“Alright! Out with it, or I’m leaving before you get me with the bucket over the door trick again! I haven’t got any dry clothes,” you pout.

“Who’s to say there’s anything to tell?”

“I’ll believe that when you wipe the smirk off your face,” you counter.

“What smirk?” he says, blushing. You raise your wand defensively.

“Hey! I pinky promise, I’m not planning on pranking you,” he says. You wiggle your wand, raising an eyebrow.

“What are you planning, then? Tell me or I’m tying your shoelaces together with this thing.”

“Fine, but would you put the wand down? It’s not a prank, I promise.” he moves to sit on the couch and you cower, giggling, sure that he’s at least going to go in for a tickle.

“I’m not gonna tickle you!” he exclaims, but wiggles his fingers in your direction. The mere idea of it makes you shake desperately with laughter.

“Stop! Ah! Liar!! Oh! Fred!!!” He lowers his hand. You eye him suspiciously. He sighs. You nod at his hands, as if telling him to put them away. He sighs again and sits on them. You regain your composure cautiously, but as soon as you look away he’s tickling your relentlessly, his hands at your ribcage. You howl with laughter, kicking and rolling away from him, but it’s no use. He pins you under his body on the couch and shoves one hand in your armpit. You’re nearly crying with laughter now.

“Mercy! Uncle! Ah!” you cry, and he pauses. His hips are situated between your thighs, which you’ve been trying to use to push him away, and his face is close to yours.

“You want me to stop?” he asks teasingly, ghosting a hand over your ribcage, causing you to burst with laughter again.

“Please! Fred!” He looks around, as if to an imaginary audience.

“What can I say, I know how to make a girl beg,” he says smugly. You swat him, bringing on another round of tickles, this time one hand at the nape of your neck and the other on your waist. You feel a bulge in Fred’s pants that makes you feel warm inside. The excitement of your scuffle has made you feel a bit happy go lucky. In another pause, you look up at Fred invitingly, even tilting your body into his just slightly. It’s not something you think about- you just do it.

He takes your invitation and suddenly his lips are on yours and it’s not a joke anymore, it’s just a really great kiss, rough and wet and full. His hips press into yours and you can feel his cock hardening. You keep going for a long time, too long, before you pull away.

“Fred,” you say, panting with shock and excitement.

“Y/n,” he says, the same emotions playing across his face.

“We can’t.”

“Why not?” he says, running a hand over your thigh.

“George…”

“No love, I’m Fred, good guess though!” he kisses your neck softly and you push him away.

“Freddie! I’m serious, I don’t want to.” He looks at you, confused and resigned, and pulls away. You stand up and straighten your clothes.

“Well, I’ll be off then. Say, be a doll and don’t mention this to anyone?” You say in a droll transatlantic accent. You groan internally. Why are you being so weird right now? You slip into your shoes and shut the door behind you, your heart pounding.

You’ve never been much on dating. 18, still a virgin, only kissed one boy, your date to the Yule Ball. Most men view you as a friend, nothing more. You’re a bit funny looking, and you’ve never gotten anything on looks alone; it’s your personality that wins you friends. That’s how you became friends with Fred and George- you were a class clown, just like them, and the three of you have always been well liked for it. Fred and George, though, were tall and handsome, and unlike you, had a lot of luck where romance was concerned. Their girlfriends were always jealous of you, but you thought nothing of it, since you were practically one of the boys. You see now that they were right. How odd.

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don’t hear George coming up the stairwell as you’re descending, and nearly bump into him on the landing.

“Oopsie!” you squeal. Oof, you think. I sound like a babbling idiot. “Oopsie poopsie!” you add, thinking that if you make it clear that it’s a little joke it’ll be less of a weird thing to say. George completely ignores your muttering and advances toward you, backing you into the corner.

“Y/n,” he says softly.

“George.”

“You’re blushing.”

“You’re standing on my foot.” He jumps back and looks down. He is not standing on your foot. “Gotcha!” you say, flicking him on the nose.

“You smell like cologne,” he says, inhaling.

“So do you.” He laughs softly and you scoot backwards, hoping to resist a second romantic encounter. He looks very handsome in the dim lighting of the stairwell, his eyes glimmering. You’re so close now that you’re nearly touching. You draw a deep breath, and before you can speak his lips are on yours. He’s softer and slower than Fred, but his kiss is deep and erotic. His hands move to the small of your back and caress you gently. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as his lips move from your lips to your chin to your neck to your breast. You sigh with delight, but you hear the door at the top of the stairs open and push him away. You look up to see Fred, his face dark and crestfallen. You could crack the tension in the air with a spoon. You wrack your brain for a way to diffuse the tension, landing on jazz hands and a wry smile.

The boys frown, ignoring you, seemingly beginning to realize the situation. They look at each other in silence for a moment. “Tough crowd,” you mutter.

“Oh, I see,” Fred says stormily. “Fine, you’re all his then.”

“What?” George asks, confused.

“You see the way I look at her. You had to know how I feel.”

“How could I know if you didn’t tell me? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I thought if I told you, you might tell her! With your little late night conversations and all,” Fred says accusingly.

“How can you be jealous of me talking to our friend when you’re practically feeling her up at every opportunity?”

“It was never like that!” you protest.

“Not until today,” Fred counters. “Or did you forget about that when you ran into my brother?”

“Wait a second, did you two…?” George glances between the two of you suspiciously.

“No!” you and Fred say in unison.

“We just kissed,” Fred says sheepishly. “Don’t worry though, I only beat you to her by a few seconds! You know what, come on up to the flat, we can take turns if that’s how it’s going to be!” He’s drunk with anger, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Oh my god! I just realized something!” you exclaim loudly, silencing both of them. You pause and drink in the quiet. “You two blokes look just alike!” you say in a thick cockney accent. George shrugs at you tiredly as if to say what the fuck. Fred spits as he turns to retreat to the flat.

“Go home, Y/n,” he says, shutting the door loudly. George just sighs as he stalks back downstairs, and you hear the bell ring as he exits through the front door of the shop. You slump to the ground, embarrassed and somehow feeling guilty in spite of the fact that you aren’t sure what you could have done to fix things between the three of you.

“I wonder if they’re related,” you mumble innocently, looking around at your audience of none. Why is it, you wonder, that you’re always funniest when nobody is around to hear it?

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cryingoverafictionalcharacter · 4 years

Text

Prompt: Veritaserum is one of the most powerful potions in the wizarding world, a few drops able to make the one who takes it to reveal their deepest secrets with no hesitation. So of course Fred and George learn how to make it for a prank, however it quickly backfires when they test it out on Y/N, who happens to have a crush on the older Weasley twin.

Warnings: swearing? Kind of angsty for like two seconds, That’s it really.

A/N: Sorry I haven’t written in so long, finals are kicking my ass and I barely have time to myself anymore. That being said, I hope you enjoy! This idea has been rattling around my brain for a while.

You sat in the Gryffindor common room, sipping hot coco and enjoying the rare silence as you read a book. You had just gotten to the end of your chapter when a pair of red haired boys walked in, interrupting your solitude.

“Hello Y/N” George greeted you, sitting in the open spot next to you, George following his movements on the other side of you.

“What do you want?” You asked, not looking up from your book. You could tell by Fred's’ tone that he was planning something, and you had no interest in being a part of it.

“Now dear Y/N, why do you think we want something from you?” Fred asked, having a very similar expression to his brother.

Instead of replying you simply gave Fred a look as if to ask ‘do I look stupid?’ Fred got the message and his face shifted from a fake casual look to a smile.

“You know us so well” He laughed, causing you to shake your head and close your book.

“Unfortunately” You sighed, putting your book to the side to give the boys your full attention.

In fact, you did know the twins well, almost better than they knew themselves. You had met them in your first year, and when you were sorted into Gryffindor, the three of you became inseparable, in fact, you were one of the only people who were able to tell them apart. However, you couldn’t deny that you and Fred spent a bit more time together, whether it be in class or on the quidditch pitch, you were constantly making each other smile and laugh, and you knew you could tell him anything. Well, except for the fact that you also happened to have a massive crush on him since fourth year. That would remain a secret.

You watched as the boys moved to sit on the couch across from you, now facing you with a similar smile on their faces.

“We have what could quite possibly be, the best prank in Hogwarts history” George said, trying to sell you on their idea, which you still haven't heard.

“What would you say” Fred started “if you could ask Snape any question you wanted. Anything from test answers to the color of his underwear-”

“Eww” You interrupted

“Exactly! The blackmail potential, the humiliation, the revenge. What would you say?” George finished looking at you.

“I would say you’ve both lost your marbles. Snape hardly speaks let alone confesses those types of things” You said

“But what if... We had a way to make sure he did” Fred asked.

You finally put the pieces together, your jaw dropping to the floor. “How did you-”

“Snape has a book of rare spells and potions” George started

“And we checked it out for the weekend” Fred finished.

“So you stole it” You stated

“More like borrowed, for educational purposes” Fred argued

“Its all set up. We’ll sneak it into his pumpkin juice before class, spread out the word and by second period tomorrow, we’ll have gotten revenge from all the torment. All you need to do, is make sure the potion works” George said, making your eyes widen.

“I’m not taking that!” You practically yelled. You trusted the boys to not ask you any questions that were too personal, that being said, there was still a lot of room for embarrassment, or for the potion to go completely wrong.

“Oh come on Y/N, worst case scenario it doesn’t work” George defended, but Fred could tell you still weren’t convinced.

“Hey” Fred said, leaning forward and gently grabbing your hand, squeezing it comfortingly “I promise we wouldn’t ask if there were risks that could hurt you”

You were to focused on containing the butterflies that had erupted in your stomach from Fred’s touch to notice how George looked between the two of you, or how he suddenly seemed to have an idea.

“Ok fine” You said, causing the two boys to cheer, before George turned and dug out a small glass vial from his bag.

“Two drops should do the trick” George said, adding a few drops of the liquid into your drink from earlier.

You picked up the drink and eyed it, considering backing out but the thought of finally getting back at Snape for humiliating you, and so many others took over. Taking a breath, you finished your drink and set down the mug.

“How long until it starts working?” You asked after a few seconds, not feeling any different.

“It should take effect immediately” Fred said, looking at you for any sign of discomfort or change in mood. “What’s two plus two?”

“Four” You said

“You need to ask better questions than that! Something to prove she can only tell the truth” George said, turning his attention back to you “How old where you when you had your first kiss?”

“Fourteen” You said, surprised at how the words seemed to tumble out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“What’s your most embarrassing story from Hogwarts?” Fred asked

“I once accidentally called Professor McGonagall mom in front of the entire class in first year... fuck you weren't supposed to know about that. Stop asking embarrassing questions you git!” You yelled at the older red head, who simply laughed and shook his head.

“No, I think this is quite fun actually” He said, before George continued.

The questions went on for a few minutes, asking you things from what your favorite color was, to the worst date you’ve ever been on, but finally, the two red heads seemed convinced.

“Alright, it seems like its working” George started, but the glint in his eye showed that he wasn’t quite finished yet. “Who do you have a crush on?”

You couldn’t cover your mouth fast enough. You couldn’t think to run away before the name was tumbling from your lips. You couldn’t do anything but sit and watch in horror, as you answered the question.

“Fred Weasley”

The room went dead silent, the only sound coming from the clock in the corner of the room.

“Y/N I-” Fred started, but you stood up and ran out of the room before he could say anything else.

“I knew it!” George shouted with glee once you were out of earshot, causing Fred to whip his gaze to glare at his brother.

“George what the fuck!” Fred yelled, anger evident in his voice.

“What? You’ve been pining over her like a sad puppy for over a year. Now you finally know” George defended, watching as his older brother quickly stood to follow you.

You had ran as fast as you could, weaving through students and running through corridors before you finally found yourself sitting at a hidden spot by the black lake, finally letting the tears you had been fighting go.

You had liked Fred since fourth year. You had been yelled at in front of the whole class, and were so humiliated you skipped the rest of the school day. Fred had found you, and talked with you all day, making you laugh and smile, not leaving until you finally felt better.

Ever since then your feelings grew. This last summer, you had spent the summer at the Weasley’s and found it a bit hard to sleep one night. You had gone outside to watch the stars, and Fred had joined you. You spend hours talking about life, your futures, your friendships, and at one point, he had looked at you in a way that made you wonder if maybe your feelings weren't one sided. Now you could see that wasn’t the case.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching you. Without looking up, you already knew it was Fred. You were now sitting with your knees pulled into your chest, your chin resting on the tops of your knees as you looked out at the water.

“This spot taken?” Fred asked, motioning to the spot beside you. You didn’t answer, just shook your head, giving the boy permission to take a seat next to you.

“The potion should have worn off by now, so you shouldn’t have to worry about it anymore” Fred said softly, as if not to spook you.

“You don’t have to do this you know” You mumbles, still refusing to meet Fred’s eyes, who were now looking at you with confusion.

“Do what?” He asked

“Try and make me feel better. I know were friends and everything, but I know you don't feel the same way, and I’d really rather just be alone then pretend everything is ok between us.” You said, trying not to let anymore tears fall.

Fred heard these words and felt his heart break. Fred, unknown to you, had also shared your feelings. Your smile could light up any room. You were so unconditionally kind to everyone you met. Your laugh was his favorite sound, and he had made it his goal to try and hear it as often as possible. He had been trying to drop hints, flirtatious comments, or small gestures, and that one night at the burrow, where you were under the stars, he thought he had finally made it clear how he felt. Apparently not, and he didn’t want to waste any more time trying to be subtle.

“See, now I know the potion isn’t working anymore” Fred chuckled, causing you to look at him with a confused expression.

“What?” You asked

“I do feel the same way” Fred said softly

“Fred... you don’t have to say it if you don't-” You started

“Hold on” Fred interrupted, digging through his pocket and pulling out the same small vial from earlier, before tilting his head back and taking a swig. “Now ask me”

“Oh my god, Fred I-” You asked.

“Ask me who I have a crush on” Fred said simply.

“Fine... Who do you have a crush on Fred?” You asked quietly, almost afraid of what the answer would be.

“Y/N L/N” Fred answered, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“You do?” You asked, a smile forming onto your lips.

“Yes” He replied, a smile growing across his face as well.

“Well why do you like me?” You asked, a hint of teasing to your voice.

“Well, you’re beautiful, you’re the funniest person I’ve ever met, you are so kind to everyone you meet, you’re super smart, you have a great ass- wait fuck that wasn’t supposed to come out” Fred said, about to continue but you kept him from going on by finally closing the space between you and pressing your lips to his.

Fred responded instantly, smiling into the kiss before moving his hands to your waist, while yours went to hold his face. You stayed like this for a moment, moving in sync with each other before finally pulling away for air.

“Told you I liked you back” Fred said, making you laugh before re connecting your lips but only for a moment.

“So I’m the funniest person you’ve ever met?” You asked.

“Yes... hey not fair!” Fred complained, making you laugh once again.

“Ok ok fine” You said, allowing Fred to reconnect your lips once again, before breaking away again.

“You think I have a great ass?”

“Yes- Y/N!”

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A/N: Hiiiii! I hope you guys enjoyed! I’ll hopefully be writing more in the future since the school semester is slowing down a bit, but until then check out my other work if you want or leave a request. Thank you all for reading!

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred fanfic #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fic #fred weasley headcannon #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine

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savagesbonergarage · 4 years

Note

Are you looking for prompts? 👀 Can I offer you predator/prey kink with Maul (or Savage?) I’ll just... leave this here...

Oh?

I know that @fallenrepublick has already written an excellent Maul one here, but Savage...I can't say I've seen one with the big boye anywhere yet (though correct me if I'm wrong)...

Guess that's my duty now...oh no...😏

A/N: Smuuuuuuuut, it's kinda long, wilderness survival, taking a leak (like just peeing outdoors in general, if that makes you uncomfortable you can skip it), maybe a pee kink though?? Is it a pee kink if there's no real indication of it being one? Someone will have to let me know lol, general roughness, rough sex, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, aftercare

Savage

"Instinct"

The wind rustled softly through the trees, the scent of fresh mountain air and the the temporary security of your height advantage almost offering you a moment of respite. You had stationed yourself near the top of an adequately concealed tree, it's sturdy branches sufficient enough to keep you up and away from immanent danger for the time being.

You were feeling quite pleased with yourself, if you were being honest. It had been a few days that you had managed to avoid his pursuit, a milestone you weren't quite sure you'd ever be able to achieve, and yet here you were. The few wilderness survival tips that you had learned in your youth inevitably seemed to pay off, as you remained cognizant of as much as you could regarding yourself and your environment that could potentially alert a predator. Rarely did you ever touch the ground of the forest floor, opting to remain high up in the forgiving trees that allowed for your nimbleness to be used as an advantage. You moved slowly, always making sure that your sounds blended together alongside the other calls of nature that wouldn't give way to your position, and you always shifted with the winds to ensure that the breeze never dispersed your scent around.

Savage was certainly the epitome of a predator, and an enhanced one at that - however, you'd studied him enough to understand the drawbacks that came with his awesome power. By his very nature, stealth wasn't his defining trait. At all. Were he to get anywhere within your field of vision, you would know about it without a doubt by the flocks of birds that scrambled to the skies in the distance or the cracking of branches coupled with his screams of frustration that filled the open air. You had to admit, you almost found it cute how you were finally getting the upper hand on him for once.

Although, this only meant that when or if he did catch you, you'd be shown no mercy.

It seemed your tactics this time around were working rather well though, and you considered that perhaps after one more day of survival that you'd approach him and declare yourself the victor in this dangerous game. Oh, the humiliation he would feel from his failure...the mighty Savage Opress, unable to hunt down the creature he craved for the first time. It probably irked him terribly that you were remaining relatively stagnant within the treetops as opposed to frantically running about like a frightened animal, which was likely a large factor in the enjoyment of it for him - the thrill of the chase.

Normally, you might have indulged him a bit more and better acted the part that he desired you to play, but this time, oh, this time, you were determined. Back home, he'd jokingly let slip that if you were ever to evade him long enough, he'd don a fluffy tunic and ears and call himself an ewok. That right there was all the motivation you'd ever need - nothing was going to come between you and getting to see what would inarguably be the most hilarious sight in the galaxy.

Dusk was fast approaching, and although there was still no sign of the beast that was hunting you, it was detrimental that you carefully selected a sturdy tree with tall, wide branches that you could conceal with the surrounding foliage nearby while you slept leaning against it. It was hardly comfortable and you could only rest for maybe a few hours at a time, but it was certainly safer than sleeping on the ground. You gathered your necessities and carefully arranged yourself against a wide branch and drifted off.

It wasn't long before the chill of the night air roused you from sleep. You had to admit, the worst part out of all of this was how damn cold it was being exposed to the wind in inadequate layers for these temperatures. You quietly shuffled around in an attempt to get comfortable, but in doing so you realized an uncomfortable truth.

Damn. I have to pee.

This was gonna be tricky. Finding a place to do so safely was half the battle, since you'd be making yourself completely vulnerable for a short while and if Savage happened to be somewhere nearby, no matter how quiet you were, he'd likely be able to smell you. A slightly gross fact, but an important one. He was a predator, after all. You'd managed to get by this far, and you had been avoiding drinking water for this very reason - also, because he would likely wait near the water for you to show up to inevitably drink.

Being tired, dehydrated, cold and full of pee wasn't ideal, and you couldn't wait for the morning to get here so this game could finally end. You were even starting to wonder if this was really going to be worth it once it was over. Sure, watching Savage embarrass himself was always an entertaining prospect, but right now, you just wanted to be held against him and his warmth even more. You sighed. Only a few more hours, and then you could gloat in his face for a second before snuggling up to his blissfully comfortable frame.

But for now, you still had to pee. You debated over whether or not you could potentially hold it until morning, but the answer to that was a resounding negative. It would be fine. You'd survived every other time, and you'd survive this time. Tentatively, you carefully and quietly lowered yourself to the ground, cursing the night for being so dark. Ideally, you'd want to find a place far enough away from here to go so that you wouldn't be literally marking your territory - but you didn't have any light, or Savage's reflective night sight, and you didn't have his other senses that absolutely trumped your own.

For the first time, the fear was finally starting to creep over you. It was times like this that you got so deep in your own head that you started to forget that this was really all just a game, and not an actual quest for survival; but that's how Savage liked it. You scoffed under your breath when you realized this, resolving to unbuckle your pants and simply relieve yourself right where you were. If Savage did happen to come through here, it was likely that he would assume you followed your usual thought process of maintaining distance from where you actually were rather than look up that very tree. That's how you had been operating so far; besides, there were only a few hours left. What were the chances of-

You heard a faint rustle of leaves somewhere behind you, and the panic started to settle in. That could have been anything, you told yourself as you attempted to calm down your anxiety. You couldn't really do much about it right now, since, well, you were already going. If you tried to push it faster that would only make it louder, and if you tried to scurry back up the tree in the middle of it, it would get everywhere and act as a billboard to your location. You sighed quietly, counting down the seconds until it was done in an attempt to quiet your racing heart.

You had that sinking feeling that you weren't alone. Your eyes darted around only to find that you truly couldn't see a thing, and you determined that the best course of action now was to just calmly finish up and quietly scale back up the tree.

You had just gotten your pants back over your hips when an animalistic growl erupted from behind you, and just like that, it was over. Savage had you pinned between his muscular, gargantuan form and the trunk of the tree, your arms bound to your sides in the grip of his massive hands. There was no way in hell you'd be able to wriggle free, and the adrenaline coursing through you in being captured was making you tremble. You could feel the heavy beating of his twin hearts against your back and his hot breath against your neck, and with a growl he pressed his hips against you until you could clearly feel the outline of his massive, throbbing cock against the small of your back.

"I got you. You're mine."

There was a frightening agitation in his bellowing voice that shook you, and the feeling was only worsened when you heard the scrape of one of his long horns against the bark of the tree as he brought his mouth closer to your ear.

"You think you can get away with hiding from me...? Keeping me hunting you for so long, and then teasing me like that..."

You were breathless, unable to utter a reply even if you'd had one ready before one of his powerful hands yanked your pants back down to your ankles. His claws left mild scrapes against your thigh, a concern that he was usually more cautious of, but not this time. It was clear that he was going to punish you for making him wait so long. You could barely squeak out his name when you felt his teeth rip into the layers of fabric covering your torso. With the aid of his claws he tore the garments from your body, spitting the cloth from his mouth as he revelled in the satisfaction of "skinning" you. You shivered, the heat from the zabrak's body the only thing keeping you warm now.

He flipped you so that you were facing him, the harshness of the tree bark against your bare skin making you wince as you watched him pull his monster dick out from the prison of his pants. No matter how many times you witnessed that reveal, your reaction was always the same. You looked into his glowing golden eyes, a predatory hunger there that sent both fear and heat straight through to your core. You swallowed drily, gazing into his face with a submissive look of defeat as he continued pinning you by your shoulders.

"You got me," you breathed, "I'm yours."

That did it for him. Without another word, he palmed the meat of your thighs and hoisted your legs up to hold you in place as your back rested against the rough tree, causing you to hitch your breath as Savage hungrily lined himself up with your entrance, the sheer amount of precum he leaked serving as lube before he pushed his hips forward. It was a little more forced than usual, and on top of that it had been a while since the last time you'd taken him, with your walls struggling to adjust to the stretch in order to accommodate his size. Your jaw was hanging open and your head immediately rolled back as you felt more and more full with each thrust, Savage gripping your thighs harder and exhaling a groan when he finally bottomed out.

There was a brief moment of hesitation, a pause for a reality-check as Savage lightly tapped his fingers against you. It was a subtle way of asking for permission, acknowledging that although this was your "punishment" and his reward, he still needed to know that you really wanted it like this, and that you were okay. Your response was an affirmation in the form of a squeeze on his forearm and a slight roll of your hips, with the look in your eyes pleading for him to take what he desired.

So, he did. With one strong, massive arm supporting you under your ass and the other pulling you closer to him, he backed away from the tree entirely and moved your arms to wrap around his neck so you could leverage yourself while he fucked the absolute life out of you. The noises that were escaping your lips were just as perverse as the sound of skin-on-skin echoing with vulgar, wet slaps throughout the forest, your mind already turning to mush. He was hitting everything, even when he wasn't really trying, so it took hardly any time at all before your eyes were rolling back and you felt that knot building up in your core. He didn't let up, his pace almost quickening with every desperate whine that escaped your throat.

"Savage, I-"

"Not yet," he commanded, pressing your chest firmly against his as he continued, "not until I say so."

You whined even louder, your hands moving up to hold onto his horns as he continued fucking you without mercy, that ache in your stomach growing more and more unbearable the longer you tried to push it back. Your breaths were desperate and rapid, with your face and chest flushing as red as a Dathomirian sunset with every passing second. You didn't know how much longer you could last, but you wanted to try your best for him.

"Please, I can't...!"

"Just a little more," Savage replied, relishing in the way your body was trying so hard not to break as he resumed his deliciously aggressive thrusts. Your hands moved from his horns to dig your fingers into his broad shoulders, your desperation reaching near-unfathomable limits.

"Savage, I can't-I can't-I can't-I'm-!"

You screamed as he finally allowed you to tip over the edge, having timed his release with yours so that you could ride out your highs in tandem. It was almost too much, the ecstacy of your edged climax intensifying with every twitch of Savage's pulsing cock so deep inside painting your gripping walls with heat. Even minutes later you were still quivering, barely coherent as your whines eventually began to die down and your lover held you tightly in his arms, before gently pulling his softening dick out of you once you had stopped clenching around his length.

He pressed a firm kiss against your temple as he waited for you to catch your breath, also ensuring that the majority of the unbelievable mess the two of you had made spilled out onto the grassy ground. Once he was satisfied, he moved one arm beneath both of your knees used the other to support your shoulders, keeping you close to him in this more comfortable position as he planted another long kiss to your forehead. He always thought it was cute when you were entirely spent like this, limp in his arms like a bag of grain as you relaxed in the afterglow.

"Are you alright?" He whispered against your forehead, lovingly stroking your arm as he did so. You responded with a soft smile and an affirmative hum, resting your hands against his broad tattooed chest as you curled in closer to him.

"I'm ready to go home," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"Agreed. Let's get you some water and a hot bath."

Your heart fluttered, filling your chest with silent praises for him and rhetorical questions of what you did to deserve being here in the arms of this gentle, fearsome predator. He began the trek home, smiling to himself as a thought crossed his mind.

"You know," he began conversationally, "if you wanted to see me dressed as an ewok so badly, you could have just asked. I would have done it for you, anyway."

#savage opress #savage opress x reader #savage x reader #savage opress smut #lemon #star wars smut #why did i title this instinct when that word never actally appears #star wars #star wars x reader #savage opress x you #zabrak #maul #darth maul

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smokeonshadows · 3 years

Text

We need to talk about the Bobbseys

Strap in, kids. This is going to be...a lot.

To put it bluntly, the way the Bobbseys were handled was messy, unnecessary, and probably the worst thing about an otherwise great season.

It's really disappointing because the Nancy Drew writers have already proven themselves to be not only good writers, but also socially conscious writers. They actively and publicly aim to be inclusive in their storytelling, so I think it's fair to hold them to that standard.

There was a lot of potential in the Bobbseys–they're a morally ambiguous brother-sister team of codependent twins from a rough/tragic past who sometimes lie, cheat, and steal in order to make ends meet. This is interesting, this is full of possibilities as to how they could fit in with the Drew Crew, and, most of all, this was a great opportunity to have complex representation of the south asian community that subverts popular stereotypes (model minority, traditional upbringing, perpetual foreigner, etc.). Amanda and Gil would've been great characters in their own rights...but instead they were used as nothing more than cannon fodder for an unnecessary, half-baked love square with low key racist undertones.

Problematic elements

I've already talked about the racist undertones in previous posts, but in a nutshell, Gil is portrayed as being controlling/aggressive/domineering (particularly towards Nancy and Amanda) and it's a stereotype that south asian men (and I'd say black and brown men in general) are misogynistic, aggressive, and otherwise abusive towards women. This portrayal is made even worse because he's meant to be a foil for Ace, a soft/gentle/sensitive/emotionally stable white guy who Nancy is obviously meant to be with. And for Amanda, she's also portrayed in line with the stereotype of asian women being very submissive (particularly to their male counterparts). I don't think any of this was intentional, but it's just not a good look.

This problem could've at least been somewhat alleviated if Gil and Amanda had been written as fully fleshed out characters who were going on their own journeys and were consequential to the story, but that didn't happen.

Stereotypes aside, another problematic aspect of the Bobbseys is that they both fall into the unfortunately common trope of being the character of color that the white character has a superficial relationship with and leads white character to realizing that they should actually be with this other white character who's been there all along.

Even when they have roles in the episode apart from being superficial love interests, oftentimes they don't do much aside from being useful for getting the Crew from point A to point B of a mystery.

Underdeveloped relationships

Was I the only one who found the resolution of the Nancy x Gil relationship in the season finale to be a bit abrupt?

While I appreciate that they showed how seemingly small transgressions within relationships can actually be red flags and that a situation doesn't need to escalate to full-on physical abuse in order to count as domestic violence, I found that the moment when Nancy has this realization and then breaks up with Gil lacked the emotional weight befitting that situation. I think this was the case because Nancy and Gil barely had a relationship. There was attraction and sexual tension, they hooked up a few times, but it was never shown to be a real relationship. It's not just that we didn't often see them together, but with or without him, Nancy didn't think much about Gil or what he thought of her and, more importantly wrt the breakup, we aren't shown all the ways that his treatment of her affected her sense of self or the way she operated. Nancy's relationship with Gil was inconsequential, so the stakes were low.

And yes, casual hookup situations can also turn abusive, but from a narrative standpoint, the way this particular situation was portrayed, it was given both more and less weight than it should've been given. It felt like the writers wanted the breakup to be big and impactful but they not only didn't work for that payoff, they also wanted to resolve it quickly so they could move onto more important plot points (the breakup was at the beginning episode and Nancy never mentions it or even hints at any emotional fallout from it ever again).

(Amanda was done dirty)

Actually, if anything, the big dramatic breakup should've been between Amanda and Gil. Even with her severely limited screentime, almost every time we do see Amanda, we are reminded of how close she is with Gil, how badly he treats her, how much she values his opinion, and how smothered she feels by him. And it sucks that we never actually get to see Amanda make the realization, stand up for herself, and confront Gil. All we see is Ace encouraging her to break away and then cut to her living her best life post-sibling breakup.

In the end, it's as if Amanda's pain and suffering was made to be less about her and more about Nancy/being evidence that Gil is not good for Nancy. Again, not a good look.

And Amanda and Ace's relationship is also underdeveloped compared to the impact that the writers seem to want it to have. Like, I don't understand why Ace would give her a pseudo-ultimatum ("I'll prioritize you if you prioritize me") at this stage of their relationship. Yes, they do seem to be more of a relationship than Nancy x Gil, but it always felt like they were very much in the budding romance stage. While he does talk about her when they're apart, we still rarely saw them interact with each other outside of the context of Ace needing to use Amanda's connection at the hotel or to her father or brother in order to help solve the mystery. And we don't learn more about or see a different side either character through their relationship with each other.

Poorly executed, unnecessary love triangles

The whole point of having a love triangle is to raise the emotional stakes.

It's always been my belief that if you're going to have a love triangle, you need to commit to it. That means making both legs of the triangle equally viable, developing both romantic options and both relationships equally.

As noted in the sections above, this was not the case with either love triangle, which makes the whole thing feel cheap and unsatisfying. Like I said in a previous post, I think it would've been more powerful if Nancy had two really great options, but in the end chose Ace because that’s what her heart really wants no matter how great the other guy is.

Anyone with a healthy understanding of love and relationships would choose Ace over Gil. It's no contest, no real choice, so it adds nothing to the conversation, it says nothing about Nancy or her feelings for Ace. It's inconsequential, the emotional stakes are practically nonexistent.

Literally, I feel like if you took the Bobbsey love triangles out of this season, Ace and Nancy would still end up in pretty much the same place wrt their feelings for each other. I mean, yes, the whole jealousy/green eyed epiphany thing did play a role, but the relationships with the Bobbseys featured so little and were so underdeveloped that it would be more or less the same as one of them flirting with a background character every once in a while.

And Nace still didn't end up together after all that! It's hinted that for some reason, Ace will be stringing Amanda along next season while he pines for Nancy. Which is exhausting.

This is really what we sacrificed two perfectly interesting characters of color for. I'm upset.

#nancy drew cw #gil bobbsey #amanda bobbsey

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moldisgoodforyou · 3 years

Text

florence (iv)

warnings: smut!! in the middle but you can see it coming if u wanna skip over it

wordcount: 8.3k

______

Six and a half hours and two transfers later on the train, Sophie and Rafe made it to Florence. They’d fallen asleep on each other multiple times and woken up with cricks in their necks or imprints of each other’s clothing onto their cheeks, and were both running on little sleep - somehow, he’d convinced her to go skinny dipping off a little cove at 2am the night before. She lasted about ten minutes in the water with him before she spotted someone with a flashlight along the beach and freaked, practically sprinting out of the water to pull her wet clothes back on and shove Rafe’s at him. (He’d hissed at her to relax until they heard yelling of “arrêter! Policiers!” They put together pretty quickly that it was “stop! Police!” and booked it back to the hotel, giggling the whole way.)

Despite Rafe’s tired grumblings, she made him freshen up and walk with her to go get dinner at a place a few blocks from the hostel. It was only 6, but they both hadn’t eaten in a while and had to be up early for an architecture tour Sophie had scheduled at 8am. He took two looks at the menu before handing it to her - she raised her eyebrows, skeptical. “You know what you’re getting?”

“It’s Italy. I want pasta every day.”

“Every day.” She repeated, doubtful.

“Every day. And gelato, every day. Those are my two requests.” He nodded, sure of himself.

“I think we can manage that. Did you learn Italian too over the summer, you want to order for us?” She teased, holding back a smile.

“C’mon, my Spanish wasn’t that terrible. It really wasn’t.” He protested, kicking her gently under the table.

She kicked him back reflexively, maybe a little too hard, and just rolled her eyes when he made a show of dramatically grabbing his leg. “It wasn’t awful. You just had zero accent, that’s kind of important.”

“Whatever, I’ll work on it.” He grinned. “You can teach me where to put my tongue.”

“Your ability to make anything sexual is impressive.”

“Wasn’t even sexual, but good job on you for twisting it.” He smirked, leaning across the table and lowering her voice. “Hey. Guess what.”

She did the same, reaching out and taking his hand. “What.”

“We’re in Italy.” He whispered conspiratorially, squeezing her hand.

“Yeah, and…?”

“When you were drunk on FaceTime once, you told me we needed to have sex in every country.”

She blushed, raising her eyebrows. “Did I?”

“You did, and I’m holding you to it. I got us single rooms in the hostels for a reason.” Rafe wiggled his eyebrows back with a smile, trying to get her to laugh. “But there’s like, a 98% chance I fall asleep on you if we try anything tonight, so we can check that off the list tomorrow.”

She had to hide a giggle as their waiter came over to take their order, turning it into a cough into her elbow. When the waiter left she shook her head, grinning. “Tomorrow’s fine. I appreciate the honesty.”

“Any time.”

_______

The next morning, Sophie woke up to her third alarm in a row with Rafe still blissfully asleep next to her, his arm curled around her middle and her leg thrown over his waist. She nudged her head up, knocking against his chin. “Hey.”

He stirred just enough to pull her closer and bury his face into her hair. “Shh. Sleeping.”

“We gotta get up, Rafe, we need breakfast before our tour.” She started scratching gentle circles on his chest, placing short kisses up along his neck. “Up.”

“If you keep doing that something else is going to get up.” He mumbled, humming contentedly with his eyes still shut. The hostel was busy with other kids their age and he’d woken up to the sound of two groups trying to open their door - twice - and their drunken whisper-yells. Sophie, of course, slept peacefully through the whole thing.

“We don’t have time for that.” She placed a kiss on the tip of his nose and tried squirming from his grip unsuccessfully. “Come on.”

“Five minutes.”

“Two.”

“Four.”

“...Fine.” She settled her head back onto the pillow, sighing as he grinned and nuzzled against her. “Only ‘cause you’re warm.”

“Yeah, what the fuck is up with the temps? This place is an icebox.” He replied, slipping his hand under her shirt and cupping her breast.

“Rafe.” She elbowed at him, a warning tone to her voice.

“M’ just holding it. You’re warm.” He argued, brushing his thumb over her nipple and smiling to himself when she let out a tiny whine. She made the mistake of pressing her hips back into him, just a little, and he groaned quietly into her ear. “Careful there.”

“You’re not seriously - oh my god, Rafe.”

He wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest, just pushed his hips against her ass. “Can’t help it. I have my beautiful girlfriend in my bed that I haven’t seen in months.”

“It wasn’t even that long -”

“It was a whole quarter of a year without you, Sophie, now hush and let me sleep.” His tone took on a teasing lilt and he brushed his fingers down her stomach, making her tense. “Unless you’d like to do something else.”

“We don’t have time.” She told him firmly, knocking his hand away. He grumbled and pulled his hand out from under her shirt, settling his arm around her waist instead. “Lame.”

“You’re lame.”

“Okay. Good comeback. You’ve lost your touch.” He quipped with a tone of amusement, pulling her close again. Her alarm went off and he sighed dramatically, dropping his head to her shoulder. “Let’s skip.”

“We’re not skipping, we might never be in Florence again and I’ve wanted to see the Duomo and Palazzo Vecchio for years.” She twisted in his grip just enough to place a quick kiss on his lips then sit up, stretching. “Get up.”

“I’ll bring you back - no, Sophie, stay -” He protested weakly, reaching for her.

She smiled fondly at the way he was all squinty in the mornings, adjusting to the lights and trying to find his glasses, but her smile gave way to a pout she knew Rafe couldn’t say no to. “Baby, please? I don’t want to be late.”

“Fine.” He yawned and dragged himself out of bed, pulled on his glasses and shoved his feet into sneakers, just wearing his boxers. “I’m gonna go pee.”

“You’re not gonna at least throw on a shirt? Or shorts?” She questioned, eyeing him over with no shame.

He caught her gaze and flexed his chest, smirking. “Not if you’re enjoying the show.”

“You’re the worst.” She informed him, leaning over to give him a kick to the ass. “Go.”

As requested, she pulled out his clothes for the day after she got ready, finding a certain kind of pride in the fact that he trusted her in his appearance. She grabbed his wallet from the desk too, ready to stick it in her backpack, but paused when she realized it was a little thicker than normal, barely snapping shut. Curiosity got the best of her and she flicked open the wallet, pulling out a couple wrinkled and worn pieces of paper from one of the slots.

Rafe returned just as she was smoothing it open. “What are you doing?”

She startled, quickly turning and holding the paper behind her back. “Nothing! Just putting your wallet in my bag. So we didn’t forget.” She clarified quickly, cheeks blooming red at being caught.

He smirked, kicking off his shoes and striding closer. “If you wanted money, you could’ve just asked.” He teased, reaching around behind her. “Whatcha got?”

“Nothing.” She twisted, trying to set it on the desk without him noticing, completely unsubtle.

“Oh. You found your letters?”

Sophie paused. “My letters?”

“Yeah, that’s what they are.” He nodded and started pulling on his clothes for the day.

She brought it from behind her back to read and brightened, realizing it was two scraps from the many letters she’d sent to him when they were apart. He’d just cut out the two sappiest paragraphs she’d written, embarrassingly, as she found it much easier to express the extent of her love for him through writing rather than face to face. She pouted a little, skimming over them. “Baby.”

He turned back to her and ran his thumb over her bottom lip, shaking his head. “Hm? No pouting, little fish.”

“Little fish?” She quirked her brow, confused.

“Yeah, remember that one time you blamed your crying during finals week on being a Pisces moon? Pisces is the fish, I think.” Rafe reasoned, taking the papers out of her hand and carefully tucked them into a zippered pocket of his suitcase. “Since you’re here with me now, I guess you’ll just have to tell me how much you love me in person instead.”

She beamed up at him, adoringly. “I love you so damn much.”

He grinned and slipped his hands around her waist, pulling her close to kiss her slow. “Love you too, Soph. My favorite girl.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two of them strolled out hand-in-hand to the hostel cafeteria and picked through some pastries for breakfast, Sophie promising him a protein bar from her backpack when he complained he’d be lightheaded by eleven. He snapped a photo of her when she recoiled at the strong cappuccino with zero cream or sugar to cut it with, laughing as she tried her best to hide a cough. They found a spot at an empty table and it wasn’t long until a friendly couple came up to them with twin smiles.

“Hi, can we sit?” The girl asked, already setting down their plates.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” Rafe replied, gesturing. Sophie noticed that his slight Carolinian accent came out a little more in Europe instead of in Ohio, as if he was trying to mimic a little bit of the Spanish and Italian accents and butchered it in his own special way. (She hadn’t corrected him yet, finding it endearing.)

“Thank you! I’m Elena, this is Marco.” Elena introduced herself, sliding into her seat.

Marco gave them a nod and pointed at Rafe, hesitant. “It’s...Jake?”

“Rafe.” He corrected, then explained to Sophie, “we met in the bathroom.”

“Your boyfriend is built.” Marco informed Sophie with a grin, making her laugh. “I know. I’m Sophie, it’s nice to meet you both. Are you just visiting, or…?”

“Yes, we’re from Milan, we wanted to make a weekend trip.” Elena confirmed. “And you? Americans?”

“North Carolina, yeah.” Rafe nodded. “Sophie was studying abroad in Barcelona, then I came to tag along.”

“Oh, so cool!” Elena grinned. “Do you have plans today? I love Florence, it’s beautiful.”

“It is, yeah.” Sophie glanced down at her phone, then back up at them. “I’m sorry, but we have to run, actually, we have a tour to go to this morning. But no plans later.”

“We will meet you by the Duomo, then, around lunch! We can show you around.” Marco declared, handing over his phone to Rafe to put in his phone number - he was a little confused, but did so anyways. “You guys don’t have to -”

“No, new friends are always fun.” Elena waved him off with a smile. “Enjoy your morning.”

Sophie brightened, slipping out of her chair. “See you later!”

Rafe followed her back to their room, and turned to face her after shutting the door with a skeptical look. “He was flirting with me.”

She laughed, packing up her backpack for the day (she’d bought the little leather bag in Barcelona and it was now one of her most treasured possessions, carrying her camera and sketchbook every day). “Don’t be ridiculous, you just have a big head.”

“No, I swear, he was giving me a look this morning when I walked back from the bathroom.” He insisted.

“I think you’re misinterpreting things, he was probably confused that you were shirtless. They were friendly, we should meet up with them! New friends!” She grinned and slapped a protein bar into his hand, as promised.

He furrowed his brow a little but slipped the bar into his pocket. “How long do I have to share you for?”

“Rafe.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He amended quickly, leaning down to give her a sweet kiss. “Ready to see your Domo and whatever?”

“Duomo, baby. And the Palazzo Vecchio.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Uh huh.” She held out her hand with a grin. “C’mon, Florence awaits.”

He took her hand and raised it, guiding her into a twirl. “We certainly can’t keep her waiting, then.”

______

Rafe wasn’t sure he absorbed a single word of the self-guided tour. Twenty boring minutes in, he’d turned down the volume on his audio pack that they’d rented and just observed Sophie and the small look of awe on her face at every new turn, the way she nodded enthusiastically when she recognized a piece of information shared on the audio. He decided he would be perfectly content with just watching her for the rest of his life, to see the way her face lit up when she learned new things and got to share that information with him.

He listened just enough to be able to hold a conversation with her afterward, but his intro to architecture class that he’d had to drop midway through the first month of the semester didn’t really give him a strong enough background to keep up. Sophie made him pause the audio several times too, so she could tell him a story about the architect or about the construction of the buildings - he did his best to look as interested as possible. She could tell he was losing interest, just a little, but carried on anyways, just excited to share her passions with him.

After finishing the tour and returning their audio devices a little early, they took a seat out on the steps of the piazza as they waited for their new friends. Sophie took out her sketchbook and started drawing the front entryway of the Duomo, and after two minutes she ripped out a sheet so Rafe could doodle too. (His sketches were much less refined, a little rough around the edges, but they made up for it in character.)

“Do you think they’ll show?”

“Marco and Elena? Yeah. They sounded genuine.” She replied, her tongue poking out a little in concentration as she sketched.

He suppressed a grin and snapped a quick photo of her before she could realize. “How long do we have to hang out with them?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe go to lunch, let them show us around and if we like them we can hang out more?”

“Hm. You think we’ll like them?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we?” She reached over and adjusted his hand, trying to help him draw a straighter line, but he just scowled and went back to his usual method.

“We don’t know anything about them.”

“That’s the whole point of staying in the hostel, baby, to meet people.” She nudged her foot against his, giving him an eager smile. “C’mon, you like making friends. You’re good at it.”

“Okay, fine, but I have something planned for us tomorrow afternoon.” He told her, raising his eyebrows.

She huffed, exasperated. “Rafe, I promise, we can have sex later, but I’m not wasting the day in bed -”

He laughed, flicking at her knee. “No, no, not that, but I like where your mind is at.”

“Oh.” She cocked her head a little. “What is it?”

“A surprise.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Not an expensive one, I hope?”

He made a show of pulling out his phone, dramatic. “Siri, cancel the private shopping tour at Gucci please.“

“Rafe Cameron.” She fixed him with a glare, unamused. He grinned back and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I know you better than that, don’t worry.”

“You’d better.” She rolled her eyes, then brightened when she saw Marco and Elena approaching and gathered up her sketchbook and pencils back into her bag, along with Rafe’s little drawings. He followed her gaze and stood, visibly steeling himself a little - she instantly nudged him to relax.

It didn’t take long for Rafe to warm up to their newfound friends, especially when Marco showed interest in his camera and when Elena asked him about his film minor, and enthused about how jealous she was that she couldn’t study something fun like that. He was a little caught off guard when they each got kisses on cheeks as a greeting, but didn’t mention it when Sophie shot him a look.

As promised, the two gave Rafe and Sophie a mini tour of the city, stopping for gelato twice along the way. After a solid few hours of walking and chatting, they stopped at a fountain by their hostel and sat around it to take a break.

“This fountain is special to us, you know.” Elena smiled at Marco and he nodded, tugging her down to his lap.

Rafe cocked his head. “Why’s that?”

“It is where we kissed for the first time.” Marco revealed with a raise of his eyebrows. “There’s a legend, if you throw a coin in here over your shoulder and it makes it to the top tier, you will find your lover.”

“Or lovers.” Elena added with a grin and dug in her pocket, then tossed two coins to Rafe and Sophie. “Here. I’ll tell you where it lands.”

Rafe tried handing his back, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want to waste your coin. I already have Sophie.”

Elena pushed it back into his hand, insistent. “You never know what will happen. It’s just good luck.”

Sophie looked a little confused but accepted the coin, tossing it in. Marco let out a whoop as it landed in the top tier, making a satisfying clink. “There you go!”

Rafe scowled but flicked his in too, looking a little smug when it joined hers up top. “See, I told you. Your lover’s right here.” He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and mumbled, “Stupid fountain.”

Elena laughed, gesturing out to the crowd milling around. “Your lovers could be anywhere. Love is meant to be shared with more, yes?”

“...Sure.” Sophie leaned back into Rafe, content. “How long are you two here for?”

“We have as long as we’d like.” Marco shrugged. “Wherever the wind takes us.”

Rafe chuckled quietly into Sophie’s hair, murmuring. “Sounds like your worst nightmare.”

She just hummed in agreement back to him. “Oh. We leave in two days, early in the morning. Do you have plans tonight?”

“Probably a club.” Elena grinned. “You should come! We will teach you the tricks, get you the good Italian drinks. Sophie, I can show you how to flirt for the free drinks, the Italian way.”

She held back a laugh as she felt Rafe’s grip tighten a little around her. “Going out sounds fun. I’m not sure I have the right clothes, though, I sent a lot home already…”

“I have clothes! We will share.” Elena dismissed her immediately, then got up off Marco’s lap, tugging him up. “We are meeting with friends for dinner, but we will meet you later? At the hostel?”

“Sounds good.” Rafe nodded, letting Sophie go, and was surprised when the two of them said goodbye - again - with cheek kisses, Marco included. Once they were out of earshot, Sophie giggled at the bemused expression he wore. “I think you should start greeting James and Colin that way.”

He scowled. “James would participate. Colin might deck me.”

“Yeah, probably. I miss them.”

“More than you missed me?” He raised his eyebrows and she rolled her eyes, shoving at his chest. “Of course not. Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You are being weird, you get all overprotective and I know you wanted to say something earlier when she talked about flirting.” She took his hand and intertwined their fingers, giving it a little squeeze.

He softened a little and leaned down to press a kiss against the crown of her head, ignoring her remark. “What do you think she’ll have you wearing?”

“No clue. We’ll see, I guess.” She shrugged. “We have a few hours to kill, what do you want to do?”

“Hmm. We can go see the David?” Rafe tipped his head in that direction, and Sophie visibly brightened. “You want to go to an art museum?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s cool. One of my buddies went last year and said it was worth checking out. Plus, air conditioning.”

“My two favorite words.” She grinned.

____

Later that night, Sophie walked out of the girls’ dorm with Elena to meet the boys, looking extra hesitant. She wore a black bikini top, maneuvered differently so it was upside down and strung up to push her boobs together, with an open back. One tug of a string and it’d all come undone. It was paired with a leather miniskirt and Elena insisted on doing winged eyeliner and soft pink lipstick too, all completely out of Sophie’s comfort zone.

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up and his jaw fell open a little. “Soph.”

“She’s gorgeous, yes?” Elena grinned, giving Sophie a little push on the shoulder toward him.

“Yeah, definitely, stunning.” Rafe nodded, searching her face. Sophie gave him a small smile, clearly uncomfortable in the attire. “It doesn’t look bad?”

“No! No, not at all. Do you like it…?” He questioned. “I can go get an extra shirt of mine from our room, if you want a little more, uh, coverage - not that you need to cover up, but -” He started, stepping toward that way even without her encouragement.

“No, um, I think it’s okay.” She grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Just a little...different. I just need a drink. Or two.”

He paused. “You’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” She nodded, then gave him a wry grin. “Just make sure no one accidentally tugs at this string or I think it’s all coming apart.”

He clapped his hand against the string at the back of her neck protectively. “You got it.”

“Ready? You look nice, Sophie.” Marco asked, sending her a polite smile, then stopped in front of Rafe. “No, wait.”

“Something wrong?” Rafe frowned, then widened his eyes as Marco reached out and undid two more buttons on Rafe’s shirt that already had three unbuttoned, so his chest was basically on full display. His attire was completely out of character for him, a short-sleeved maroon silk button-down that Marco had insisted on, but he wore it well. Sophie stifled a laugh.

“There! Much better. Now we go.” Marco took Elena’s hand and they led the way, starting the walk toward the club.

Sophie giggled at Rafe’s bemused expression and reached over and undid another button with her free hand. “You look extra slutty tonight.”

“Extra slutty?” He emphasized in mock outrage. “Maybe I’ll be the one getting us free drinks.”

She grinned. “How about we make it a competition?”

“Go on…”

“Whoever can get to...um, two drinks first wins.” She decided.

“Just two? Why not go the whole night?” He cocked his head.

“I don’t think I’m going to drink too much tonight.” She reached up and tugged at the bikini string to tighten it a little, pushing her boobs together more. “I feel like my tits are gonna fall out at any second.”

He snorted. “Say the word and I’ll give you my shirt.”

“I know you would, baby, but I think you need some semblance of decency too.”

They were practically glued to each other’s side all night despite their bet, with her being stressed about her outfit and him being overprotective. (Sophie noted that Rafe looked remarkably comfortable in the overpriced and fancy club environment, while she felt wildly out of place. For a moment she wished she’d taken him to Monaco just to see how quickly he’d assimilate, even though she knew she’d probably hate it.)

They took two shots with Elena and Marco and lost both of them shortly after, not expecting them to leave so soon. After they said hasty goodbyes, not returning, Rafe slung his arm around Sophie’s shoulders and kept her close. “I’m pretty sure I just saw Elena making out with some girl on the dance floor.”

Sophie furrowed her brow, leaning into him. “You’re sure? Isn’t she dating Marco?”

He shrugged. “Dunno, maybe it’s their thing. I swear it was her.” He grinned, repeating Elena’s words from earlier. “Your lovers could be anywhere, remember?”

She rolled her eyes. “She’s a little out there. When we were getting dressed she dragged a crystal down my spine and told me I had to align my chakras.”

“Kinky.” He quipped, laughing when she shoved at his shoulder. “Whatcha thinking, want to stay?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

She shook her head. “I’m tired and my feet are killing me. Let’s just head back?”

He took the rest of her drink and tipped it back, then set it on a nearby counter as they walked out. “Exactly how tired are you?”

She grinned. “I could stay up for a little longer. I saw your packing skills, might as well put them to good use.”

Rafe blushed - she’d found a whole strip of condoms in his bag on the first night in Barcelona and immediately teased him, asking how many nights he thought they’d be doing it. He merely responded by shrugging and ripping one open, setting it on the bed like an invitation. (She had accepted. Of course she did.) “We might as well take advantage of your top. Easy access, y’know.”

She rolled her eyes and checked her hip against his, shaking her head. “You have me, you know. You don’t have to keep constantly flirting.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Touché.”

_________

Rafe’s planned surprise for the next day was a bike tour (“so you can live out your Lizzie McGuire dream,” he’d told her, but she didn’t have the heart to correct him that technically Lizzie rode a Vespa in Rome).

The bike tour was out to a small winery where they had a private dinner and both got drunker than they expected, especially Sophie. The owners of the winery made them a three-course meal and kept coming out with more and more wines to try, successfully convincing Rafe to order three bottles to be shipped home. When Sophie nearly fell only a few feet after attempting to ride the bike back, the owners laughed and just ordered them a cab - Rafe thanked them with a tip that was probably a little too excessive, but his drunk brain didn’t care.

When they tumbled into the car, Rafe immediately pulled her feet into his lap, running his hand over her shin. She gave him a look and tried twitching away but he wouldn’t let her, keeping a firm grasp on her ankle. In Spanish, a little slurred but near-perfect, Sophie told the driver their address and the name of the hostel. Their driver nodded and responded something in Italian - neither of them could understand, so they just nodded back.

Rafe dug his thumbs into her calf and she nearly moaned, biting her lip. “Oh my god.”

“That good or you’re just drunk?” He smirked, continuing his motions.

She let her head flop back against the car door. “Both. You’re drunk too. My brain is working funny though.”

He raised his eyebrows, smiling. “I don’t think it is. What’s 15 plus 26?”

“Rafe, you know I can’t do mental math, unfair.” She whined, pulling her leg back a little so his hand slipped back to her ankle.

He swapped her legs, massaging into her other calf. “Not gonna take your shoes off in the car, sweetheart, you’ll have to wait for more.”

“Sweetheart. That’s new,” she repeated, mulling it over. “You know what?”

“What?”

“If you gave me a foot massage right now, I genuinely think I’d marry you on the spot. No contest.”

“No contest implies there is competition, Soph.” He pushed both her legs off his lap, ignoring her squawk of protest, and slid into the middle seat so he could buckle her in and lean into her.

She tucked her head into his side comfortably. “You’d marry me too. Wouldn’t you?”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. No.”

She whined, squeezing his thigh. “Rafe!”

“Sophie!” He mimicked her whine, although much quieter, and pushed her hand away from his leg. “No, I wouldn’t, you deserve a big party and a pretty white dress. Plus, wouldn’t you want our friends there?”

“I suppose.” She hummed, pulling his arm a little tighter around her shoulders. “Sometime, then.”

“Yeah, sometime.” He agreed, starting to play with her hair. It wasn’t long until she fell asleep on his side, always extra sleepy when she was wine drunk. He snapped a picture and sent it to Allie and Julia, who instantly demanded a Facetime session.

A few minutes later, the cab dropped them at the hostel and Rafe had to practically drag her sleepy body out of the car and haul her inside. He convinced her to stay awake just long enough to get into their room, then let her flop onto the bed as he untied her shoes.

She perked up a little when she heard the familiar ring of the Facetime call. “Who’s that?” He scooted in close to her, pressing his cheek to hers to fit them both on the screen with minimal effort. Allie and Julia picked up right away and both their faces broke out into a grin.

“Mom and Dad!” Julia exclaimed.

Sophie grinned back, immediately taking the phone from Rafe and shoving him away. “Hi!”

“She’s drunk.” Rafe informed them unnecessarily off screen.

“I am not, shh.” She snapped at him. “Hi guys! I miss you!”

“How’s your trip? I want to hear all about it!” Allie asked right away.

Sophie glanced at Rafe, the wheels turning in her head. “Should we tell them? Are we allowed?”

He furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t we be allowed?”

“Okay. So we had sex last night -”

“Jesus, Sophie, no -” He immediately wrestled the phone away from her as Allie and Julia both cried out with a chorus of “no, stop!”

“You said it was allowed!”

“I didn’t think you were going to talk about that!” Rafe rolled his eyes and gave them an apologetic smile. “We’ll be home in a little under a week, Soph can catch you up then. On the less explicit details.”

“You taking care of our girl, Cameron?” Julia asked, smiling as Sophie nuzzled into his side like a cat - she was always extra touchy when drunk, even just with the girls.

“Technically, she was mine first.” He pointed out.

“Technically, you made her cry after multiple fights before you ever dated, so no. She’s been ours since freshman year.” Allie corrected.

“I can be everybody’s.” Sophie mumbled, taking Rafe’s hand and placing it on her head so he’d get the hint and start playing with her hair again.

“Polygamy. Spicy.” Julia quipped.

“I would like to have sex or go to sleep now.” Sophie announced without a care in the world. “Can we hang up?”

Julia snorted, while Allie rolled her eyes.

“You’re not gonna talk to your friends?” He asked, trying to hand the phone back to her, but she just shook her head and pushed it away. “M’tired.”

“You just said you wanted to have sex.” Julia said.

“Yes, I’m not gonna do any of the work.”

Rafe shook his head and angled the phone back to his face. “Okay then. Sorry, guys, we had way too much wine at dinner. We’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah, of course. See you soon! Bye, Soph!” They both chimed in, waving until they hung up. He dropped the phone, amused. “What was that about?”

“Honesty is the best policy.” She told him, sprawling out onto the bed. “Alright. Have at me.”

He rolled his eyes. “No. You need to shower, then we can go to sleep.”

She sighed dramatically. “Rafael.”

“That is not my name.”

“Okay. Rafe.”

“Yes.”

“Can we please have sex?”

“No we cannot.”

She pouted, rolling over onto her stomach and looking up at him. “Please? I’ll let you go down on me.”

He laughed. “You’re so generous. No. Come on, shower time.” He gathered up her towel and clothes for her to change into after, then tugged at her hand. “Angel. Up.”

“Shower with me.” She demanded, getting up and following him out the room with only a few stumbles along the way.

“You want us to get kicked out? I don’t think so.” He ushered her into the small shower stall, slipping in behind her and locking the door, then helped her undress, dodging multiple kisses. He folded her clothes and set them aside then gave her a small push into the shower that he’d turned on for her. “Okay. I’m going to wait outside.”

“No, no, stay.” She yelped as the water hit her, ice cold, and fiddled with the handles. “Fucking - oh my god -”

Rafe quickly jumped forward and adjusted them to the right temp, then turned his back on her. “Fine, I’ll stay, but only because I’m worried you’ll drown.”

“Can’t drown in a shower, silly.” She reached out and shoved her soapy hand through his hair and he sighed, turning back to look her in the eye. “Sophie Flint. Please behave.”

“You behave.” She gave him a mischievous grin, then lowered her voice to a whisper despite there being no one else milling around in the bathroom. “Come in.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Not completely. Not anymore.” She argued. “I’ll go down on you.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “If you really want to, you can save that for the morning. Finish your shower so I can get in. I’ve decided I don’t trust you to stay alone in the room.”

“Or you could get in with me…” she trailed off, tugging him down for a kiss - he gave in just for a moment before glancing away, trying his hardest to ignore his naked girlfriend - wet and covered in soap suds, no less.

“Soph. Rinse your hair.”

She crossed her arms, stubborn. “No.”

“Oh my god.” He rolled his eyes and double-checked the lock before he stripped down and got in with her, nudging her back under the feeble shower spray. He figured he’d have to shower anyways, and the faster he got her back to bed, the better. “Rinse.”

“Do it for me.” She protested, resting her head against his chest. He sighed but tipped her head back into the water and massaged his hands through her strands, stilling for a brief moment when she let out a breathy moan. “Hey. Can’t do that.”

“Sorry, can’t help myself.” She excused, then reached up onto her toes to lather shampoo into his hair once he was finished. He ducked down a little so she could reach, pressing his head against her hand. “M’ gonna be hard if you keep that up,” he mumbled.

She giggled. “It’s just shampooing. And I think you’re halfway there.”

“It’s intimate.” He protested, nearly melting into her touch. He loved when she played with his hair, how gentle she was (except when she’d occasionally tug on some strands to get his attention).

After shampooing and rinsing his hair, she lathered soap between her hands and smoothed it over his chest, over his shoulders. He swallowed, watching her and feeling like his skin was on fire despite the warm water waning. “You’re still drunk.” He mumbled.

“Not really.” She pressed a kiss to his neck, then another, then along his collarbone. “I know what I’m doing.” His illogical side was beginning to give way to her actions, especially as she sunk to her knees in the shower, running her hands down his thighs. “Let me.”

“Baby…” He was hesitant and clearly worried about being caught, and reached down to tip up her chin. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Although this is twice now that I’m getting cheated out of shower sex, kind of rude.” She grinned up at him.

“Sophie, I will fuck you in the shower all you want when we’re home - oh, shit -” He nearly gasped as she took him into her mouth, jerking his hips involuntarily. She gagged and immediately pulled off him, pinching his thigh. “Jesus, Rafe, trying to bruise my throat or something?”

“I had no warning! I’m sorry!” He exclaimed in a hushed whisper, fumbling for the shower faucet to turn it just a tad hotter as it rained down on his back. “I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

“I mean, we can try it, but another time, okay?” She smirked as his eyes went wide and she licked up the underside of his cock, carefully taking him into her mouth again. He let out a deep exhale and bit down on his knuckle to keep himself quiet, letting his head fall back against the shower wall. She continued bobbing up and down on him and when he looked down after a few moments, he nearly choked watching her touch herself at the same time.

“Sophie - let me -” He tried, but she just hollowed out her cheeks and moved on him a little faster, and he could tell from the way she hummed around him that she was close too - impossibly close. He pushed her gently off of him and hauled her up to stand, even though she protested, and traded places faster than she could think, hooking her knee over his shoulder and going straight in with his tongue.

She gasped, a little louder than intended, and he sent her a warning look. They could hear some giggles from down the hall, coming closer and closer, and she panicked, tugging at his hair to bring him up, but he refused to stand. “Be quiet.”

“Rafe you know I can’t -” She pleaded, then pressed her hand tight to her mouth when the door opened and he continued to eat her out with no sign of stopping. Realistically, there was no chance of getting caught unless they were heard - they were in one of four locked shower stalls and even Rafe couldn’t be seen over the top, despite his height. Another gasp caught in her throat as he flicked his tongue across her clit, faster, and she felt like she might black out when she came.

He looked up at her and she could barely see the blue rimming his pupils, eyes dark with lust. That was enough to push her over the edge and she couldn’t stop herself from letting out a not-so-quiet whine.

The girls’ conversation stopped out by the sinks and one of them spoke up, loudly. “Did you hear that?”

Rafe stood after working her through the orgasm - as always - and clamped his hand over her mouth, reaching down in between them to jack himself off as he whispered in her ear. “Don’t make a sound. You’re so good for me, Soph, so fucking special.”

She felt like her legs were jelly and her head was spinning, in a haze post-orgasm (and the excessive steam in the shower didn’t help). She pushed his hand away and kissed him, hard, grinning against his lips when he uttered a soft groan, painting her stomach with his cum.

He rested his forehead against hers, trying his best to breathe quietly, a different girl spoke up. “No, I didn’t hear anything. Probably just the shower faucet being weird.” There was a murmur of agreement and the group left, the door swinging shut to make a loud exit.

Sophie let out a small laugh of disbelief, shaking her head. “You’re…I can’t even think.”

“Incredibly sexy?” He supplied with a grin, nudging her back under the shower spray and handing her the body wash to clean herself off.

“Incredibly insane, more like it.” She shivered once she was clean and flicked off the faucet. “You went from no sex tonight to near-exhibitionism all within the span of a half hour.”

He glanced at his watch before wrapping her in her towel. “Forty-five minutes since we’ve been home, actually, it’s a miracle the water wasn’t ice.”

She patted herself dry and pulled on her clean clothes, scowling as she had to shove her feet into her mildly sweaty shoes. “Um. You need fresh clothes.”

“Right.” Rafe paused, then stacked his clothes on top of hers and wrapped her towel around his waist. “This’ll do. You leave first?”

“Good call.” She grinned and slipped out of the bathroom unnoticed, back to their room, and was under the covers when he returned. “C’mere.”

He tugged on clean boxers and called it good, slipping under the covers with her and drawing her close. “Sleepy?”

“Yeah.” She grinned to herself and pressed a chaste kiss to her jaw. “Baby.”

“Hm?” He closed his eyes, feeling like he could fall asleep at any second.

“You’re so easy.”

“Easy?” He echoed. “Maybe. Just for you.”

“Aw. Slutty just for me.” She grinned and rested her head on his chest, sighing contentedly when he wrapped his arms around her. “Good night.”

“Night, love you.” He mumbled.

“Love you too.”

_____

After another long day of exploring (and five gelatos, between the two of them), Sophie and Rafe agreed to meet up with Marco and Elena to go out again before they left. Rafe insisted on buying Sophie a better outfit for going out, despite her protests, and they ended up buying three outfits instead of just one. The night started out tame, with Marco and Elena actually sticking by Sophie and Rafe - until Marco kept buying more and more shots of limoncello and sambuca.

The sambuca shots came to their table on fire, and Rafe was a little too enamored by the flame by the third round he’d consumed (Sophie passed hers off to him, a little worried about her ability to keep an eye on him otherwise). When she noticed Rafe’s terrible typing on a Snapchat to Colin and James, she leaned up to yell in his ear. “Hey! I’m going to go get water. No more shots.”

“I’ll come!” He got up from his chair and immediately stumbled, gripping the table. Marco caught him by the arm, laughing. “I can watch him. It’s okay.”

She nodded and pressed both hands to his shoulders to keep Rafe in place. “Okay. You stay here with Marco, I’ll be right back, baby.”

“Promise?” He frowned, reaching out for her.

“I promise.” She pressed a kiss to his temple. “Stay.”

After fighting her way up to the bar, and poorly communicating that she wanted acqua, water, not acqua di cedro, an Italian liqueur, Sophie finally made it back to the table after ten minutes - just in time to catch Marco leaning in and kissing Rafe.

Rafe had leaned in a little too, misreading and thinking Marco was just trying to tell him something in his ear over the loud crowd. He jerked away with wide eyes just so Marco caught the corner of his lips, then abruptly looked around in shock to see if anyone else caught it.

Marco cocked his head, confused. “You are not interested?”

Sophie came up and handed Rafe the water, tucking herself into his side protectively. “What’s going on?” He gaped at her for a second then back at Marco, trying to gather his thoughts. “Interested?”

“In me.” Marco nodded. “We have been flirting.”

“We’ve been what?” He repeated, in shock.

“I’m his girlfriend.” Sophie clarified, gesturing between the two of them. “I thought we told you -”

“Yes, and I have my girlfriend too!” Marco nodded, tapping Elena on the shoulder and bringing her close. “What is the issue?”

“Oh, did you ask?” Elena brightened, sending Sophie a flirtatious grin. “Did they say yes?”

“I’m too drunk for this.” Rafe mumbled, pressing his palm to his forehead.

“Wait, wait, so. You two want to hook up with Rafe -” Sophie started, only for Marco to shake his head. “No, no, both of you. You for Elena.”

“I thought you could tell? We were flirting all week!” Elena exclaimed, and both Sophie and Rafe thought back to several incidents over the past few days that they’d just chalked up to the Italians being friendly. Kisses on cheeks, Elena telling Sophie to toss coins in the fountain so she’d meet her lover in Florence, Marco complimenting Rafe’s body multiple times when he came back in just a towel after the showers - shit, were they really that oblivious?

Rafe just groaned and dropped his head down to Sophie’s shoulder. “I’m so drunk.” She laughed, more out of confusion than anything. “Um, I’m sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. We’re not really inter - well -” She paused, debating for a moment and glancing up at Rafe to make sure she wasn’t speaking for him. (In her defense, she wasn’t sober either.)

“No!” Rafe exclaimed.

She nodded quickly. “Right, right, yeah. We’re not really interested, I’m so sorry if we gave you the wrong idea.”

“Oh. I would not have kissed you, I am sorry -” Marco began to apologize, but Sophie shook her head. “It’s okay! It’s okay, he’s fine. Um, here, you can have these, I think I need to get Rafe back home.” She pushed their waters into Elena’s hands, giving them an awkward smile.

“Will we see you at breakfast?” Elena asked as she smiled back, completely unfazed.

“Um...yeah. Maybe. Rafe, c’mon, let’s go.” Sophie looped her arm around his waist and tried pulling him out of the club, and he just dragged his feet along. “I can’t believe he kissed me.”

“Shh,” she giggled as she hushed him, tugging on his arm. “Rafe, cooperate, please.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying.” He grumbled, standing slightly more upright and doing his best to walk with her once they finally made it out. She got out her phone to look up the directions back to their metro stop and he wiped his hand over his mouth, scowling. “I need a kiss.”

“You nearly got one from Marco.” Sophie quipped with a smirk.

“I didn’t want a kiss from Marco.” He lamented with a big sigh. “Need one from my girl.”

“Just one, then we gotta make it home.” She complied, rising up on her toes to give him a short kiss. He grabbed her chin, not so gently, and tilted it back up to give her another kiss. “No. More.”

“I’ll kiss you as much as you want when we get back. Will you please help me and walk to the metro? One block, then just two when we go to the hostel. You can do it.” She pulled out of his grip and looped her arm in his, trying to get him going. “Rafe. Please.”

“So whiny.” He mumbled, but followed along. “Sophie, baby, Soph.”

“Yeah, bud?”

“My legs feel like jello.”

She grinned. “Kissing Marco had you that weak-kneed?”

“Shut uppppp.” He whined, messing with her hair. She jerked away, swatting his hand. “Hey! Quit.”

“You quit.”

“Shut it.”

He was quiet for a solid minute and she could tell he was thinking something over, with the way his brow was furrowed and lips were pursed. “Sophie Flint.”

“Yeah?” She was grateful when they arrived at the metro, tugging him onto the empty car and scanning their tickets. She wrestled him into a seat and eventually ended up on his lap after some pushing and pulling, his forehead pressed to hers. “What, Rafe.”

“Were you gonna sleep with Elena?” He looked concerned and his hands gripped her waist a little tighter.

She laughed, pulling back to brush his hair out of his face. “No, baby, I wasn’t going to sleep with her. I didn’t even know that’s what they were trying for.”

“Oh. Good. I don’t think I’d like you sleeping with someone else.” He told her, closing his eyes a little as she combed her fingers through his hair.

Sophie held back another laugh, nodding. “Yeah? I didn’t think you would. Don’t fall asleep on me, buddy.”

“Boyfriend. Not buddy. Buddy’s just a friend. I can have other nicknames too though.” He argued, letting his head fall back against the metro walls.

“What other nicknames?” She asked, moving to get off his lap, but he just tightened his grip on her so she couldn’t.

“Hm…I’m okay with smokeshow.”

She snorted, nodding. “Alright, smokeshow. We can go with that.”

“Sophie.”

“Yes, Rafe.”

“I’m in love with you.” He declared, leaning forward and placing a kiss to the bridge of her nose. She beamed and leaned in too to bump her nose against his, then press a short kiss to his lips. “You’re very sweet when you’re drunk.”

“I need you to say it back.” He frowned, tugging gently at the ends of her hair.

“I’m in love with you too.” She grinned. “Adore you, even.”

He hummed, looking her over with concentration and a small smile. “I like the sound of that. Do we have to go to breakfast tomorrow? I don’t really wanna see them again.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Our train to Rome is at seven, I was kind of hoping they’d be too hungover to remember us.”

“Hostel breakfast doesn’t open til 8.” He frowned. “Am I gonna starve?”

Sophie rolled her eyes and nudged her nose against his. “No. I’ll make sure you get food.”

“You’re so good at taking care of me.” He smiled sleepily, pulling her closer and dropping his head to her shoulder.

She beamed, combing her hand through his hair. “I try my best, baby. Always will.”

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney @babeyglo

#also this happened to one of my friends lmao it's not a weird take on italians #the story is just too good #i am 80% sure this gif is of florence but for some reason i am doubting myself even tho i have been there #idk whatever #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #outer banks #outer banks fanfic #obx #obx fanfic #frat rafe #college rafe #rafe x sophie #mine

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imonthinice · 3 years

Text

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 6/?

Word Count: 2.6-2.7k idk exact

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your name, A/N - Any name (your best friend’s name)

MUSIC IS INCLUDED THIS TIME! Please enjoy my personal music playlist, or at least a snippet of it.

TO THE PERSON WHO REBLOGGED AND SAID THIS WAS CUTE (at least the first part) you straight up made me cry omfg

Warnings: Swearing, gets really fucking heated at the end (no sex, yet), no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Outfit Context:

Y/N:

Jason:

(Cause I finally found an outfit I liked on the boy, men’s fashion isn’t my strong suit,,, heh :) )

“Sorry, is my mouth hung open?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Very much so,” she mocked.

Jason closed his mouth and outstretched his hand for Y/N’s, cupping it with both hands and kissing the top of it.

“You just look so lovely, Y/N.”

“And you’re chivalrous, Jay. Now, should we get going?” she asked, putting her free hand on top of his two.

“Yes, let’s go,” he let one of his hands go of hers and lead her to the Porsche he brought with him, not intertwining his fingers with hers.

He opened the passenger’s side door and let Y/N get in, not letting go of her hand til the last moment he could hold it. He got in an turned on the radio,

It felt like a good night, for dancing in the moonlight,

In empty streets, well, everybody's got a reason why,

If we could only just get it right,

Maybe it will all work out like in the movies,

But I know Romeo must die before the ending,

With a final poison kiss delivered gently,

Because you don't get lucky twice, and that's the truth,

“Sing to me sweet just like my memory,

If New York City Still moves me then I’ve found something real,

I’ll be okay, I could go on for days,

But I just don’t have the courage that it takes to be real,

And even if it’s dark at least we’ll be together,

Slowly sinking in the Earth to lay forever,

You better grab a hold and hold on for your life,

Because you don’t get lucky twice,

No, you don’t get lucky twice,” She sung with the tune.

Without the Bitter the Sweet Isn’t as Sweet - Mayday Parade

“You, you have the voice of an angel,” he said.

“It’s not that hard to mimic works of art with my voice.”

“Did you ever take singing lessons?”

“I did when I was younger, so I could sing French lullabies to my cousins.”

He placed a hand on her thigh as he drove them through the countryside of Gotham to Metropolis, taking the long way on what seemed like purpose. So he could encapsulate the moment in his memory for as long as he knew her and what she was to him. She was an adventure waiting to happen, a love story not yet written to tell for ages, a rock ‘n’ roll song written to please the masses in hidden corners of the world.

And to her, he was a masterwork of intertwining memories of pain, sadness, luck and beauty. A mind of complexity she was just waiting to dive into and see how it functioned. A story behind the white tuff of hair he had, why he was jacked to the masses if he was a book nerd. A story of his favourite book and his favourite sibling, his favourite trope, his love, his pain, him.

The moments where she stuck her hand out the window and traced symbols into the Autumn air swirling past the two as they cruised down the empty back roads. When he laughed as she sang Reste by GIMS and Sting. He didn’t understand the lyrics, but she did, and she called it a love song. Well, he got the parts Sting sung, but French wasn’t a language he knew like she did.

“I guess being Bilingual helped you out massively with that one, huh?”

“It’s a talent I never knew I needed, apparently.”

“Well, you did know you needed.”

“That’s fair,” she laughed, “ I guess I did always need it as a skill.”

“Do your cousins speak English too?” he asked.

“Yeah, a bit? It’s better English than my father.”

“Can he not speak English?”

“Well, he can, just not well. But my mother is also Bilingual in English and French so they never had to worry about my father being bad at English. My twin sister and I grew up knowing both languages,” she rambled, still playing with the wind, “I guess it’s a one-up I have on a lot of people, being able to just talk and talk in another language, travelling advantage,” she kept going, Jason intently listening to her as she went on and on, he liked the silence being filled by her voice, “You know? You might know, I don’t know how you were raised to a T,” she finished.

“Well, I can assure you I only know English so you have that theoretical one-up on me, too. But I choose to see that one-up as something you can teach me as time goes on and we progress,” he paused, “If you’re down to get serious eventually, that is,” he panicked.

“Well, maybe we’re at that point where we can say we’re casually seeing each other and exclusive, but not serious. Hopeful, but not pressuring ourselves into something that’s going to be put under a lot of pressure as we go on,” she said, still playing with the wind.

“We’ll see about that after dinner.”

“Where are we even going?”

“Fancy little restaurant with a balcony facing over the city,” he assured.

“Really out here living for the moments?”

“Well, most girls crack under the pressure of the paparazzi, you, however, flipped them off, and that’s being rewarded for showing that you can’t give a fuck about those dingy ass tabloids and how they treat you, by taking you out to nice places,” he said.

She laughed, “I’m glad I’m never going to live that one down, it was really fun to do.”

“I hope it continues as we go along, I would hate to see that behavior change when it brings a smile to everyone who’s ever been harassed by paparazzi” when they pulled over for a second, Jason quickly loosened his tie a tad, “Honestly, I want to ditch this fucking tie,”

“It’s not you,” she said, “It’s just not.”

“And you know me that well to take that guess?”

“I could see you struggling with it from a mile away, Jason. Maybe the fancy restaurant isn’t us,” she laughs, “But we aren’t going to not take that dinner date.”

“Oh we’re so going to take that date, but I’m thinking from here on out we do whatever the fuck we want, no fancy dates. Thoughts?” he asked.

“Done deal,” she said.

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

In the restaurant, the two of them were basically the worst people to be there, it was levels of fancy that neither of them actually wanted, they both wanted simplicity, but they both thought the presence of the other person was enough of a takeaway from the completely wrong choice of restaurant. They had Dick to blame for this one, and Jason made that clear to Dick in a joking text while Y/N snuck off to the bathroom to ‘fix her hair, she was actually checking her breath.

Dick, this fucking restaurant is a god damn bust, man. We aren’t you and Barbara, that’s what we’ve discovered today. lol.

Bummer! We really like that place.

I can see why it screams Dick and Barbs.

You kissed her yet though?

No.

Wuss! Cat got your tongue? Just do it, man.

And at the same time, Y/N was texting A/N about Jason and what to do,

Girl! Thank you so much for reminding me to bring mints, my god, food ruins your breath so much.

You really want the pretty boy kiss huh?

No, I’m eating the mints to not kiss him, YES I WANT THE KISS.

Ha! Honesty is key, just go for it.

She laughed as she packed her phone into her dress pockets (Yeah there’s fucking pockets :) ) and went to leave the restroom to meet up with Jason again. To which, Jason had already paid and tipped the waiter.

“I could have at least helped on the tip, Jay.”

“I tipped him 200%, but if you want to drop more cash, go for it.”

“You tipped that much?” she asked while slipping in a 50$ she had on her.

“Of course, food service workers deserve a lot more than what they get, especially when they have to deal with terrible customers,” he said as he went and grabbed her hand again, not intertwining fingers again, “And my best friend, Will, he complains about people who don’t tip and praises people who quote ‘over tip’ but I think that he deserves 200% each bill for the shit he puts up with.”

“Did you tip him when we went there?”

“No, I called in a ‘No questions asked’ favour. And before you say anything, he did the same to make me babysit his daughter-”

“Your best friend has a daughter?”

“Well, he’s older than me, but yeah, he’s a single dad because her mum kind of sucks, lovely little girl, I’m her godfather.”

“Does she call you Uncle Jason?”

“Well, Uncle Jay, it’s like one of the only works she knows how to say properly, and Dada,” he laughed, “Great little girl,” he said, nervously, “This doesn’t change anything, does it? ‘Cause if he, knock on fucking wood, lord forbids, dies that will be my daughter.”

“Well, he’s not dead and you’re not worrying that he’s going to die, so nothing has to change. God kids are god kids, noble that you took on your best friend’s kid if, lord forbid, anything happens to the man, really,” she assured.

He sighed and kissed the back of her hand, “Then that is just a gift on top of what I did,” he smiled and lead her back to the Porsche once again, opening the car door for her and she slightly turned on the radio, he let out a small laugh to himself, he got the pretty girl. He got into the Porsche again and began backing out.

“There’s something about ditching a really expensive dinner date that leaves you wanting more,” she said, absent-mindedly.

“What kind of more?” he asked.

“The kind you see in the movies, fully exposed and adventurous, you know?”

“Well, we could always sneak into the Wayne Manor Gardens and dance the night away under the stars like lovers do,” he half-joked, placing a hand on her thigh again and pretending like he did it subconsciously, but he was hyper-aware, especially when he caught her smile as she laughed.

“Wayne Manor? With your brothers, sisters, dad, and grandfather?” she paused, “If you’re serious, then no, not tonight. If you’re pulling my leg then, hell fucking no,” she joked.

“Maybe one day, then, huh?”

“One day, for sure. When it isn’t scary to accidentally run into your family on their property running around with you,” she said.

“Well, we can always go into the Wayne Enterprises Ballroom and dance the night away, no one should be in the office for a while and even then since there are no classes in the entire school tomorrow you can just hide out in my office if we stay too long,” he paused to make sure she was still listening, “Security can’t question me because I’m Bruce Wayne’s son, and security is tight as fuck so paparazzi can’t get to us,” he paused to put a little bit of pressure on her thigh, “What do you say? Can I have this dance, Milady?” he half-joked.

“You want to know something Jason?

“Always, Y/N.”

“I took dance lessons when I was younger, can you Waltz?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am, I can.”

“Then I’m in, let’s go.”

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

She loved the feeling of being back in her new hometown, Gotham. So when they pulled into the massive black building, she felt even more welcomed, security at the gates did ask ‘Who’s the girl?’ but Jason just explained it very easily,

“You know that date of mine that flipped off the press and you lot loved it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the man responded.

“You can call me Jason, you know that. But this is that girl.”

And they were let through the parking gates and into the underground parking system, they had to travel surprisingly far to Jason’s reserved spot in the lot, but the did get there before it hit AM. Once out of the car, Jason grabbed her hand and they ran into the building’s employees doors. It was a tight squeeze, but the feeling of Jason pressed so close to her sent chills down her spine. They went through many halls and reached the Ballroom, and entering it was like a dream for her.

Walls lined with intricate shapes and colours, but the colours never brought away from the stage at the far end from the door, the curtains seemed to redden with each step towards them, the 3, maybe 4 chandeliers hung above her like crystals in the ocean, it was amazing and beautiful. Checkered floorboards to give it a little bit of dimension, but it was the same colour as the main wall so your brain and eyes wouldn’t hurt after looking at it. It was stunningly beautiful and that’s what drew her in.

When he grabbed her hand and put on Never Let Me Go by Florence + The Machine, pulling her close to his chest and slowly Waltzing her around the room, spinning her when it felt right for him to do. Neither of them worried about the sloppiness or how it looked to the naked eye because it was for them. no one got satisfaction like they did at that moment. And grabbing her for one last dip was Jason’s goal when the ending of the song hit, although out of breath and his face stuffed in her chest as they both panted, he did pull her up so they were face-to-face on the dancefloor that they wiped clean.

“Did I tell you that you look stunning, Y/N?”

“I think you mentioned it a few times, Jay,” she said, staring directly into his eyes.

“Well, I mean it.”

“And I’m going to mean this,” she paused, taking her hand and placing it on his cheek, “ The way your eyes are a green-blue tint makes me lost in them, they’re like a sea of this mind I find myself liking more and more every day,” she paused to put her other hand on his other cheek, “And the way your nose and cheek freckles frame them is amazing.”

And he went for it. Somehow when he pressed his lips into hers, it felt like they were meant to match, and they both opened their mouths to play the coveted game of tongue-war, but they didn’t play by the rules, it was soft and sweet but full of passion and love, not lust. His hands would travel to her waist and lightly grip her, while her hands would travel to his neck and drape around the back of it.

They pulled away at the same moment to take in air, something they had clearly been missing as they were connected, they both let out a small chuckle before she put her hands in his hair and went in for round 2.

This time it was hungrier, and they both played with the shapes of the other so much more as time went on, he would grab her ass and she would pull on his hair slightly before he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist and moved one of her hands to the nape of his neck, this time, they would break for seconds only to start moving towards his office, which, conveniently, had a couch.

To say he threw her on that couch would be an understatement, he fucking thrust her on that couch and climbed on top of her, it was like 3 days of passion and lust combined themselves in a matter of minutes from their first kiss to them meeting on the couch. They both knew deep down that it couldn’t escalate further than this, especially at 1 in the morning, but time moves fast when you’re connecting in this way.

They finally broke after their passionate exchange and he fell to her side and began to spoon her, “Worth it,” he whispered.

“Worth what?” she asked.

“It was worth it to take a chance and defy my anxieties to ask you on that first date.”

“I don’t like a reality where you didn’t ask me on that date.”

“Neither do I, and I’m positive of that.”

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