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arvinsescape · 3 years

Text

Drunk

A/N: Hope you enjoy, bit of cheese, bit of fluff! Been in my draughts for ages!! Hope you all enjoy 💕💕

Warnings: Swearing.

Summary: Tom takes care of his girl when she has a girl’s night out.

W/C: 4.5K... Yeah idk how it got so long either...

Tom watched as you fixed your hair before turning and looking at him, excited look on your face.

“How do I look?” You asked as you twirled for him.

“Beautiful, as always.” Tom answered easily, you really did. Your dress stopped just below your thigh, black tights covering your legs and a pair of heels to finish it off.

“You sure you don’t mind doing this?” You asked as he picked up his car keys and opened the door.

“Do I ever?” He said back, he was dropping you off for a night out with your friends and he’d said he’d pick you up.

“I know but I hate the idea of you waiting up for me, I haven’t seen them in a while and it might get late.” You said as you bit your lip following him to the car.

“I already told you, it’s fine. How many times have you picked me up from a night out?” He asked and you smiled as he opened the passenger side door for you. That smile was enough of a thanks for Tom.

“You’re the best you know that?” You said as he got into the driver’s side.

“I know.” He said and you snorted. “Just promise me you won’t let your phone die this time.” Tom smiled as he set off.

“I charged it this time.” You said and held up your phone screen as if to show the evidence.

“Good, that was a nightmare having to chase you around.” He laughed.

“Look, if you weren’t a celebrity I’d have been able to borrow a stranger’s phone to call you.” You shrugged and he smirked.

“You also probably shouldn’t have gotten split up from your friends.” He teased.

“That wasn’t my fault, I already told you, one minute they were there and the next they weren’t.” You said and Tom laughed as he shook his head and reached over for your hand.

“Just as long as you have a good night okay. You’ve earned it.” He said as he pulled up outside the bar you were meeting your friends in.

“I’ll try. Thank you Tom, you really are the best, if you want me to get a taxi just text me.” You said and he lent over as he placed a kiss to your lips.

“Not happening, I like to make sure you’re safe.” He said as he kissed you again.

“I do it when you’re away filming.” You said, you really didn’t want to put him out.

“Yeah and I always make you call me don’t I? Gotta make sure you get home safe.” He said and you smiled as he placed a final kiss to your lips and then a kiss to your cheek. “Now, go, have fun. I’ll see you in a while.” He said as he watched you leave the car, god knows how drunk you were going to get tonight.

Tom did his usual routine when he was on pick up duty, he got a good nap in before midnight to ensure he’d stay awake, a couple of coffees to help after he’d woken up. He knew you were having a good night, he’d received three photos and a video, smiling and shaking his head as he observed them.

The first two pictures where from you and they were fine, just ordinary pictures to let him know you were still okay, you told him it was easier than sending him a message. The third picture he’d received from your best friend, you were sat at the table with two drinks and two straws in your mouth as you drank from the two drinks. Your friend having captured it “we told her she was slacking,” he couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips, firing back a few of the heart eye emojis in response.

The video he’d received five minutes ago, from one of your other friends, told him you were indeed having a good night and you were going to be rather drunk when he picked you up. You were with your best friend and you were sat at your table singing your heart out to some absolute shite as you swayed, voice louder than when he’d dropped you off.

It was almost three am when he received four illegible messages from you that he knew it was his cue to put his shoes on and grab his keys, he was opening his car door when your name flashed across the screen.

“Hi darling.” Tom said, he could hear the chaos of the club you were outside of.

“Hi Tommy.” You said louder than you usually would and he smiled as he sat in the car. “I tried to ring but I kept getting it wrong.” You huffed and Tom laughed.

“That’s what those messages where about?” He teased. He didn’t miss your friends shouting a greeting down the phone at him either. “Where are you?” He asked as he started the car up.

“Outside that club, I can never remember its name, you know that one.” You said and he could tell you were trying to be quiet as you said it, failing but trying, and Tom smirked.

“Oh, that club.” Tom said. You’d once been out drinking together and ended up in this particular club’s bathroom together. “I’ll be ten minutes.” He said as you exchanged ‘I love you’s’ before he hung up and set off.

Ten minutes later and he found you outside the club with your friends and you were hammered. Tom laughed as he watched you sway as you tried to keep your balance, approaching you, watching the way your eyes lit up when you saw him.

“Tommy!” You practically shouted as you threw yourself into his arms and placed your head into his chest. “I missed you.” You mumbled as he brought his arms around you. Your three other friends were in just as bad of a shape as you.

“Come on, let’s get you guy’s home.” Tom said as he watched your friends stumble to his car, he looked down at you and you smiled up at him.

“My feet hurt.” You said and he laughed, he knew what you wanted, you liked to be in his arms when you were drunk, more so than usual.

“Do they?” Tom said and he watched as you nodded enthusiastically before he turned around and let you hop onto his back. Your arms slung around his shoulders as you kissed his cheek. He unlocked the car, watching as your friends climbed into the back seats. He got you into the passenger side with ease before getting back behind the wheel.

“Y/N, what have you done to this boy?” One of your friends asked. “My boyfriend doesn’t do that.” She huffed and you laughed.

“That’s because your boyfriend is an arsehole.” You said and Tom laughed, you pulled his hand into your own and played with it in your lap as he drove, not in the direction of home because he knew what was coming next. “Can we go to McDonalds?” You asked suddenly, gaze shifting to look at him.

“As always.” Tom answered and he watched as you turned to your friends and fist pumped.

“See, I told you he’d drive us there.” You said, Tom laughed, it was a ritual when you got this drunk to have McDonalds, he didn’t need to ask what you wanted. “Tommy’s the best.” You said and your best friend laughed.

“He’s whipped, no offence Tom.” She said with a smile.

“Can’t argue if it’s true.” He said with a laugh.

“I can’t believe he admits it.” She said again. “Y/N? Where did you find this guy?” She asked and you shrugged with a smile.

“I don’t know, but I’m not sharing.” You said and your friends burst into a fit of giggles as Tom smiled at you.

“But we’re best friends!” She teased.

“We are and I’ll share anything else with you just not Tom.” You said firmly and Tom laughed as he pulled into the much-loved fast food parking lot. “Yes!” You said as you got out of the car, Tom laughing as your friends followed.

“I thought your feet hurt.” Tom teased once he’d caught up and you looked up at him with a lazy smile.

“They do.” You said as you fell into his arms, waiting for Tom to place the order because he knew you’d get it all wrong, too drunk to read the screen properly. “Thank you.” You mumbled into his chest as you waited.

“You’re welcome.” He said as he kissed your head, you snuggling further into his chest. He eventually encouraged you to sit in the booth with your friends as he got your food. Once you were all done, he got you all back into the car, yawning as he sat back behind the wheel for the final time that night.

“I found something out tonight Tom.” You said, you had hold of his hand again as you rested it in your lap and Tom looked at you humming for you to continue. “Y/F/N has a crush on Harry, she told me.” You said and Tom laughed as your friend reached behind your head and slapped it playfully.

“I told you not to tell him!” She announced as your friends fell into a fit of laughter.

“I told you I tell him everything.” You laughed as you brought his hand up to kiss the back of it. “Besides, Tom would know if Harry had a crush back.” You said loudly and Tom laughed again.

“I don’t.” He clarified.

It wasn’t long before he was listening to you all reminisce about your night, fits of laughter filling his car as he dropped both of your friends off, the only drop of left being your best friend.

“Shit.” She exclaimed and you looked round at her.

“What?” You asked.

“I forgot my bloody house door key.” She groaned.

“Just call your boyfriend.” You shrugged and she laughed sarcastically.

“No, if he’s asleep there’s no getting him up. He doesn’t wait up for me like this one.” She said and Tom watched as you frowned.

“I don’t know why you don’t just leave him, he’s awful.” You said and she hummed in agreement. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, she can stay at ours.” Tom answered easily and you smiled at him. He would quite literally do anything for that smile.

It wasn’t long before you arrived at the house, Tom helping you get out as your best friend followed you both. You were on Tom’s back again, as you played with his hair, and he opened the door. He let you down and watched as you hastily took your shoes off and threw them to the side, Tom putting them where they belong.

“Where’s my baby?” You asked as you tore off into the living room, Tom laughing as you stumbled.

“Thanks again Tom.” Your best friend said and Tom smiled before encouraging her into the living room. He was not surprised to see that your haste to get in there was because of Tess. You were on the floor with her and cuddling her as she ran her tongue up your cheek.

“I missed you.” You were saying as you cuddled her. Tom’s heart did flips as he watched you interact with her. He loved watching the two of you. You turned around after a while and looked up at Tom with a lazy and sleepy smile. “I’m tired.” You said as you rubbed your eyes, almost like a child.

“Okay, bedtime then.” Tom said as he lifted you effortlessly from the ground. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you encouraged your friend to follow you upstairs.

“Guest bathroom is there, your bedroom is there.” You said sleepily as you pointed to both rooms in question. “If you need anything just help yourself.” You yawned as you laid your head on Tom’s shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning.” You finished and Tom smiled as he kissed your temple, listening as the two friends said their good nights.

“You smell of something incredibly bloody sweet.” Tom said as he grimaced slightly, catching a very strong smell that clung to you.

“Some guy spilled his cocktail on me.” You said through a yawn. Tom lifted his hand and ran it through your now messy hair, getting to the tips and feeling the sticky liquid. “He was a dick.” You added. “Tried to dance with me. I told him to fuck off but he didn’t listen.” You said and Tom’s hands on your thighs tightened slightly.

“What happened?” He asked as he took you into the bathroom of your shared bedroom. Placing you on the counter.

“Y/F/N threatened him and he did a runner.” You laughed and Tom shook his head with a small smile. “He was just annoying and a complete dick.” You said as your head fell back against the wall with a thud.

“Yeah, he sounds like it.” Tom said as he wiped your face with a wipe, taking off the make-up. “Are you okay though?” He asked seriously.

“Yeah.” You said as you cupped his face and brought him in for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He returned easily. “Come on, you need a quick shower.” He said.

“But Tommy it’s like four am and I’m so tired.” You said with a huff.

“I know darling but you’re very sticky and you have to get into bed.” He reasoned, knowing it wouldn’t help your hangover tomorrow to have the stench of alcohol clung to you. He encouraged you off the counter, laughing as you fell into his chest, your body giving into the drunken and tiredness it was feeling.

He lifted your dress to your waist and got on his knees as he pulled your tights from you. You held his shoulders as he placed a firm hand on your waist and helped you to get out of the material, laughing as you huffed in frustration, hands tightening around his shoulders as you swayed. He pulled your underwear down before standing to full height pulling your dress up and over your head.

“What happened?” He asked as his thumb ran over a very prominent bruise on your hip. You just shrugged in response; you had a habit of walking into things even when alcohol wasn’t involved. He encouraged you into the shower, taking his own clothing off as he joined you.

“You gonna have your way with me Tommy?” You asked with a cheeky smile and he shook his head as he put shampoo in your hair.

“Not tonight sweetheart.” He said and you hugged him, it made it awkward to wash your hair but he went with it.

“Why not? You did the other morning.”

“You weren’t drunk the other morning.” He reminded your drunken state.

“I’m giving my consent.” You said and Tom huffed out a laugh as he moved onto washing your body.

“It doesn’t work like that baby.” He said as he kissed your cheek.

“You’re too good.” You said, Tom was having a hard time now keeping your arms from him, he needed you to stand still so he could wash your body. He was careful, cautious as he made sure you were okay and didn’t slip.

“No sweetheart, it’s what everyone should do.” He said as he lifted your leg to wash it.

“I feel like my ex would have.” You were rambling now, saying things as they came to mind.

“Well he was a twat.” Tom said, he really had a dislike for your ex, he’d never met him but the way he’d treated you was awful. You laughed at his words, agreeing as he set your leg down, helping you out of the shower once you were clean and drying you off.

You made your way into the bedroom and Tom smiled in endearment as you went straight for his t shirt drawer and pulled out your favourite when you were drunk. Tom would never admit he washed it this morning so you’d have it for tonight. Your eyes lit up as you brought the material to Tom who pulled it over your figure with a smile.

“Come on.” Tom said as he moved you into bed and onto your side in case you were hit with a sudden urge to throw up. He watched as you snuggled into the sheets, almost childlike and his heart flipped at the sight. You were adorable. Tess made her way into the room, jumping up to sleep at your feet, she’d missed you this evening.

“Tommy?” You mumbled quietly as he got himself ready for bed, voice laced with sleep.

“Yes my love?”

“Cuddle?” You said and he joined you instantly, you snuggled back into his arms as he held your back against his chest. “I love you.” Where the last words you spoke before your breathing completely evened out.

It was 2 pm when Tom woke up, your figure clung to him, he smiled at your peaceful form, carefully removing your arms from him as Tess stood.

“Tess, no. Leave her be, come on.” Tom said as he encouraged his dog out of bed with him, she huffed but listened. He wanted to make sure you got all the sleep your body wanted you to have. “Come on.” Tom encouraged quietly once he was dressed, making his way downstairs.

“Hey.” Your best friend greeted as she saw Tom. “Sorry, you guys weren’t up and I needed coffee.” She said as she placed a hand over her face.

“S’okay.” Tom huffed a laugh as he boiled the kettle. “How’d you sleep?” He asked as he let Tess into the garden, leaving the door open for fresh air that he was sure your best friend probably needed.

“Pretty well, I woke up like four times thinking I needed to be sick but your beds are so comfy, I wish I was rich.” She laughed and Tom smiled as he shook his head. “How’s Y/N/N?”

“No idea, she’s still asleep, probably gonna feel horrendous though.” He laughed as he made himself a brew.

“First thing she says when she gets up?” She asked and Tom raised a brow. “My bets on ‘I’m never drinking again.’” She laughed.

“My monies on ‘where’s Tess.’” Tom said as he sat next to her at the kitchen table.

“Let’s see who knows her better then.” She teased and Tom gave a ‘you’re on’ before sipping his brew. “Have you thought about, you know?” She asked and Tom furrowed his brows.

“About what?” He asked for clarification.

“You know, proposing?” She cleared up and Tom put his mug down.

“Yeah.” He shrugged and your friend smiled as she looked at him.

“How long have you been together now?” She asked. “Like 2 years?”

“Three next month.” He said and your friend smiled.

“You really do look after her you know?” She said and Tom shrugged.

“She does the same for me.”

“You didn’t have to look after us you know; her friends aren’t your responsibility.” She said.

“Yeah but, it’s good to make sure you all get home safe, I’m not a dick.” He laughed.

“True. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Always.” He said as they fell into silence.

“So when are you thinking of doing it?” She asked and Tom laughed.

“Next month.” He said. “Got her dads permission already.” He said and your friend teasingly glared at him.

“What about mine?”

“Oh sorry. May I?” He teased back and she laughed.

“Yeah, you’ll do.” She laughed before groaning and holding her head. “Wait,” she suddenly said. “You mean you’re gonna do it when you take her on holiday?” She asked.

“Yeah, got it all planned out.”

“Tell me.”

“I will, just not when there’s potential for her to walk in.” Tom laughed and your friend nodded. They chatted away for a while, Tom offering her some food which she declined politely. It wasn’t long before Tom heard movement upstairs, moving to grab the glass of water and pain killers he knew would be needed.

You walked into the kitchen, shorts now on your legs to accompany his shirt, your eyes still looked tired and your hair was a mess on top of your head but Tom still found you beautiful, you looked incredibly hungover though. You didn’t say anything as you made your way to Tom who handed you the glass of water, smiling as you took it and sat in his lap.

Tom and your friend watched in anticipation as you downed the water and pain killers, before looking around the room, Tom smiled, already knowing what was coming.

“Where’s Tess?” You croaked out, voice probably hoarse from all the singing you’d done last night.

“Goddam.” Your friend said with a laugh and Tom gave her a look that said ‘see.’ As if she knew you were awake, Tess made her way back inside and placed her front paws on your lap excitedly. You stroked her head as you put the glass down, getting off Tom’s lap and wordlessly making your way into the living room, Tess behind you.

Tom followed after a moment, you and Tess cuddled on the couch as Tom sat next to you. You were curled into a ball as Tess curled into you. Your friend joined and sat on one of the other couch’s. You groaned as you held your head, moving to place it on Tom’s bicep as you rubbed your head against it.

“I feel horrendous.” You said and Tom laughed.

“I bet you do.” He teased and you slapped his chest with little to no energy.

“Shh.” You said as you moved to place your head in his lap, moving your legs out to stretch, Tess placing her head on your side as you looked in the direction of the TV.

“Here.” Tom said as he handed you the TV remote, watching as you scrolled through the apps, opening Disney plus. He placed the blanket he’d brought downstairs over your frame.

“What do you wanna watch?” You directed the question at your friend.

“Your house, you pick.” She shrugged.

“You ever seen ‘onward’?” You asked and Tom groaned.

“No.” Your friend said.

“It’s really good.” You said as your eyes scanned the TV looking for the film in question. “There’s this really hot guy that voices one of the characters.” You said and Tom’s hands fell to your now dry hair.

“Yeah?” Your friend asked with a knowing look.

“Yeah, Chris Pratt.” You teased and Tom laughed.

“Oi,” Tom said. “Take that back or you can find a new cuddle buddy.” Tom said and you shook your head as you buried it further into his thigh.

“No, stay. I didn’t mean it. It’s Tom Holland, I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of him but his voice is wow.” You said with a small laugh.

“Better.” Tom said as your friend laughed as the film started. The room falling into quiet, the only noise coming from the TV.

“For god’s sake.” Your friend suddenly said as she threw her phone onto the couch cushion next to her.

“What?” You grumbled, Tom’s fingers massaging your head, voice tired.

“He’s angry at me.” She clarified and you groaned.

“Just leave him. It’s not your fault he was asleep last night, should’ve waited up.” You said and she groaned.

“We can’t all have a Mr Perfect.” She said back.

“I mean no but at the same time, it’s not a big ask. Why’s he annoyed?”

“Because I stayed out, forgot my keys. Apparently, I’m an idiot for forgetting them.” She said with a huff.

“He’s a twat. I’d just be glad you were safe.” You said and Tom couldn’t help but silently agree, he’d never treat you so poorly.

“You’re probably right, but I don’t have the energy to fight him today.” Your friend groaned. “Do you mind if I take a shower?” She asked.

“Go for it. Towels are in the cupboard and I have some spare clothes in my drawer, take what you want, you’ll know which drawers are mine.” You said and Tom laughed, you were comfy now and that meant any hospitality had gone out of the window.

“You want me to root around in your bedroom?” She asked with a laugh.

“I’m comfy and I trust you.” You said and she shook her head with a laugh as she disappeared upstairs. You had now found ‘up’ and Tom’s hands were running through your hair. “I love you.” You grumbled out after a moment.

“I love you. Apart from the hangover did you have a good night?” He asked.

“Yeah, this really good-looking guy took me home.” You teased.

“Yeah? Did he take care of you?”

“Yeah, I think he took me for food as well.”

“I think he might have done.”

“Yeah, he’s won my heart over, think I might stay with him forever.” You said and Tom smiled as he awkwardly lent over you to kiss your forehead.

“Yeah, I think he might want that too.”

“I hope so. I heard he’s whipped, self admittedly so.”

“How do you remember this?” Tom laughed and you shrugged.

“Beats me.”

You spent what was left of the afternoon on the couch, no intent to move as you came to slightly, your friend had gotten an uber home, declining Tom’s offer of a lift. You were now sat eating pizza that you’d ordered in.

“I hope she leaves him.” You said referring to your friend.

“Yeah, I don’t like him much.” Tom said, he’d met him a couple of times and thought he was nothing more than a dick. Wanted to be the guy who didn’t look soft for his girlfriend.

“She needs a you.” You smiled and Tom laughed.

“You specifically told her last night that you won’t share me.” He teased and you laughed.

“No I won’t but you know, might be fun if she dated one of your friends, she had a bit of a crush on Tuwaine for a while.” You shrugged.

“Little match maker.” Tom laughed.

“We should invite them both out, get them to know each other better.” You said with a smile as you pushed your pizza box to the side. Tom did the same when he was done, moving you both into a comfy cuddling position on the couch.

“I’m so excited to go to Paris next month.” You said through a yawn and Tom’s heart soared.

“Me too darling. Extremely excited.” He said as he pulled you closer, nuzzling his head into your neck as you hummed.

“Three years.” You said in reference to your anniversary.

“I know, insane really, feels like I’ve known you forever.” He said as he played with your fingers.

“Yeah, I really hope you don’t ever leave me.” You muttered and Tom smiled.

“Definitely not on my agenda baby.”

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland one shot #tom holland x female reader

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

only you and me

w/c: 6.7k

warnings: angst, mentions of weed, and some swearing

summary: whenever peter tries to tell you how he feels, harry gets in the way

a/n: ahhhh hi my loves! my mini writing break is over :,) life has been just a mess for me and i’ve been way more critical than usual about my work but i’m doing a little better and ready to get back into everything! this helped me a lot so i’m excited to share it with y’all <3 it’s also my first time writing harry osborn so lmk how i did lmaooofwfjj but yeah pls enjoy

“dude, she’s right there! just tell her!” ned whisper yells to peter, elbowing him for emphasis. they’re hidden behind a wall to watch you at your locker. you’re grabbing books while betty rants to you and mj rolls her eyes. “not now. she looks... busy,” peter gulps, gaze trailing down your body. he always finds excuses to put off telling you how he feels.

or rather, excuses find him. something comes up every time he gets the courage to do it. he has no idea why he’s so scared because he’s pretty sure you like him back. pretty sure. there are a few reasons why you might not. also, plenty why you might. you stay up late texting most nights, and you’ve even flirted a couple of times. it never fails to make peter blush. he trips over his words whenever he tries to flirt back.

he’s had feelings for you since the first time you two hung out alone. none of your other friends could make it, but you happily took him up on his offer to come over. you grinned through his whole apartment tour, asked about may and what she does. when peter showed you his room, you even complimented his movie posters, much to his surprise.

“really? you don’t think they’re, like, dorky?”

“no, peter. your interests aren’t dorky. everyone likes what they like.”

and, he liked you. he knew it from that point on. you’d know it too if the universe wouldn’t keep stopping him from saying that.

“she’s so...” peter pauses for a second. him and ned watch you pull betty in by her shoulders as if you’re going to kiss her. she dodges you, mj pushing her back, all three of you giggling about it before you grab betty’s hands and give her words of encouragement. “cool,” peter finishes, turning back to ned. “i mean, how she puts herself out there like that.”

“what’s stopping you from doing the same thing?” ned points out with a knowing smile that peter returns. you make it look so easy. whenever you’re comfortable around people, you can let go of any doubts you have. you stop worrying about what they might think and instead do what you want. it’s inspiring to peter, and heart warming getting to be one of the people you’re fully you with.

he wishes he could apply your wisdom himself.

peter shakes his head, staring down at the floor. “oh, you know. anxiety, fear of rejection. that fun stuff.” “so, yourself,” ned concludes, clapping peter’s backpack so hard it makes him stumble forward. betty and mj wave goodbye to you before heading to their first class. you’re still getting your things together at your locker. this is peter’s moment.

“come on, dude! y/n’s not busy anymore. you got this.” ned keeps his hand on peter’s back, adding on, “it’s been a year already.” “half a year,” peter corrects him in a mumble. he’s liked you for a really long time. “ok, i’m going. wish me luck.” he takes a deep breath and focuses in on you. “aw, dude. you don’t need it.” ned gives him one last pat on the back. “good luck, though.” “thanks, man. see you in trig.”

right as peter starts heading over, harry comes up behind you and covers your eyes. you squeal, jumping up and turning to him, laughing as you playfully hit at his chest. he brings you into a hug where your face is buried in his sweater and probably inhaling his super strong, super expensive cologne.

that’s what’s stopping peter, harry freaking osborn. his own friend.

peter quickly loses the tiny bit of confidence ned gave him. he figures it might be better to hold off on his confession and get an early start to class. unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen. harry has already spotted him and calls him over.

“hey, pete! come give us some love, eh?” harry beams, an arm slung around your shoulders and you smiling up at him. you direct your smile to peter when he slumps his way to your locker. his lips pull into a barely noticeable frown. you notice. “there’s my guy. why so down, sunshine?” harry offers his fist for a fist bump. peter gives it to him, eyes staying on you.

harry osborn. where to begin with such a specimen? he’s the perfect combination of everything you’d want in a guy. he gets good grades, he’s a star player on on the basketball team, nice to everyone and makes you laugh, popular yet fits right into your small group.

he was friends with you before the popular thing. what kicked it off was him making varsity basketball while only being a sophomore. yep, he’s unreal. since then, he’s been balancing his cool life and also hanging with “the nerds,” as he likes to call you. he got his own feelings for you along the way. peter can tell.

he’ll give you rides home, compliment how you look, basically act like your boyfriend without really being it. it absolutely infuriates peter because he doesn’t compare to harry in the slightest. if he were you and had the choice between himself or harry, he would pick harry.

it’s been a factor in why he hasn’t come clean about how he feels yet. he’s not trying to create a love triangle that he doesn’t stand a chance surviving in.

“for real, peter. you good?” you ask him, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “fine,” peter lies and musters up a smile. “i’m just tired. didn’t sleep too good last night.” you’re only more concerned now. this has been happening to him a lot lately. you search for his eyes. “again?”

“aw, man. you need something for it?” harry punches peter’s shoulder and lowers his voice. “i know this kid who-“ “harry, stop.” your words are serious, tone lighthearted. you throw your head back on his arm. “do you really know a kid?” “i’m not telling you,” he says in an overly happy voice, you humming the same way. peter feels like he’s third wheeling.

“i was telling pete.” harry looks at him expectantly, peter’s mouth dropping open while he thinks of what to say. harry likes to mess around. this is a different level, though. “no thanks. i- i shouldn’t. i’m-“ “relax, i don’t know a kid,” harry chuckles and points at peter. “your face right now.” it’s completely flushed. you knock into harry’s side.

“ok, well literally no one laughed. you’re scaring him,” you tell harry sternly. peter tugs tight on one of his backpack straps. he doesn’t feel like he’s third wheeling you two now. he feels like your kid. he’ll never let ned mettle in his love life ever again if this is where it gets him. “he knows i’m kidding, y/n/n. right?” harry checks with peter. you make a face at him that says you aren’t convinced.

he switches his arm from you to peter, drawing him into his side. “look, pete. i’m sorry. the only kid i know who’s selling is chocolates for his band trip.” you’re satisfied with that, grinning at both of them. peter forces a laugh and nods. “no worries, man. i gotta get to class.” “good boy,” harry lets him go. “bye, pete. we’ll see you at lunch,” you remind him. he gives you a tight lipped smile. “see you, y/n/n.”

you and harry continue practically spooning each other as soon as peter is out of sight.

what the hell is going on?

peter is back to being grumpy, plopping down in his seat next to ned. their teacher has the lesson plan pulled up on the smart board. ned looks from it to peter, almost jumping in his seat. “oh, you’re back already? how’d it go?” “it didn’t go,” peter huffs, copying down the aim. he’s only doing it so he doesn’t have to look ned in the eyes while telling him he bailed. again.

“you didn’t do it?” ned repeats, peter writing something about pi and a unit circle in his notebook. he bites the inside of his cheek. “you have to do it at some point,” ned sighs out and picks up his pencil. even he’s getting tired of this, and ned never gets tired of a good friends to lovers moment. “i think she likes harry,” peter says under his breath. “huh?” ned gasps.

peter doesn’t feel like explaining the extremely awkward moment he just finished living. although, it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion. “y/n. he came over, and they kept hugging and whatever.” “they always do that,” ned almost scoffs, their trigonometry teacher moving to stand in front of the class. “yeah, but he had his arm around her the whole time we-“

the bell rings and cuts their conversation short. peter struggles to label the unit circle they learn about when his mind is filled to its capacity with images of you and harry all over each other. it’s not daydreaming. this is a nightmare. maybe, he actually will be having sleep problems.

peter’s morning is relatively decent after that. he gets to do an experiment with mj in chemistry, and she lets him take the lead for once. spanish is easy, health is okay, then he has a free period, then it’s lunch. things can only go downhill from here.

he thinks about hiding in the library until it’s over, but it’s the thought of harry eating your face that gets him to drag himself to the cafeteria.

flash is at the head of your table talking to harry when peter gets there. great, now he can’t eat his soggy chicken fingers in peace. “sounds dope. let’s go on the-“ flash stops saying what he was saying and nods at peter. “penis parker, you’re late.” peter takes his seat on your left, harry on your right. you glance over at him to make sure he’s okay. he acts like he doesn’t care, peeling open his milk carton.

“just text me later, man. get outta here,” harry dismisses flash, the two of them doing a bro handshake before he leaves. he’s well aware of his and peter’s history. he keeps them separate for the obvious reasons. peter appreciates it because saying no to flash is nearly impossible. he shouldn’t be so mad at harry, should he? he’s a good friend.

harry’s arm snakes around your waist and brings you closer to him. never mind.

“who’s up for sushi later?” he asks the table, everyone agreeing and saying how awesome that sounds. everyone except peter. you tap his shoulder with a small smile. “what about you, peter? you coming?” he realizes you’re all waiting for him to respond and puts down his milk. “uh, i can’t. homework,” he lamely answers.

“dude, we have homework, too. just do it a little later,” ned suggests, betty laying her head on his shoulder. you share a look with her, your eyes wide and a grin on your lips. that must have been what you were talking about this morning. she asked for boy advice. ned advice. why can’t this crap work out for peter?

“i really can’t. sorry, guys,” peter half heartedly apologizes.

he misses the disappointment that crosses your features because he’s pouting at his lunch again.

“homework, huh?” mj tests him, squinting as she takes a sip of apple juice. harry nudges peter’s side with two fingers. “you still mad about the sleeping thing?” “sleeping thing? what sleeping thing?” betty wonders while ned rests his head against hers. a quiet laugh slips out of you as you lean in to tell her.

“peter said he couldn’t sleep last night, so harry offered him...” you mime rolling a joint. “i said no,” peter clarifies, rolling his eyes at the inevitable teasing he’s about to get. none of you have even smoked besides harry. you’re being annoying about it. “of course you did,” mj sighs and kicks her feet up on the table. “unrelated to what y/n just said... harry, i have insomnia.”

everyone bursts into laughter at that, betty shoving her side and you pulling harry by his torso as he pretends to go into his backpack. peter wants nothing to do with any of this. he usually enjoys joking around with the group, even if it’s at his expense because it’s from a place of love.

today feels like you’re straight up making fun of him. harry might as well invite flash to join in.

“alright, alright, alright. enough of the weed talk,” harry decides, you removing your arms from him and grabbing your coffee. “you’re such a bad influence.” your voice drips with sarcasm. you bend the straw and take a sip while scooting closer to peter. “you really can’t come later? i feel like i’ve barely seen you today.” that’s on harry. “i wish i could, y/n/n,” peter exhales. “i’ll text you later, okay?”

you don’t get to answer because mj tugs on your arm, distracting you from peter. she explains how she has to do an art project on what it means to be a woman and needs help brainstorming ideas. you’re full of them, offering up an interesting perspective for her to use. peter smiles to himself as he listens in. you find a new way to impress him every day.

he should tell you that.

“hey, y/n?” “listen to her! you’re seriously my idol,” betty gushes, so loudly you don’t hear peter. not a single thing has gone in his favor at this table. he gives up.

peter locks himself in his room when he gets home from his overall terrible day. he does homework like he said he would, only taking a break for dinner, giving one word replies to may’s questions about school. he’d much rather be having sushi with you. he would’ve gone if the others didn’t.

after dinner, it’s back to grumbling and scribbling down answers. there’s a knock at peter’s door around ten o’clock, which he assumes is may saying goodnight. “i’ll be done in a few minutes, may! love you.” “it’s y/n,” you reply, the smile clear in your voice. his eyes go comically wide. that’s the last thing he expected to hear. “oh. uh, come in.”

you’re holding a small takeout bag, shutting the door behind you and walking over to his desk. you meet his twinkling eyes in the dim light that hits off his walls. from his open window, you faintly hear cars as they rush by and honk their horns in the distance, accompanied by a fresh breeze. it’s cozy, safe. it’s peter.

“hey. what’re you doing here?” peter questions, leaving his pencil in his binder and shutting it. you shake around the plastic bag. “i saved you a roll.” he bites back a smile, getting up from his chair. “may let me in. she was really chill about it,” you continue and hold out the sushi for him. “it’s a california roll. i wasn’t sure what you wanted, and everyone likes those.”

peter lets his smile spread out and takes the bag from you. “thanks, y/n/n. i was honestly hoping one of you would have leftovers.” you laugh softly, peter setting the bag down on his desk. he scratches the back of his neck. “did you guys have fun?” “yeah. i missed you, though.” you clasp your hands behind your back. “everyone did.”

“i feel bad i didn’t go. just... things felt off today,” peter admits the real reason he stayed home, you letting out a breath. “it was harry, wasn’t it? god, he was being so weird.” your arms drop back to your sides. “there’s a difference between playing around and actually upsetting people.” by people, you mean peter. no one else seemed too bothered by him. “i’m sorry, peter. i tried to make him stop.”

“no, you don’t have to apologize,” peter assures you sweetly, grabbing one of your hands. “it’s not your fault, okay? he probably didn’t realize what he was doing. the jokes landed.” he’s referring to ned, mj, and betty finding harry’s comments hilarious. you lace your fingers with peter’s and frown. “this isn’t like him. maybe he’s stressed about a game.” your gaze drifts off to the side, what you see getting you to perk up.

“is that new?” you ask peter, leading him by his hand over to a poster he put up recently. it’s for 13 going on 30. you showed it to him a couple of weeks ago, and he clearly liked it a lot. any movie that makes it to peter’s wall is a special one. “mhm. i got it literally right after you went home the night we watched,” he chuckles and looks over at you while you study the poster.

you turn to face peter again, keeping your hand tight in his. “were you gonna tell me something earlier? at lunch?” he’s confused for a second, then he remembers your ideas for mj’s art project. the fact that you cared enough to bring it up after all these hours makes his stomach do summersaults in the best way. he shrugs and gives you a smile.

“the stuff you were saying about femininity and how there are so many ways to define it,” peter starts, you grinning back at him, at how he took an interest in what you were saying. “you’re so smart, y/n. you make me wanna be better.” a light pink dusts his cheeks. “peter, you’re a feminist?” you coo, joking but genuinely wondering at the same time. he squeezes your hand. “duh.”

“i thought so,” you nod, taking in the rest of what he said. “you think i’m smart? i trust you because you’re way smarter.” peter pffts in response. “i’m only good at, like, physics. you’re good at things that really matter. smart in that way.” you’re feeling your own face get hot. you swing yours and peter’s hands back and forth. “why are you the nicest person ever?”

the answer to that, may, peeks her head into the room. “hey, kids. it’s getting late.” she notices your intertwined hands and shoots peter a smirk. “i thought you were a cool aunt,” he teases, you sadly letting go of him. “she is. thanks for having me over so late,” you tell may on your way to the door. “oh, stop it. you can come over any time.” she puts a hand on your arm. “thank you so much,” you murmur back.

you walk backwards to the doorway, may leaving you two to say your goodbyes. “wanna hang out only you and me? on friday maybe?” that should make up for everything earlier. “yeah, of course. friday is perfect,” peter agrees and bounces on his feet as excitement takes over him. “thanks again for the sushi.”

“no problem. goodnight.” it’s taking every last bit of power in you to not freak out. “night. text me when you get home.” he presses his tongue into his cheek. you slowly pull the door shut. “ok, i will. bye!” it closes, leaving peter skipping across his room to his bed on one side and you doing a little happy dance on the other.

the next day at school, everything is back to normal. honestly, better than normal. your hangout with peter is tomorrow, and he’s planning on telling he likes you then. he already talked it over with ned. he’s relieved it’s finally happening, especially since him and betty have their own thing. she’ll be taking up most of his free time from here.

your group is spending lunch outside today, lounging across a picnic table, surrounded by trees and the shining sun in a bright blue sky. mj sits on the table and has her feet on the bench, which would usually bug peter to no end. he doesn’t mind this time because it takes up enough room that harry has to sit with ned and betty instead of you. you lean into peter’s side and stab a piece of lettuce from your salad.

“it’s so nice out,” betty sighs, ripping off half her cookie and giving it to ned. “we should ditch.” “oh my god, you sound like harry,” you groan between bites of salad. peter lets out a breathy laugh, you looping your arm through his. he grins down at where you’re linked. harry crosses his own arms over his chest. “she wishes.” betty only nods because her mouth is full of m&m’s.

“nah, seriously. i’d take us out somewhere, but i have practice after school.” he speaks quieter than he normally does, less confident. your theory about him having basketball drama was right. “what did we tell you? talk about the sports shit with your sports friends,” mj complains, sitting back on her hands. she glances at harry over her shoulder and catches ned mouthing you can’t say that.

sitting criss cross, she spins around to face harry, unenthusiastically saying, “what i meant was, you sound upset. what’s wrong?” harry gets into it right away, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “coach says there might be a scout at the next game. it’s a really good opportunity even though i don’t have to worry about... college yet.” the word makes him cringe.

“oh, damn. that’s a big deal. scary,” mj snorts, turning back to you and peter. her behavior makes ned internally face palm. “that’s awesome, dude. you’re gonna play amazing like always.” he gives harry a high five, who smiles nervously in response. he’s never nervous. “thanks, bro. you guys wanna come and watch?” he’s never invited you to one of his games before either.

this isn’t a group of friends that likes to spend their weekends in bleachers while angry teens shout around them.

“definitely. we’ll be there to support you, harry,” betty answers for everyone, ned pecking her cheek in satisfaction. mj cusses to herself before replying. “if i absolutely must, sure.” only you and peter haven’t said anything yet. he’s been chewing his lower lip, and you your salad. harry looks between you two hopefully. it’s more so at you, which peter doesn’t like.

“y/n? pete? it would help a lot, i’m serious.” he taps his fingers on the table until one of you speaks up. you’re the one who does. “i’ll go. this is pretty huge, right? congrats.” you reach across the table and squeeze his shoulder while simultaneously tightening your arm around peter’s. he takes that as a cue. “i’ll go, too. happy for you, man.”

though peter isn’t currently in the best place with harry, he should show his support by showing up. it can’t be too bad since the rest of you will be there.

a loud, long chuckle leaves harry as he hops up from his bench and comes to yours and peter’s. he bends over and wraps both of you in a hug from behind at the same time. his arms are around each of your shoulders, holding you so close his cheeks are squished against either of your heads. you giggle at that, peter finding himself laughing along and reaching back to ruffle harry’s hair.

staying mad at him is one of the world’s greatest challenges.

“you’re saints, both of you. my angels.” he kisses the back of your head, then lays one right on peter’s cheek, leaving him blushing red and grinning. “what about the rest of us? i never go to shit like this,” mj huffs and seems genuinely offended. harry wiggles his eyebrows. “you want a kiss?” his offer gets her flustered, which she can’t manage to hide. that’s a first.

“shut up. i’m just saying... never mind.” mj glares at you and peter, ned and betty making kissing noises behind her. “someone change the subject.” peter steps in. “when’s the game, harry?” he asks, harry snapping and waving his finger. “tomorrow! cancel your plans, kiddos.” “like we had any,” betty retorts.

some of you did. that was going to be peter’s hangout with you.

ned smiles sympathetically at peter before betty is getting his attention. you‘re unfazed and rambling to harry how proud you are of him.

did last night mean nothing? was it an empty gesture? were you only doing it out of guilt? peter must have read your visit wrong. he’s been wrong the whole time he’s liked you. you don’t like him back, you pity him. harry is who you’re really interested in.

may always says he should trust his instincts.

peter pulls his arm from yours suddenly, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. you’re taken back because it’s so out of no where. you stop talking to harry so you can figure out his deal. “where are you going?” “bell’s gonna ring,” peter mumbles and picks up his lunch tray. he heads to the garbage can without another word or goodbye to anyone.

“i’m gonna go check on him,” you tell harry, already getting up from the bench. “you do that,” he acknowledges and calls mj’s name again.

peter tosses his mostly untouched food in the trash, seeing you make your way over from the corner of his eye. he tries to speed walk inside so he doesn’t have to talk to you. you’re too quick, cornering him between the door and brick wall.

“we still have ten minutes,” you state, worry flashing across your face. he’s avoiding you. well, attempting to. “what’s wrong?” peter gulps before saying anything. “my next class is on the other side of the-“ “no,” you cut him off. “what’s really wrong?”

he doesn’t feel like having this discussion. it’s bad enough he came to the realization his feelings are one sided. must he break that down for you so soon?

you toy with your sleeve while you speak because peter doesn’t. “i thought you and harry were fine again. i mean, he kissed you.” peter clenches his jaw so hard he can imagine the sound of it cracking. “it’s not about harry.” “what, then? what the fuck happened?” your sleeves are now balled in your fists. you hate it when peter does this angsty routine.

he keeps his voice low and calm so he doesn’t come off as jealous or hurt. he’s both of those things. “the game is tomorrow. friday. when we were supposed to hang out.” you meet peter’s eyes with nothing but remorse in yours. “i... i forgot,” is all you have to say.

you feel awful. he’s had a tough couple of days, and you fell through on your promise to cheer him up.

“clearly,” peter remarks, voice sharp. the way you’re looking at him makes him think he won’t like what’s coming. “peter, we have to go,” you almost whine. “i’m really sorry, i am, but this is a big night for harry. he needs us there.” peter stays silent. you’re twisting the knife deeper into him with every word. “i wouldn’t be cancelling if this wasn’t important.”

now you’re cancelling?

you reach for peter’s hand, but he shoves it into his pocket. that stings for you and him. “please, peter. we’ll hang out at the game, i swear.” this is the last chance you’ve got, so you pile it on. “harry won’t even be there, technically. he’ll... he’ll be on the court.” peter hadn’t thought about that. he lets himself unclench, starting to see the appeal. you add one more thing to lighten the mood and persuade him.

“i’ll buy you popcorn, all you can eat.” it’s that easy. cracking a smile, peter accepts. he’ll deal with his unresolved, unreciprocated feelings after he stuffs his face, courtesy of you. “you better. i’m gonna need it for this long ass game.” your face lights up, grabbing his wrist in both hands.

“so, you’ll come?” “i’ll be there,” he confirms. you throw your arms around his neck. he laughs into the hug and holds you by your middle. “i promise this’ll be the first and last game we ever go to,” you say and mean it. harry is lucky you’re even suffering through this a first time. “thank god,” peter exhales, resting his chin on your head.

that interaction leaves peter confused as hell. you’re crushing his mind and soul one minute, then hugging him the next. you were making him feel so special lasts night, and treating harry the same way today. it’s so jumbled that he isn’t sure if he’s in the friend zone or something more zone.

there are a ton of mixed signals coming his way, and he sucks at reading people as is.

he can’t take another second of this. he’d rather you come out and say you like harry already because it’s torture. knowing you don’t want him in that way would at least eliminate the possibility of anything happening between you two, and allow him to stop driving himself insane.

he’d be able to stop taking it out on harry, too.

the hold you have on peter, that you’re oblivious to, rules his every thought and decision. he’s constantly analyzing what you say to him, debating whether or not your affection is simply platonic. it’s been half a year of this madness, the night of harry’s game blurring every line so much more.

your group arrives a bit early to find seats and hype harry up before he plays. peter gets there after all of you because he’s not exactly in a rush to watch sweaty guys be aggressive. there’s only one upside, which is spending the night with you... and everyone else.

he steps into the gym that’s filling up fast with family members, friends, and the college scout harry was talking about. midtown has a different feeling to it at night. the smell of pencils is oddly stronger, and it’s a lot less intimidating.

cheerleaders are huddled in a circle while the team supervisor has them run their chants. the “leading official,” who peter thought was called a referee, takes his place off to the side. coaches give their players last minute instructions, players fool around with each other, a lot is going on.

peter scans the room for you, and grins a toothy grin when you catch his eyes. you’re sitting by yourself in one of the middle bleachers, only a bag of skinny pop in your lap. you return the smile once you spot him and wave him over.

“i don’t know why, but i thought they’d have an actual concession stand,” you explain the lack of fresh, buttery popcorn as peter takes a seat next to you. he catches the prepackaged bag you toss him. “it’s just a snack table.” “works either way,” peter hums and pokes the bag. “i’m not sure skinny pop is all i can eat, though.” “it’s good!” you defend the snack you chose for him.

“i’m kidding! you’re right, it’s kind of addicting.” he puts it by his feet for now and gives you a half smile. “you’re welcome,” you deadpan in a playful tone. “thanks.” he narrows his eyes. “where’s everyone else?” “right,” you twist around and gesture to the bleacher above you. mj is gloomily seated near the back. ned and betty are a few behind you.

“i told them to find their own seats so we can sit together, alone.” you look over at peter and move ever so slightly closer. “welcome to our friday hangout. just the two of us.” “aw, you didn’t have to do that,” peter laughs out, his knee bumping yours. “but, i’m happy you did.” he goes to put an arm around you, then harry comes racing up the stairs.

just the two of you didn’t last so long.

“y/n, i’m freaking out,” harry announces, zooming through your row to get over to you. he stops once he’s standing in front of peter and shakes him by his shoulder. “hey, pete. you made it.” “yup,” peter replies, pressing his lips together. you wince at his reaction, then quirk an eyebrow at harry. “you’re freaking out? why?”

harry sits down between you and peter, blissfully unaware of the moment he interrupted.

“i found the scout. he’s fucking terrifying as fuck. this super ripped guy, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else,” he talks quietly, like the man will hear him. “he’s not the only one,” peter says to himself, kicking around his bag of popcorn to pass time. you ignore him and grimace.

“shit. wait, how do you know it’s him? did they tell you?” you’re not sure how these things go. harry casually shrugs a shoulder. “dude has a clipboard. seems legit to me.” he gives you a cocky smile. “he’s also in the row before mj. that’s how i noticed. um...” his back now facing peter, he whispers something in your ear that makes you giggle.

peter’s face scrunches up as the spark of anger the past few days have lit reignites itself.

when harry pulls away, you motion for him to come closer with your index finger, cupping your hand around his ear and speaking into it.

nope, no more. peter is entirely about to explode. you cancelled your plans so you can force him to watch basketball, you sweet talk him so he’ll let it go, and you’re running right back to harry after all of that? what the hell does that mean?

peter stands up from his seat. “y/n, we need to talk,” he demands, you moving away from harry to respond. “ok, gimme a minute. we’re-“ “no, we need to talk now.” you don’t have time to refute because he’s taking your arm and dragging you away. harry squints at you in utter confusion.

“um, have a good game! we’ll talk later,” you call back to him, walking with peter even though you have no idea what his issue is and aren’t a fan of how he’s acting.

he releases you once you’re in the hallway. you make a point of harshly yanking your arm back, a scowl painting your lips. “jesus, peter. i was having a conversation.” “do you like harry?” peter blurts out. you’re so shocked at his abruptness that you don’t give him much to work with, only, “what?” “do you like harry?” he asks you again, this time less accusing and more curious.

“do i like...” you’re too aware of the seemingly hundreds of people surrounding you to answer comfortably. “can we talk about this somewhere else?” “sure,” peter nods, letting you lead the way since he did to get out here. you two go down the hall and choose the first room you see, which happens to be the custodian’s closet. it’s thankfully unlocked.

things were tense between you and peter on the way over, and it’s physically mirrored when you step into the room, air thick and smelling of lemon cleaning supplies. you tug on the string hanging down to turn on the light. it casts a faded glow, leaving you in mostly darkness. you sort of like it. this feels more intimate, which is fitting for what you’re both about to say.

neither one of you knows where to begin. peter’s question is ringing in the back of your mind, and you could touch on that, but there’s more to it than a simple yes or no. you don’t have to worry about it because peter gets his words out first.

“i think harry likes you, and i think you like him back,” peter restarts, already sounding deflated by what he came up with. “he doesn’t, and i don’t.” you take a step towards him. “he likes mj.” it’s peter’s turn to be shocked. the hint of a smile sets on your lips. “that’s what we were talking about. harry asked if he should take her to dinner after the game, and i said yes.”

this is going better than he expected.

“mj is the one who likes him, not me,” you reiterate and watch some life enter peter again, a tiny bit. he’s coming around, and he wants to believe you. his trust issues don’t. “but, you’re so... touchy with each other. the hugging the other day?” he mentions. you tilt your head to the side in amusement. “friends can’t hug?”

to be fair, you hugged peter yesterday. that’s a point rightfully shut down.

“he calls you pretty,” peter tries, raising both eyebrows. you have to laugh at this one. “you call may pretty.”

obviously, peter’s analysis skills could use some serious improvements. it sounds like he had the right idea, wrong person. your relationship with harry is platonic. hell, he’s crushing on a whole different person. this actually opens up the possibility of you liking peter in the romantic way, of him being in the something more zone. he had it backwards.

in case peter isn’t convinced yet, and because you really want to, you use one more trick to prove to him you don’t like harry.

“do me and harry do this?” your lips speak for you, colliding with peter’s unexpectedly yet easily. he feels like he’s floating, like he’s in some sort of magical wonderland until it hits him that this is real, and he should probably kiss you back. he does so softly and tangles his fingers in your locks. his hand supports the back of your head as the kiss goes on.

you push forward so your bodies are almost fused together, the closest you can be while you hold his jaw. peter breaks the kiss for a short breather, going back in without more than a moment passing. this one is feverish, his free arm looping around your lower back, hand resting on the small of it. you let out a giggle against his swollen lips and stroke your thumb over his jawline.

he’s been waiting to do this for the longest time, but he doesn’t have to tell you that. it shows in how eager he was to reciprocate, his shyness blossoming into passion. you feel yourself melting under his touch, the kiss eventually becoming a series of short pecks. peter gives you the final one. his pink lips form a grin when you pull apart. your hands stay on each other, not in a rush to go anywhere.

“woah, i like you so much,” peter laughs out. the words roll off his tongue naturally. “you know i like you,” you drawl, smiling at him, a full body smile while you caress his skin. he winds both arms around you and dips his head down to steal another kiss. you’re loving what’s happening. however, you don’t feel like making out while dirty brooms stare at you. you should take this back home.

“wanna get out of here? i do,” you suggest, voice muffled from his lips. they detach from yours and brush your cheek gently. peter makes a funny face. “hm, i thought we had to come. harry needs us,” he says what you did yesterday, earning a groan back. “you’re joking.” “i’m not. what kind of friends would we be, ditching him like that?”

he’s going to end you one day.

“yeah, no. i have no idea how basketball works, and i’d like to keep it that way,” peter drops the act, pressing his fingers into your sides. “i’ve been so mean to harry. i was...” “a dick?” you finish for him. it’s more of a statement than a question. to soften the blow, you rub his cheek with the tips of your fingers. “yup. he’s gonna think i hate him or something if we don’t stay.” his formerly smiley face is frowning.

“harry of all people will understand after we tell him our reasons,” you reassure him, nudging under his chin with your nose. “besides, he has other things to worry about. mj, the scout. it’s fine.” peter considers it, ultimately giving in to you like he always does, resting his forehead on yours. “i guess so. less distractions for him, yeah.” “exactly. that’s what i wanna hear.”

having his approval, you unwind yourself from him and head to the door. his fingers wrap around your wrist gently. “what about my popcorn?” a giggle escapes your lips. “you’re still on that?” “you said all i can eat!” his voice comes out high pitched, adorably high pitched.

“fine. i might have those bags you put in the microwave.” you smile when his fingers lock with yours, peter kissing the side of your head.

“even better. let’s go home.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine

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hrina · 4 years

Text

In The Ring, Pt. II - Cross

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: highly lol!

hi again! here’s PART 2 of boxer!harry :) thank u all for such a wonderful response on the first part, i can’t explain how much it means to me. i worked really hard on this chapter, so i hope u guys love it! if u do, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated, and i’ll probably ask for ur hand in marriage in return.

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

u can find the rest of this series on my masterlist, which is linked in my bio! my inbox is also there if you wanna spare a few thoughts about this part. love u guys sm, stay safe out there 💛💛💛

~*~

January 19, 2021

It’s ten at night, and you’re curled up in bed, scrolling through social media. You should be doing the assigned readings for your anatomy class, but you’re procrastinating. Besides, watching video after video of cute kittens peeking their furry little heads out of cardboard boxes is a much better way to pass the time.

Your relaxation period is interrupted when a notification banner descends from the top of your screen. It’s an unknown number, but the content of the message makes your eyes widen in surprise.

Hi. It’s Harry. I’m at the gym.

You tap on the text immediately, waiting with bated breath as you’re taken to a different app. You chew on your bottom lip for a moment, thumbs hovering over the screen before they begin to type.

Hey! I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Harry’s reply is short, concise, to-the-point—just like him. Oddly enough, it makes you smile.

Okay. See you soon.

~*~

The first thing that Harry notices when you walk through the door is that you’re slightly out of breath. He’s standing in the middle of the ring, his eyes fixated on the opposite side of the room as you enter. Your hair is tied up in a high ponytail, and you’re wearing a pair of leggings and a tank top under your jacket. Your sneakers squeak against the floor as you stride over to him, fingers wiggling in a friendly wave.

“Hi!” you call out, shooting him a kind smile.

Harry leans against the ropes circling the ring, careful not to put too much of his weight on the barriers lest he flip over and fall to the floor. It’s happened once or twice, and each time, he ended up with a bruised tailbone afterward.

“Hi,” he replies.

You shrug your coat from your shoulders as you draw nearer. “How are you?” you ask, peering up at him curiously.

“Good, thanks,” he says. His fingers toy absentmindedly with the silver cross pendant dangling from his neck. “Er…did you run here?”

“What? Oh, no,” you answer with a breathless laugh. “I drove. But I was hurrying—I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

You’re so fucking sweet. He’s going to throw up.

“It’s alright.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“Still,” you say, tightening your ponytail with both hands. “You’re going out of your way to do this for me. And while we’re on the subject of that—thank you, again. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Harry says. He slips between the ropes and hops down from the platform. “Shall we start?”

“We shall,” you agree, biting back a teasing smile. “Am I going up against you?”

Despite himself, Harry chuckles. He shakes his head. “Not yet. First, you need to learn the basics.”

“Basics,” you echo, nodding once. “Right.”

He leads you over to the side of the ring, where a pair of punching bags have been strung up near the wall. The arrangement is nothing special—twin leather bags, one brown and one black, filled with sand and stitched together with strong, coarse thread. Reflexively, you reach out, running your fingertips along the black bag and giving it a gentle push. It swings outward before returning back to you. Harry watches you closely, examining the gentle crease between your brows and the slight glaze that smooths over your pupils. He clears his throat quietly, and you seem to snap out of your trance.

“Do you know how to punch?” he asks.

You purse your lips, looking unsure of yourself. “Um…I think so.”

He nods. “Show me, then.”

The blow that you deliver to the bag is weak at best. Harry immediately notices a handful of things that you’re doing wrong. When you pull your arm back and peer up at him, he’s trying his hardest to hold back a smirk.

“What?” You frown.

“Nothing.” He snickers softly, shaking his head again. “It’s just…that was cute.”

“‘Cute’?” you parrot, narrowing your eyes. You scoff good-naturedly, stepping back and holding your arm out in invitation. “You do it, then.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “Gladly.”

The chain hanging from the ceiling rattles when his fist makes contact with the leather. The punching bag itself swings forward in an extraordinary arc before hurtling back in your direction. You gasp when Harry stops it with his palms. He grunts quietly, stilling it before turning around to face you. There’s a small smile playing on his lips, and he’s sure that his eyes are gleaming with a smug sparkle. You just cross your arms over your chest, gazing at him evenly with your chin held high.

“Fine,” you say. “Tell me what to do.”

Harry gets you situated back in front of the bag, standing beside you and studying your posture.

“First of all,” he starts, “you need to make sure that the position of your feet matches the position of your arms.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, shooting him a confused pout.

“Like this—,” Harry reaches for your shoulders before pausing, his fingers only inches away from your skin. “Er,” he clears his throat, fixing you with inquisitive eyes, “is it alright if I touch you?”

You nod wordlessly. Harry swallows down the lump in his throat as his hands close the distance between your bodies. He slants your torso to the side before reaching for your arms, bending them at the elbow so that your fingers—now curled into loose fists—are suspended in front of your face.

“If you’re angling yourself this way,” Harry starts, mimicking your stance, “you need to make sure that your right foot is leading you. But if you stand in the opposite direction—,” he changes sides, adopting a mirror image of his previous position, “—then it has to be your left foot. Got it?”

“Got it,” you say confidently. That same crease is digging into the space between your eyebrows; Harry aches to reach out and flatten it with the pad of his thumb.

“Also,” he says, delicately wrapping his fingers around your wrists, “when you punch, you can’t drop your other hand. Keep it up at all times—you need to guard your face.”

“Guard my face,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “Okay, cool.”

You throw an experimental punch at the bag, and Harry doesn’t miss the shadow of pain that flashes across your features. His eyes trail down the length of your arm, lingering on your fist. Before you can deliver another blow, he stops you, catching your knuckles in the calloused valley of his palm and halting your movements.

“Keep your thumb on the outside,” he says, peeling your fingers open and freeing your thumb from beneath them. “You’ll break it, otherwise.”

He curls the digits back up, this time so that your hand is settled in the proper arrangement. He then steps back, jerking his head toward the bag and encouraging you to take another swing. “Try it, now.”

The third blow is better than the past two. You beam up at Harry when a promising smack! echoes through the air. He smiles reassuringly at you, nodding his head and tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “Good. That’s a start.”

“Put me in, Coach,” you tease, bringing your fists up to your face and bouncing playfully on the balls of your feet. Your eyes shimmer as you peek at him from behind your knuckles. Harry presses his lips together to keep himself composed, but he can’t stop the faint snort that slips out of his nose. You laugh cheerfully, dropping your arms back to your sides.

“Okay, so I know how to punch,” you say. “What’s next?”

“There’s four main punches in boxing,” Harry replies. He steadies himself in front of the bag, his left foot extended to provide balance.

“The jab—”

He punches with his left fist, pointed and forceful.

“—the cross—”

He strikes with his right hand, driving the weight of his body into the blow.

“—the hook—”

He curves his arm, angling it accordingly so that he can deliver a hit to the side of the bag.

“—and finally, the uppercut.”

He bends his elbow, scooping upward so that his fist makes contact with the bottom half of the bag. The sand inside shifts audibly as it rattles around, looping in every direction and gathering momentum. Harry turns back to you as it continues to swing in circles, cracking his knuckles loudly and seeking you out.

Your eyes are wide. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you look a bit…enthralled. His brow furrows in confusion.

“You alright?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, and he’s taken aback by the breathless quality of your voice. You clear your throat quickly, scratching at your hairline and looking away. “You’re just very…dedicated. That’s all.”

“I’ve got to be,” Harry hums. He turns back to the punching bag and ceases its movements. “This is how I make a living.” His lips quirk up with the hint of a smile. “We can’t all go to medical school and become doctors.”

A weak laugh tumbles from your mouth. “I haven’t even gotten in yet,” you say from behind him.

“But you will,” he murmurs, the reply slipping out before he can weigh it on his tongue. “Without a doubt.”

He pauses when the words finally sink in, his shoulders stiffening and his eyes stamping shut. If you weren’t standing so close, he would have leaned forward and crushed his forehead into the rough leather of the punching bag. His lips mould around unspoken curses as a heavy silence descends upon the two of you.

At last, you finally choke out, “I—thank you, Harry. That’s really nice of you to say.”

“No problem,” he grunts. He steps back, spinning on his heel but refusing to meet your gaze. You’re probably looking at him like that—with soft, glimmering irises and earnestness woven through every cell in your body. If your eyes lock, he knows that he’ll be overrun with the urge to kiss you.

And he knows that if that happens, he might not be able to hold himself back.

“What time do you have to be home?” Harry asks, subtly trying to change the topic.

You lift one eyebrow challengingly, like you know exactly what he’s doing. Still, though, you humour him.

“I told my dad I was going to a friend’s house,” you say, shrugging lightly. “We have time, don’t worry.” You smile as a thought crosses your mind. “Just make sure you don’t get me too sweaty by the end of the night, okay? I can’t go home looking like I’ve just run a marathon.”

Harry’s cock twitches in his shorts at the thought of rendering you sticky and speechless. Of watching you walk away from him with wobbly knees and messy hair. Of dropping you off at home and nibbling on your neck one last time for good measure. He quickly shoos the temptations away, clearing his throat and nodding in accord.

“Minimal sweating,” he concedes. “I’ll try my best.”

Deep down, he knows that you’ll most likely be drenched with perspiration once he’s through with you. You’ll figure that out soon enough, though.

Harry makes his way over to the ring, snatching up a pair of gloves lying on the platform. He turns back around, tossing them to you and fighting a smile when you yelp in surprise. With an awkward flail, you manage to catch them in your arms. You shoot him a questioning look, lifting your eyebrows and waiting for an explanation.

“Put those on,” he orders, clapping his hands together once. “We’re gonna try to perfect your stance, tonight.”

“Why do I need to wear them, then?” you ask, gazing down blankly at the gloves nestled against your chest.

“You don’t need to, I suppose,” Harry says, shrugging. “But your knuckles will probably be destroyed by the end of the night.”

“Oh.” You make a face, wrinkling your nose up in distaste. “Okay, yeah—I’ll use them.”

He smirks, folding his arms over his chest. “We want to be careful, don’t we? Those are the steady hands of a future surgeon.”

You scoff, laughing gently at his quip. “Hopefully,” you say, a sweet smile playing on your lips. “Let’s just pray that I get the right grades.”

You will, Harry thinks, but this time, he bites his tongue to keep the sentiment contained. You’re smart, and you’re beautiful, and you’re kind. You’re perfect. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to kiss you. I want to fuck you. I want to sleep next to you at night and prepare you breakfast in the morning. I want to make you laugh. I want to make you smile. I want to—

“Harry?”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

You fix him with a benevolent look. “Zoning out on me?”

“No.” He shakes his head, approaching you as you struggle to tug on one of the boxing gloves. His eyes fall to your hands and he reaches out, halting your movements with a gentle, “Let me.”

You peek up at him shyly as he guides your fingers into the glove. He keeps his gaze trained downward, avoiding your eyes. One of his rough palms grasps your elbow as he tugs the Velcro strip tight around your wrist. Once he’s done the same with the other one, he releases you and steps back.

“Thank you,” you say softly. He just nods in response.

“Make sure your feet are shoulder-width apart,” he says, and you spread your legs according to his command.

For a brief moment, the image of you separating your thighs to accommodate his hips flashes through his mind, but he squeezes his eyes shut and wills it away.

The rest of the night is painful—his cock grows stiffer and stiffer by the hour, spurred on by each sweet smile that you send his way. By the time you’re through with the session and bidding him goodnight as he locks up, he’s half-hard beneath his black shorts. He hopes that you don’t notice.

You shoot him a cheerful wave and drive away, and he watches before toddling over to his own vehicle. As soon as he slides into the driver’s seat, he releases a heavy, guttural groan, slouching forward and pressing his forehead to the crest of the steering wheel. Blindly, he sticks his key into the ignition and turns it, and the truck rumbles to life. A quick glance at the dashboard reveals that it’s well past midnight. Only then does he realise the extent of his exhaustion.

He backs out of the parking lot, pulling onto the main street and training his eyes on the road ahead. If he squints, he can still make out the red taillights of your car.

The journey back to his apartment passes in no time. Harry climbs sluggishly up four flights of stairs, tumbling into his home and pressing the door shut with one hand. He drags his feet down the hall and past the threshold of his bedroom, pausing only to rip his t-shirt from his torso before collapsing onto his mattress. Obscure silhouettes dance across his eyelids as they drift shut.

The last thing on his mind before sleep overtakes him is the gentle slope of your smile.

February 21, 2021

One month and a handful of late-night sessions later, Harry finds himself inundated with guilt. He’s constantly plagued by memories of your virtual conversations—short, brief little interactions consisting primarily of him letting you know that he’s free to train that evening. Your responses, ripe with exclamation marks and prattles of gratitude. You’ve taken up the habit of texting him after each lesson, too, composing a quick thank-you message before shutting your phone for the night.

And Harry regrets everything—agreeing to teach you how to box, letting you know when he’s available to meet, encouraging you as your technique progresses. On several occasions, he’s considered breaking things off, telling you that he’s too busy, that you should be focussing exclusively on school instead of on how to throw a right hook.

But then you look at him like that. With bright, trusting eyes and open features and that easy, dazzling smile. And the wall that he’s been trying so hard to build back up—not that it was particularly robust to begin with—comes crashing down.

His match is set to start in fifteen minutes, and you’re not here. You have a midterm tomorrow—your father had mentioned it in passing. You’ve been holed up in your room all weekend, he said, permanently absorbed in the pages of your textbook.

And Harry’s nervous, because you’re his lucky charm. What the fuck is he supposed to do, now?

The minutes seem to fly by—before he knows it, he’s stepping out into the ring with the crowd’s thundering screams echoing in his ears. His opponent isn’t the biggest man he’s ever gone up against, but he’s definitely not scrawny. Harry’s maybe two inches shorter than him—under normal circumstances, the height difference wouldn’t have fazed him. But he’s already on edge due to your absence, so even the smallest observations are proving to be exceedingly disconcerting.

Looking back, he supposes that he should’ve known.

Doomed from the start, destined to fail—whatever you want to call it.

Point being, he loses. Horrendously.

And he’s not quite sure when they bring the stretcher out and peel him off of the floor of the ring, but he knows that it’s sometime after the second round. He blinks rapidly, fading in and out of consciousness as moisture trickles down the side of his face. Somewhere beneath the wooziness, he’s well aware that the match is over. Your father is standing over him, walking at a brisk pace to keep up with the two men carrying him out of the arena.

“What do you mean, he called in sick?” your father spits, his eyes alight with anger. “You couldn’t find anybody else?”

The man behind Harry’s head says something that he can’t quite discern. His response makes your father grit his teeth and pinch the bridge of his nose. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, punching in a number and bringing the device up to his ear.

A few moments later, his expression lights up, relief flooding his features. “Gioia? Yeah, hi…”

Harry’s vision fades to black.

~*~

“…going to have some strong words with the bastard that did this—”

“Gioia, please. That’s how the sport works.”

An outraged scoff. “Who the hell kicks a man while he’s down?”

No reply.

Harry drifts off once more.

~*~

When his eyelids flutter open, it takes a moment for him to regain his bearings. Through the blurriness of his vision, he sees a dim light hanging from the ceiling, bathing his surroundings in a pale white glow. He blinks rapidly, hoping that his sight will sharpen with each flutter of his lashes. There’s a dull pain throbbing against the right side of his torso, battering against his ribcage and pulling an agonized groan from his lips.

The low sound is met with a high gasp. Seconds later, a face is looming over his own. Harry forces himself to concentrate on the person’s features—kind, worried eyes, raised brows, and pretty, parted lips. His heart begins to gallop in his chest.

“Harry,” you breathe. A few gentle fingers card through his hair. The sensation of your nails against his scalp makes him shiver. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” he croaks, his voice hoarse.

Despite the worry swimming around in your irises, you emit a shy laugh.

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask, pulling your hand out of his hair. He nearly whines at the loss.

“Think so,” he mutters. He places his palms flat against the surface beneath him—a bed, perhaps?—and pushes himself onto his elbows. The muted pain in his side flares fiercely, making him choke on his own breath. You reach out for him, setting one hand down on his shoulder while the other wraps delicately around his bicep.

“Easy, easy,” you soothe, tutting disapprovingly. “Be careful.”

“’M always careful,” Harry says.

“Yeah,” you reply sarcastically, nodding your head. “And that’s how you ended up like this, right?”

A short, wheezing laugh punches its way out of his lungs. “Touché.”

Once he’s sitting up, he takes note of the room—well, it’s not really a room. The only thing separating the two of you from whatever lies outside is a thin curtain drawn over what he presumes to be the exit. To his left, a single cabinet with multiple drawers stands only a few feet away. You’re both tucked into a little alcove in the wall, no bigger than a standard bedroom. Harry glances around, his gaze landing on a single plastic chair facing the bed. Everything is set up like a hospital room (but far less comfortable, and severely lacking in terms of medical equipment).

“Where’s Coach?” he asks, creases forming along his forehead.

“He went to go grab us some coffee,” you explain, your eyes scanning his face. “It’s late.”

“How late?”

“Nearly two.”

“Fuck.” His head snaps toward you. “Don’t you have a midterm tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” You chew nervously on your bottom lip. “But it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” he says, gritting his teeth and glaring at you sharply. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You recoil a bit at his harsh tone. “Your stupid medic took a sick day,” you tell him, your voice hard. “And my dad asked me to come in and have a look at you. Who knows where you’d be if I hadn’t shown up.”

Regret washes over him. He slouches back against the bed—it’s more of a cot, really—and blows out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay.” You wave his apology away with a quick flick of your fingers. “Just…be quiet for a second, alright? I need to examine you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn’t miss the way your lips twitch as the words sink in.

“Can you move to the edge of the bed?” you ask, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. “I need to see you properly, but I don’t want to make you stand just yet.”

“Sure.”

He shifts his body to the right, slowly dragging his legs off of the cot with a distressed wince. The floor is cold when his feet make contact with the ground, but he pays it no attention. He’s shirtless, clad only in the shorts he’d been wearing when he first stepped into the ring. He purses his lips and feels something stiff realign against his cheek. When he brings his hand up to his face, he finds a cottony piece of fabric taped onto his skin.

“What—?” He looks up at you in confusion.

“It was bleeding pretty badly,” you tell him. “I had to stop it, somehow.”

For the first time that night, he takes you in properly. You’re wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants—it looks like the type of outfit that one would shrug on if they were in a rush to leave the house. Another pang of guilt jolts through his chest.

“What happened?” Harry croaks, pulling his hand away from his cheek.

“My dad told me that the other guy was wearing a bracelet,” you say; frustration drips from your words. “He didn’t take it off before the match started. It’s not a big cut, but it’s deep. You’ll probably need a few stitches.”

“And you know how to do that?” he asks, watching as you circle around the bed and approach the cabinet on the opposite side. He twists in an attempt to keep his eyes on you, but then grunts lowly at the ache that thrums against his side. When he looks down at his torso, he discovers a large splotch of blue and purple decorating the skin covering his ribs.

“I watched my mom do it back when my dad used to coach Artie,” you say absentmindedly, rifling through a few drawers and collecting the supplies that you need. You pause, your eyes clouding over with something forlorn. “Now that I think about it, that’s probably why I want to go into medicine. I think…it would’ve made her proud.”

“It would’ve,” Harry agrees.

He watches you carefully as you make your way back over to him, afraid of prying or saying the wrong thing. Your mother’s death had hit your family hard; he rarely hears you or your father mention her. But maybe that’s for the best—wounds can’t heal if they’re being ripped open time after time again. He would know.

You dump a handful of materials down onto the bed—disinfectant, cotton swabs, tissues, gauze, a needle, thread, and a pack of medical sutures. Harry swallows heavily.

“Do you mind if I…?” you trail off, pursing your lips timidly. Somehow, he understands exactly what you’re referring to.

“No, not at all,” he says. The words fall from his mouth a bit too quickly.

With no further preamble, he spreads his legs, and you step into the space made available between his knees. You lean to the side, reaching for the disinfectant and cotton swabs on the bed, but then nearly lose your balance in the process. Harry’s hand flies upward reflexively, settling on your hip to keep you steady.

You glance down at him with wide eyes, and he hastily removes his palm from your body. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking away.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, and is it just his imagination, or do you sound a bit…breathless?

“You’ve got a couple of scrapes on your face,” you continue. You clear your throat, uncapping the antiseptic and dipping a cotton swab into the bottle. “This’ll hurt a little.”

“It’s alright—fuck!” he swears, scowling deeply at the sting that blooms across his chin. You chew on your bottom lip, dragging the swab over his injuries with practiced, nimble fingers. His toes curl against the cold, concrete floor.

Once you’ve finished sterilising his minor wounds, you turn your attention to the massive bruise on his torso.

“Can I?” you ask softly, extending your arm but pausing only inches away from his skin.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

He fights back against a shudder when your fingertips ghost over his ribs. You hesitate, applying a bit more pressure and cringing when he groans. “Sorry,” you whisper, making a move to pull away.

“No,” Harry breathes quickly. He catches your hand in his, trapping your palm back against his side. Briefly, he notes the unmistakable softness of your knuckles, so different from his own. “’S okay. Do what you need to do.”

You nod tautly, pressing your fingers against the bruise once more. Harry grinds his teeth together, trying his best to withstand the pain. You prod around for a few seconds, your brow furrowed in concentration. When you don’t appear to find anything worrisome, you sigh in relief and drop your arm so that it rests limply at your side.

“No broken ribs,” you announce quietly. “At least, not as far as I can tell.”

“That’s reassuring,” he jokes.

A weak laugh falls from your mouth. “I haven’t gotten into med school yet, remember?”

He chuckles. Your eyes suddenly darken, and an angry scowl curls along your lips.

“He kicked you while you were knocked out,” you murmur, shaking your head in disbelief. “Fucking asshole.”

Harry’s eyebrows fly upward, his mouth twitching at your vulgar words. You catch sight of his amused expression, but instead of mirroring it, your frown only deepens.

“It’s not funny,” you say. “He fought dirty.”

“This whole setup is illegal, baby,” he says. Neither of you comment on the pet name that slips out of his mouth. He hopes that you view it as part of an expression, and not a proclamation of his affection. “Fighting dirty—they don’t care about that. If anything, it just gives them one hell of a show.”

“Still,” you mutter, gluing your eyes to the discoloured skin covering his ribs. “He shouldn’t have done it.”

Harry smiles softly, reaching out and tucking two fingers beneath your chin. Your lips part in surprise, and he tilts your face up so that he can look at you properly.

“Thank you,” he says, his tone entirely sincere, “for taking care of me.”

Your throat bobs with a hefty swallow—he can feel it against his knuckles. You lift your hand up to his face, and for a moment, he thinks that you mean to stroke his cheek lovingly. But then you scrape your thumb over the bandage covering his cut, and he’s reminded that this doesn’t mean anything.

You’re here to stitch him back up—nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

“I’m not done yet,” you say.

The two of your drop your fingers at the same time. Harry clears his throat, trying to absolve the tension in the air. You seize some of the other supplies still strewn across the bed, laying them out properly before getting to work.

You’re diligent, removing the bandage on his cheek and using a few tissues to mop up the blood that immediately begins to drip downward, rolling over the jut of his jaw. He curses when you pass another cotton swab over his injury, screwing his face up at the smarting prickle of the antiseptic.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur absentmindedly, keeping your eyes trained on the wound. “We definitely don’t want this one to get infected.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, because he can’t exactly nod with your fingers probing around.

“This is going to be the worst part,” you warn, pulling back and opening the pack of stitches.

You unwind a piece of thread from its spool, taking the string between your lips and severing it with your teeth. Harry watches you closely, anxiety frothing in the pit of his stomach. In all of his years spent boxing, he’s only needed stitches once—the procedure hurt like a bitch, especially since there had been no anaesthetic available. He remembers the pain like it was yesterday, and he’s not looking forward to having to endure it again.

When you guide the first stitch through his skin, he balls his hands into tight fists. His lips tuck themselves into a thin line, and an agonized moan bubbles up in his chest. You squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment; upon reopening, they glisten with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your voice shakes.

“It’s okay,” Harry grits out. His blunt nails dig into his palms. “Keep…keep going.”

“A few more,” you babble; he’s not sure whether you’re trying to comfort him or yourself. “Just a few more.”

It takes you roughly fifteen minutes (you haven’t really had much practice, after all) to sew his wound closed with five stitches. It is by no means the cleanest application, but it’s not bad. You retrieve another cotton swab and dip it into the bottle of disinfectant, running it along the seam of his injury one last time. After that, you finally blow out the stale air that has accumulated in your lungs.

“Thank you,” Harry mutters. “Truly.”

“No problem,” you breathe. You busy yourself with gathering up all of the supplies, cradling them to your chest and making your way around the bed. As you dump everything back into the top drawer of the cabinet, you say, “Harry. Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” he hums. He’s nervous about speaking too animatedly, afraid to disrupt the work you’ve just done on his cheek.

“How long have you been boxing?”

He peers at you from over his shoulder, eyes following your movements as you return to his side of the cot and sit down next to him. “Er…,” he pauses, thinking, “…about ten years, now.”

“You started at sixteen?” you say, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

He smiles softly before remembering the sutures sewn into his skin. A beat of silence passes.

“Can I ask you something?” he questions.

You nod. “Of course.”

“Why did you want me to teach you how to box?” he says. You open your mouth—to feed him another lie, surely—but he carries on before you get the chance to speak. “And don’t say it’s because you were just curious, or some bullshit like that. I want the truth.”

“Harry…,” you begin softly, looking at him with pleading eyes. He shakes his head, adamant and unmoved.

“The truth.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. Instinctively, you reach for your throat, tugging at the rose-gold chain hanging there and fiddling nervously with the pendant nestled between your collarbones. It looks like you’re trying to figure out what to say, how to approach the situation without revealing something that could potentially make it any worse.

“Do you remember that guy I was seeing a few months ago?” you say, your voice small. “James?”

And oh, Harry remembers. He remembers watching the two of you swap spit on top of the bleachers at one of his matches. He remembers imagining James in the place of his opponent, and then making sure to aim all of his punches directly for the face (he won, that night.) He remembers seeing the sparkle in your eyes slowly start to dim the longer you stayed with him. He remembers the aftermath of your breakup, when James had shown up at the gym and screamed at you to come outside, deterred only after Portia threatened to call the police.

He fucking remembers.

“Yeah,” he spits. The affirmation is coated in a thick layer of venom. “What about him?”

His eyes widen a touch when it all clicks, then, like pieces of a puzzle falling perfectly into place.

“What did he do?” he demands immediately, fixing you with a stern glare. “Did he fucking touch you?”

“No!” you exclaim, shaking your head quickly. “No, no, it’s just…I’ve been seeing him around. A lot. And I’m not sure if I’m just being paranoid, maybe, but—,” you inhale deeply, “—it feels like he’s following me.”

Your name slips past Harry’s lips in a hard, firm tenor. When you look up at him warily, he stares straight into your eyes, leaving no room for you to break away.

“You need to tell someone about this,” he says steadfastly. “You need to go to the police.”

“I don’t even know if I’m right,” you tell him. Your mouth curls down into an apprehensive frown. “I don’t want to cause a fuss, especially if it all just turns out to be one big coincidence.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Harry asks. A bitter taste settles on his tongue. “How often has this been happening?”

You tilt your head to the side, lost in thought. “Two days ago,” you finally say, shrugging helplessly. “And…I don’t know. I’ve seen him, like, nine or ten times in total.”

“Ten times,” he hisses, “in a few months? That’s not normal, and you know it.”

“Harry,” you plead, tugging nervously at the hem of your t-shirt. “Please. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

“How can you—?” he starts, but then you lurch forward, putting a dainty hand on his thigh.

“Please,” you repeat, shaking your head softly. “Just…keep this between us, okay? The last thing I want is for my dad to find out.”

And maybe it’s the tenderness brewing in your eyes when you meet his gaze. Maybe it’s the wilt in your voice, the feeblest he’s ever heard. Maybe it’s the feeling of your fingers on his leg, burning a hole through his shorts and searing a mark—a brand—into his skin. Harry sighs, looking away from you and running his fingers anxiously through his curly hair.

“You’re bloody stupid, you know that?” he asks, scoffing quietly.

“Yeah,” you reply, the corners of your mouth kinking up into a half-hearted smile. “I know.”

“Got you a latte, gioia—”

The dinky curtain in front of you is pulled back by none other than your father, who is holding a tray of coffee in his right hand. He blinks at the scene laid out before him—you and Harry on the small cot, sitting a bit too close for comfort. Your hand on his thigh. You both jump, breaking away from each other and inhaling sharply. Harry clears his throat as you cough into your elbow, standing up and reaching for one of the drinks nestled in the tray.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your father’s cheek.

His eyes bounce between the two of you, forehead wrinkling in curiosity as he asks, “What’d I miss?”

You peer down at Harry from over the rim of your cup, panicked and beseeching. He just shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly; the tattoos inked into his skin ripple with the act. His tone is steady when he meets your father’s gaze.

“I’ve got some bruised ribs and a wicked headache, but aside from that—,” he lies, “—nothing at all.”

~*~

Your father ends up driving him home.

He parks the car just in front of Harry’s apartment complex, watching with worried eyes as he slips out of the passenger door.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” he asks.

Harry just nods, waving away his concerns. “I’m fine, Coach, really. Thanks for the ride.”

Your father nods—still looking a little unsure—before speeding off.

Climbing up four flights of stairs with bruised ribs is hell, Harry soon learns. By the time he reaches his floor, he’s panting and wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. He pulls his keys out of his coat pocket, unlocking the front door and staggering into his apartment. A pained whimper slips out of his mouth as he shrugs the jacket from his shoulders.

He slowly makes his way into the bathroom, cupping his battered side over the material of his t-shirt. The water is cold when he first turns the shower on. He grits his teeth, fiddling with the temperature and meticulously removing his clothes as it warms.

The moment the first droplet hits his skin, he lets out a deep, guttural groan. He hadn’t realised just how tense he was until now. He stands under the spray of the water, tipping his head back and letting it wash away every trace of dirt and grime on his body. His hair grows heavy with moisture, sticking to his scalp and his forehead. He leans against the wall of the shower, inhaling deeply. His eyelids flutter shut, and your smiling face appears amidst the darkness.

Almost subconsciously, his hand finds its way to his cock.

Part of him is disgusted with himself. He shouldn’t be thinking of you. He shouldn’t be thinking of you. He shouldn’t be—

He moans.

In the realm of his perverse imagination, you’re straddling him, your arms looped leisurely around his neck and your whimpers echoing into the cavern of his mouth. Your hips roll against his, unhurried and languid and deep. So fucking deep. Harry reaches down with one hand, squeezing greedily at the curve of your ass, and you whine in response, encouraging him to do it again.

He pumps his length in the shower, panting quietly.

Your fronts are pressed together as you rut into his lap, your nipples brushing against the ebony birds on his chest and your silky walls wrapped around him like a vice. He grunts; you swallow the sound down, your hot, heavy breaths wafting out onto his chin. His fingers dig into your thighs when you steady yourself on your knees, doing your best to bounce up and down on him properly. It’s frantic, it’s uncoordinated, it’s sloppy, but…it’s perfect.

Your nails scrape down his back as the two of you move together, a steady series of push and pull, like water under a bridge. If you’re the moon, then he’s the tides, bending and swirling under your gentle light. Every time you rock forward, he meets you there, your bodies connecting with faint slaps of skin on skin. You gaze at him with hooded eyes, lust simmering beneath your lashes. Electricity tingles across his shoulders.

The noises that you emit are music to his ears. Delicate sighs when he nips at your breasts, earthy groans when he hits that special spot inside of you. And woven between them, imploring pleas, murmurs of right there and oh, yes and so good.

It’s embarrassing, how quickly he finishes.

He stands there, leaning against the tiles with his cock in his hand and his release dripping from his fingertips. He has the decency to feel appalled by his actions, at the very least. If you were aware of what he had just done, he knows for a fact that you would never speak to him again.

He cleans himself up, shampooing his hair and scrubbing down every inch of his body. When he steps out of the shower and shuts the water, a wave of exhaustion washes over him, making him sway on his feet. His lips vibrate with a soft sigh.

His phone chimes from where it’s perched on the bathroom counter. When he taps on it, he finds a message from you.

Feel better soon, it reads. The guilt festering in his chest increases tenfold.

Thank you, he says back, shoving the remorse down. Good luck on your midterm tomorrow.

A moment later, your reply comes through.

Thanks! Goodnight, Harry.

Goodnight, he types. He pauses for a moment, debating over whether he should include a little red heart after the word. But then he shakes his head, rolling his eyes at his own insolence and sending the text without a second thought.

He doesn’t even bother drying himself off before padding across the hall and into his bedroom. He collapses onto his mattress, still covered in tiny droplets that bead along his shoulders and trail downward, wetting the duvet. He doesn’t care. It’ll dry, and so will he.

He falls asleep moments later, the repaired skin of his cheek tingling in the dark.

~*~

PART III: Hook

PART IV: Uppercut

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#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #eeeeeee okay here it is!!! i love this part a LOT so i hope u guys do too 💘#harry writing #boxrry

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grangers-broomstick · 3 years

Text

”Hold on, I tried to call Ron, who is this?” Potter doesn’t sound even a little bit out of breath. Twat. Draco sees him run past the Tom Ford store and silently prays that the awful looking grey monster with tentacles that is following Potter doesn’t destroy one of his favorite stores.

”Someone who’s watching this spectacle live. Merlin, I feel like im watching a muggle moving picture, a film is it? Anyways, Potter, watch out behind you,” Draco replies, and takes a sip of his tea. He watches as Potter hastily points his wand at that thing behind him. ”That beast was about to slice you in half, you really ought to be more careful. Didn’t they teach you anything at auror training?”

”What?” Is all Potter says and Draco silently contemplates how he managed to become an auror with such underdeveloped critical thinking skills and terrible awareness of his surroundings. Draco thinks he is absolutely daft.

”Wrong number, and before you ask, yes I am a wizard with a muggle telephone and no I have no clue how to successfully operate this thing. It’s been fun to try though,” Draco takes another slow sip of his tea. Just twenty minutes prior, Draco had sat himself down at this café somewhere in central London for a calm, extremely boring brunch. And then Potter came to ruin it by blasting a bunch of slimey, grey tentacle monsters right down the block. Typical. ”Please, Potter, get this over with. I would very much like to enjoy my brunch as soon as possible.”

”Who are you?” Draco watches as he almost dies, again, and rolls his eyes. He feels as though he should probably be startstruck that Harry Potter, of all people, accidentally called him on his muggle flip phone, but honestly? He’s been through more shocking things. He thinks.

”The name is Draco Malfoy,” Draco tells him as he watches Potter turn a corner up ahead, and he’s gone in a swoosh of monsters and red flashes of light. ”Anyways, you should probably hang up now to focus on that thing following you, it’s about to turn the same corner you just did.”

Draco hears Potter’s swear through the phone, and then a list of spells shouted in rapid fashion. Most likely at the beast. ”Uhm, okay, thanks,” he says.

”Whatever,” Draco says, and then snaps shut his flip phone. He continues to sip his tea.

***

Almost four weeks later, Draco’s phone rings again whilst he is cooking dinner. He doesn’t recognise the number, but he picks up anyway.

”Oh thank Merlin, Ron. Please tell me how to stop a densaugeo hex,” Potter’s, now familiar, voice says.

Draco sighs. ”Still not Ron,” he replies. ”But just use a shrinking charm, it should do the job.”

”Huh? Who is this?”

Draco sighs again, this time annoyingly and loud enough for Potter to hear over the phone. The water starts to boil over in the pot on the stove and he turns down the heat slightly. ”Draco Malfoy, same person you called when those awful grey things were trying to kill you, do you recall? Reducio should save whatever has been hexed, you’re welcome.”

”Thanks,” Potter says, hesitantly. ”So, I still have the wrong number in my phone?”

”Well, considering I’m not Ron or his affair de coeur, yes, it seems so Potter,” Draco snarls, and smirks as he hears Potter laugh on the other line.

”Alright, that’s fair. Thank you,” Potter replies. Draco hears him mutter the charm under his breath faintly. ”Draco, was it?”

”Yes, I’ve told you that twice now,” Draco turns of the stove with a flick of his wand and pours the pasta into a bowl. ”Well, I would like to enjoy my dinner now so, goodbye.”

He hangs up the phone and eats his dinner in the living room. He thinks about Potter.

”Merlin what an idiot,” he says out loud.

***

Draco’s phone rings while he is at work only a week later, and Draco already knows who’s calling. Not that he is keeping track. He rolls his eyes and picks up.

”Hurry up, I’m busy,” Draco says, adding two drops of flobberworm mucus to his cauldron and stirring 4 times clockwise.

”Hey Draco,” Potter says, sounding awfully entertained. Draco huffs. ”Am I disturbing you?”

”As a matter of fact, you are indeed Potter. I’m working, get to it,” he says, and tries to focus on the dreamless sleep he’s making.

”Just wondering, do you know anywhere I could get some blood-replenishing potion? The Apothecary has run out and it’s sort of urgent.”

Draco hums into the phone, and presses it in between his shoulder and head in order to cut up some lavender. ”If you’re brave enough, Mr Mulpepper’s is on Knockturn Alley. If you just walk past Borgin’s and to the left, you should see it.”

”You think I’m scared? I defeated Voldemort, I think I can manage Knockturn Alley,” Potter says, and Draco can practically feel the grin on his face.

This would probably be a good time to owl Pansy to admit that he has been properly enamoured by Britain’s golden boy. Ugh. Not fair. Totally not fair.

”You’re not half as cute as you think you are, Potter,” he lies through his teeth. He stirs the cauldron anti-clockwise and adds the lavender.

Potter chuckles, and Draco feels it in his whole body. ”No, but you’re probably twice as cute as I think you are,” he says. ”Anyway, thanks for the tip Draco,” and then he hangs up.

Draco stares at the cauldron of dreamless sleep for at least, like, five minutes. He should be shocked that this was the third time Potter rang, if he wasn’t so dumfounded by the fact that Potter was flirting with him. Harry Potter had called him, on purpose, to flirt with him.

Draco fucks up the dreamless sleep. It turns blue. He gives up on trying to save it after that.

***

Just a few days later Draco is on his way to have a few drinks with Blaise and Pansy, when the phone rings. Draco would very much like to ignore it, but the ringtone is so immensely antagonising he thinks it should be illegal.

”Again, Potter, really? Be quick about it, I’m a busy person,” Draco drawls into the phone.

”Draco Lucius Malfoy, born 5th of June 1980 in Forcalquier, France. Son and only heir to Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy, née Black. Oh, you’re Sirius’ cousin, how fun, I’m totally going to make fun of him for that. Anyway, your father was a notorious death eater, played a major role in the second wizarding war and was considered You-Know-Who’s second in command. Very interesting. Your aunt was quite infamous too, Bellatrix Lestrange. She tortured me once, you know. You grew up in France and attended Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, I suspect for reasons being to stay away from your father, perhaps. Graduated top of your class three years ago, and works as a potioneer, is that right?”

Draco draws in a sharp breath. He had stopped walking and was standing in the middle of the street as if he had been hit with a petrificus totalus. Mild panic claws at his chest, but he continues walking. He couldn’t quite place the voice, but it sounds awfully familiar. The person is soft spoken, and the speech didn’t sound cruel, so he tries to calm down.

”That is indeed right, may I ask who I’m talking to?” Draco asks, trying to sound nonchalant. He drags a shaky hand through his hair.

”Oh yes, of course, my apologies,” the voice says, a bit muffled, as if the person is moving around. ”The name’s Hermione Granger.”

Ah. A lightbulb in Draco’s head turns on. ”Miss Granger, what a pleasure. Thank you for calling, I was just thinking about my cousin, Sirius was it? Last I heard he escaped Azkaban, how thrilling.”

”Hm, yes that was quite some time ago. He’s doing well now, all the things he had been inprisoned for were a lie, so,” Granger gets cut off by someone and there is quiet mumbling. He tries to make out the words but to no luck. Instead, he focuses on the directions to the pub. Something rastles over the phone, and Granger is back. ”Well, I just thought I’d call. Harry’s been very smitten as of late.”

”How fun for him,” Draco says and hangs up. He speeds up the pace.

The next evening, Draco had just walked through the front door to his apartment when that dreadful ringtone starts again. He slams the door shut and walks to his bedroom.

”You know, usually, people don’t keep calling the wrong number, Potter,” he says and squeezes the phone between his shoulder and cheek. ”And, I would very much like a peaceful evening so if this is Granger, please spare me the speech about my own family tree.”

”Wait what?” Potter’s voice fills his ears and he closes his eyes and shivers. ”Hermione? She did what?”

Draco unclasps his robes and shrugs them off his shoulders. He starts at unbuttoning his pants and curses as he almost stumbles over them as they fall to his his ankles.

”Draco, are you okay?” Potter says, sounding concerned. ”What are you… are you undressing?”

”What an excellent observation, Potter. But don’t get your wand in a knot, this isn’t some awful sex line,” he replies and steps out of his pants. He pulls on some old pyjama pants. ”I don’t think you could afford me, if I’m honest.”

Potter laugh is loud through the phone and Draco basks in it for just a moment. He pulls on a t-shirt and flicks a folding charm at his clothes before making his way to the kitchen.

”You’re funny Draco, but what was that about Hermione? What did she do?”

”Oh Merlin Potter, don’t worry. She just called me to kindly remind me of my heritage and the fact that my family is insane, no harm done,” Draco mutters and heats up his two day old Chinese takeout with a wave of his wand.

”Oh fuck, fuck, I’m- I’m sorry Draco, really,” Potter sounds annoyed. Draco wonders if Granger is in trouble. ”I’m going to have to call you back.”

Draco hums, ”Please don’t. I’m going to be asleep in approximately fifteen minutes, and I need my precious beauty sleep. Why do you think I wake up looking perfect every day? Ugh, you understand nothing Potter, imbecile.”

Draco hears another one of Potter’s dark chuckles before he hangs up, and silently prays to Salazar that he’s not going to be woken up by the phone ringing tomorrow morning.

***

The phone doesn’t ring the next morning, or the next until its been almost two weeks since he last spoke to Potter. Bit it’s Thursday afternoon, and Harry Potter walks into Mr Mulpepper’s potions shop. Draco is up front at the register today, and Merlin how he wished he was in the back brewing something right about now.

Potter steps through the door and the bell makes a little jingle. He heads straight for the hangover potions and takes a couple of vials before looking at Draco. He watches as Potter looks him up and down, and he wonders if he knows that it’s him. If maybe Granger had told him about Draco and his family, and maybe that’s why he hadn’t called in a few weeks.

He swallows and throws a small smile at Potter. He smiles back. Okay, Draco thinks, maybe he doesn’t know.

”Just these, please,” Potter says, and puts the vials on the counter carefully. He shoves his hand in a pocket of his robes.

”That’ll be 2 galleons and 10 sickles, Potter,”

Potter’s head shoots up and his movements stop completely. They stare at each other for a few uncomfortably long seconds. Draco looks away first.

”What, forgotten how to count, have you? I really don’t have all day, we have lots of customers you know,” he snarks. Potter shakes his head and slowly, a grin lights up his face. Draco wants to strangle him.

”There’s no one here but me,” Potter says and pulls out a few galleons more than necessary and puts them on the counter between them. Draco huffs out a laugh. ”I’m sorry, I haven’t… I never called you back, work has been hectic.”

He’s still grinning. His hair is in it’s usual mess, looking like he had just had a proper shag. I want to shag him, Draco thinks. Ugh. Not fair, so not fair.

”Hm, you don’t owe me anything, Potter. I was wondering why you kept calling in the first place,” Draco says. Merlin, was his voice a bit shaky? It is totally Potter’s fault for making him nervous.

”Well, what can I say? I kind of like the arsehole that picks up,” Potter says and Draco can feel a smile growing on his own face too. He blames Potter for his future wrinkles.

”Well Potter, are you insinuating that you’ve been calling me only for my arse? I already told you, you can’t afford me,” Draco says and picks nervously at his nails. He looks down and counts out the money since Potter is too preoccupied with staring, still.

The man hums, and Draco closes his eyes briefly. “I mean, it’s a beautiful arse, don’t get me wrong. But, I think the sarcastic personality does it for me too.”

Draco lets himself laugh now, and shoves Potter lightly with a hand to his chest. He swears at Salazar for making Harry Potter so fucking fit.

“So, Draco, what do you say about a date?”

Draco is going to kill him.

#uhm #idk how draco got a phone lets just ignore that part #i haven’t written anything in so long this is so crusty #this is sort of a thanks for 3k followers ig #so thank u guys #i love u #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #draco x harry #hermione granger #hp #drarry fic #very much inspired by side bitch out of your league by rohkeutta #defo recommend

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be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Text

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 14

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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SMUT WARNING

[Hermione]

"Is this the moment?"

Hermione vaguely registers Harry's voice, but she's too lost in kissing Ron to care. Instead, she wraps her arms more securely around his neck and smiles through the kiss when his fingers dig into her back.

"Oi! There's a hen party going on here!" Harry's voice is louder now, and he slurs his words, suggesting that his current state of mind is a bit more courageous than usual. No wonder he's so willing to interrupt their kiss.

On their own time, Ron and Hermione eventually surface. They hesitate to break eye contact, which would officially end the moment, but they're forced to look around as soon as they hear a round of applause. They glance around to see that the entirety of the wedding party is staring at them, cheering and beaming.

"Cough it up, Ginny," says Dean, jokingly shoving her shoulder.

"No! You bet they would kiss for the first time tonight," she argues. "That might not be their first kiss."

"Ask them!" says Neville..

"What if they lie?" asks Seamus. "They've been lying to us about this so far. Who's to say they won't keep it up?"

Hermione and Ron share a shocked expression and then burst into laughter.

"Did you all bet on us?" asks Ron incredulously.

"Why yes, we did," says Neville. "You two have been acting quite shifty for the last few days. How long has this been going on?"

Ron and Hermione meet each other's gaze for a silent conversation. Do they tell the truth? She tries to ask with her eyes.

Ron shrugs. "Last night," says Hermione, a blush forming on her cheeks. It's not a complete lie; it feels like the proper start of their relationship. A look at Ron nodding confirms he agrees.

"Did she say last night? Hand it over, everyone!" beams Lavender, shouldering her way into the crowd.

Ginny groans, and Lavender smiles as everyone else rummages into their pockets for cash.

"Hold on," says Ginny, holding her money just out of Lavender's reach. "You said Hermione spent the night in your room last night!"

Lavender shrugs coyly.

"Did you cover for her?"

"Maybe," she shrugs.

"So you knew?"

"I had a feeling."

"That's not fair!" says Ginny. "You had an advantage!"

"All's fair in love and war." Lavender snatches the money from Ginny's hand and saunters off, Demelza and Luna following behind her.

Ginny huffs. "I can't believe she didn't tell me." She looks at Hermione and narrows her eyes. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

"You're not upset about this?" asks Hermione, gesturing between herself and Ron.

"No, I'm thrilled!" she says, launching toward Hermione and throwing her arms around her neck. "Maybe you'll be my sister-in-law one day."

Ron laughs, and Hermione's cheeks turn pink.

I already am.

"Gin, you're freaking them out. They've been together for a day."

"Right, sorry."

"Alright, the show's over, kids," says Ron. "How about we go home and hope that you're all too drunk to remember this tomorrow?"

There's a chorus of groans, but not much protesting, as everyone is already leaning on one another for support and probably dreaming of being in bed. Luna, Demelza, and Lavender are already by the exit.

"I'll go walk with them," says Hermione.

"Sounds good," says Ron. "I'll keep an eye on the boys. And Gin."

"See you at the hotel," she says before trotting off to catch up with the rest of the girls.

The walk back feels much longer than it is, especially with three drunk and distractible girls. To Hermione's relief, the topic of her and Ron passes quickly, and Hermione wonders if they really are too far gone to remember this later.

As soon as they arrive back at the hotel, they split off and stumble back toward their rooms. Ron and the boys aren't too far behind her, and Hermione watches in amusement as he corrals them toward the stairs to the suites. Still sober, Ron and Hermione breathe a sigh of relief once everyone is safely up the stairs.

"Finally," says Ron. He loops his fingers through hers and waggles his eyebrows. "Now that the kids are in bed…" he says, trailing off mid-sentence.

"What do you have in mind?" she asks.

"Fancy a swim?"

Hermione looks toward the pool. Even though the hotel lobby doesn't offer a complete view, she can tell that it's relatively empty and looks a lot calmer and more relaxing than it does during the day. "Sure. Let's stop by our rooms to grab our suits?"

"Or," he croons, tugging her arm to pull her into an embrace. He continues in a whisper, "It's three AM, and we're in Vegas. Knickers will be fine, don't you think?"

Hermione bites her lip. "What if we get in trouble?"

"Live a little?"

Hermione considers skinny-dipping in a public pool living a lot, but as it turns out, adopting a 'what happens in Vegas' mindset has served her quite well this week. "Okay. But if we get caught, I'll be quite angry with you."

Ron's eyes flash with something unexpected — he almost appears excited at the thought of her being angry. "Win, win," he says.

She recalls their first day married and how they argued in his suite and then again at Erised Elopements — she saw the same flash in his eyes back then, and it clicks for her. Ron loves to argue. Hermione can't help but laugh. If he's into a hot temper, he picked the right girl.

He might like London-Hermione, after all.

The back of the pool deck is spotted with miniature hot tubs, capacity of two, as if the resort was built for honeymooners. It's perfect — there'd be nothing worse than a third oblivious guest plunking down next to them. They approach an empty one obscured by a few fake palm trees and set their belongings on the edge.

Ron pulls off his shirt and shorts and offers her a sheepish smile and a shrug, and his neck turns red, almost as if he's nervous. It makes Hermione want to shout at him and remind him how beautiful he is.

He doesn't waste any time stepping into the hot water, and as soon as he does, Hermione laments the lack of view.

"Your turn," he says with a smile. He leans against the back of the hot tub with his arms on the edge.

His gaze feels like a spotlight on her, but she doesn't mind it. With one last glance around to make sure no one else is watching, she basks in Ron's salacious stare as she strips off her dress to expose her matching bra and knicker set. Ron beams as she steps into the water.

"You're so goddamn beautiful." His voice, paired with the look of awe on his face, make his words somewhat convincing. Then his voice lowers, and in a surprisingly commanding tone, he continues, "Get over here."

Heat pools in her lower belly, and it has nothing to do with the temperature of the water. When she's close enough, his arms envelop her and pull her close. Her legs find a home on either side of his thighs, and their lips connect like magnets.

Hermione can feel Ron's immediate attraction to her press against her, so she presses back. He groans through their kiss, and his fingers travel up the back of her thighs and cup her bum.

He runs his tongue along her lips, asking for an invitation, and she lets him in without resistance. Their kiss deepens, and they take their time exploring it. One of Ron's hands slides from her bum to her stomach — she typically doesn't like it when men touch her there, but it feels nice when Ron does it, like an act of appreciation rather than judgment. His hand travels upward and lands at her breast, and he runs his thumb over the lace.

He breaks the kiss, but only to trail kisses down her cheek and neck until landing at the soft flesh below her ear. His teeth make contact with her skin, but only for a second before he pulls away to ask, "is it okay if I leave a mark?"

"Yes." The sound of her voice surprises her, but not as much as how good it feels when he starts to suck at her neck. Without a thought, her hand tangles into his hair, and she presses on his head, encouraging him to bite harder.

It all feels so good, so perfect, and she almost doesn't mind that they're in public. She wants to rip off his pants and have him in the hot tub. Almost.

As Ron gets lost in kissing and sucking on her neck, she tousles his hair, and her mind starts to wander. They'll be back in London in a few days, and Hermione usually wears her hair up at work. She hadn't thought about that when she told Ron to bite harder.

The single thought about hiding a hickey at the office breaks a dam, and more start rushing in. Before Las Vegas, she'd never snogged anyone in public, let alone half-naked in a hot tub. A month ago, she'd have never told a man she was falling in love with him after a few days or slept with him so soon. What happened?

For a moment, it feels as though she's that third, unwelcome guest in the hot tub just watching the pair snog each other senseless. The girl on Ron's lap letting him have his way with her is nothing but an experiment, an example of what would happen if Hermione wore her heart on her sleeve.

Her stomach clenches for the same reason it does when she sees Seamus throwing back one too many drinks, or Lavender basking in male attention, or Luna dancing wildly under neon lights at the club. Before Las Vegas, she would have named it superiority — she's too good for all of that. But she knows better now. It's just envy.

Unfortunately, she built her life in London under the assumption that she was too good for wild nights. Too responsible to just say yes to things. Too uptight to let her hair down, especially to hide a hickey.

How is all of this going to fit into her life in London? She stops playing with Ron's hair.

As soon as she stops, Ron pulls away from her neck. "Are you okay? Was that too much?"

Hermione looks into his bright blue eyes, wide with concern. She doesn't want to ruin the moment for him, but it's already ruined for her. "What happens when we go back to London?"

Ron's hand drops from its place on her chest and meets the other at her lower back. His embrace loosens so she can lean back and see his whole face. "What do you want to happen?"

She hesitates. The thought of going back to her life in London without Ron doesn't exactly appeal to her, so she tells him the truth. "I want to be with you."

"Same." He brushes a hair behind her ear and smiles at her.

"So, where do we start?"

"Married." He makes it sound so simple.

"How married?"

Ron laughs. "Are there different levels of marriage? And is this a conversation you want to have right now?"

"Considering we'll be back in London in two days… yes."

Ron nods. "Okay. Then let's talk about it."

Her arms drape loosely around his neck. "Are we really going to make a go of this?"

"I want to," he says, his voice sincere. "I don't think it's that complicated."

But it is complicated. Do they live together? Share money? Does Ron want children? They've never even talked about their future; they just got married. "There are a lot of logistics to consider."

"I say we play it by ear."

Hermione sighs, and Ron holds her more tightly.

"Look. We'll go back to London and dive into our lives. From there, we'll figure out how to blend our lives together. There's not much we can do from this hot tub."

"We have six months to figure it out."

"At least six months, but I'd like to think we don't have a deadline at all. It's not like some judge will stop in at the six-month mark and declare us divorced because we don't have every loose end tied up. Heck, my parents have been married for forty years, and they still have shit to figure out. They just love each other, so they tend to put the shit on the backburner."

Hermione hadn't thought of it that way — for some reason, six months felt like a strong, hard deadline. Maybe she was just afraid that Ron would be itching to leave, and she'd only have six months to prove she was worth staying married to. She smiles — she'd never have expected the words 'put the shit on the backburner' to give her butterflies, and yet, it does.

"What is your hesitation?" he asks.

"The truth?" She doesn't want to overwhelm him with her insecurities — that's London-Hermione, and she's still not sure he'll like her.

"Of course I want the truth. Can't start our marriage off with lies."

Hermione takes a deep breath before answering. "I'm worried you won't like me."

Ron narrows her eyes at her. "Why wouldn't I like you?"

"You didn't when we first met."

"But I like you now."

"But this isn't really me," she says. "This is Vegas Hermione. Not London Hermione."

"Do you think they're that different?" he says, his head cocking to the side. He lifts one eyebrow as if trying to call her bluff.

"Yes. I do."

"Cool. I can't wait to get to know London Hermione." His tone is so calm, so casual.

"I'm serious, Ron," she says, pulling away so his hands loosen around her waist. "I don't want you to be disappointed."

He responds by gently tugging her back so he can place a well-aimed kiss on her nose. "How about you give me a chance, then let me decide if I'm disappointed? Don't you think I have the same fear?"

"You're afraid I won't like you?" she says, leaning her forehead against his.

He nods as he repeats her words back to her, "You didn't when we first met."

Hermione smiles at the memory of their first disastrous encounter in London. "That's true. You ordered a straw like a psychopath."

Ron laughs. "But you like me now."

"Also true. Now you don't order straws—"

Ron cuts her off by pressing a kiss to her lips. "Oh, it's more than that, and you know it. I think your exact words were that you're 'falling in love' with me."

She lightly kisses him again. "We both said that."

"We did," he says, running his thumb along her cheek. "I meant it, too."

Their lips meet again. It's less hungry than before but more caring and slow-paced, like two lovers that don't have a deadline. His arms tighten against her back, shifting her hips against his body.

"Do you normally say it so soon?" she asks when they surface.

"What, thirty-six hours?" laughs Ron. "Never. You?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "That was most definitely Vegas Hermione."

"Same. Maybe I'll keep that part of Vegas Ron."

He tries to kiss her again, but she hesitates, lost in thought. Such a simple statement sends her mind reeling. She's still worried that Ron won't like her London-self as much, but that's under the assumption that she's going to revert to that person upon landing at Heathrow. She'd imagined London-Ron as the same happy-go-lucky person that she's gotten to know. He's probably different, too.

"You're usually quite guarded, aren't you?" he asks as he watches her expression change.

"Yeah, I'd say I am," she nods. "Aren't you?"

"Yeah. Figured it was the best way to avoid getting hurt."

Hermione chuckles. She uses the same logic as Ron. "How's that working out for you?"

"It's a good way to stay single. A bad way to fall in love."

What they're doing might be short-sighted and naive, but Ron makes a good point. If love is at the bottom of the deep-end, she'll never find it by dipping her toes in the water. Maybe getting married in Vegas was the equivalent of getting pushed into the pool.

"Maybe Vegas will have changed us." Her fingers find Ron's hair again, and she can't help but play with it.

"Or at the very least, woken us up a bit."

His lips find hers again, and this time his hand starts to wander from her lower back down toward her knickers. He slips his hands underneath the lace to grip her bare skin and groans as his hips grind against hers.

She chuckles at his reaction and dips her fingers inside of his waistband, where they brush against his erection. "What, do you want me or something?"

"Cheeky," he laughs. "And absolutely. But as much as I want to have you right here, I'd like a little privacy."

"Back to my room?" she whispers in his ear.

"Yes, please."

After pulling their clothing over wet underwear, Hermione leads the way back up to her suite, hand in hand with Ron as he follows closely behind. Her dress is uncomfortably heavy as it soaks up the water from her bra and knickers, but she doesn't mind — she knows she won't be wearing it for much longer.

Ron seems to have the same thought because the moment the door closes behind them, he spins her around to face him, pulls her close, and runs his hand down her back. She shivers at the contact.

"Let's say we get you back out of this dress," he whispers in her ear. She doesn't protest as his fingers dip under the hemline to tug it up and over her head, once again leaving her standing before him in nothing but her lingerie.

Ron then pulls off his shirt while she unbuttons his shorts until he matches her, almost naked. His hands grip the bottom of her thighs, and with the help of a small hop, he pops her up to waist height. She wraps her legs around him to lock herself in place and captures his lips with hers.

Instead of hauling her to the bed, he makes his way to the bathroom, shoulders the door open, and sets her onto the bathroom vanity. Without removing his lips, Ron reaches around her back to unclasp her bra, letting it drop to the tile below.

His pants join her bra on the floor, followed by her knickers. Hermione arches her back as Ron's mouth travels down her body, kissing every square inch of skin it can find until it lands at her breasts. Hermione can hardly believe they're under the same fluorescent lighting where she picked apart her appearance a few mornings ago because right now, she's never felt sexier.

Ron echoes her thoughts by trailing kisses from her breasts, across her stomach, and to her thighs, which open for him without protest. He dives his tongue between her legs and groans as if she's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. Her eyes flutter shut as he steadies her lower back with one hand and slips a finger inside her.

"Oh my god, Ron," she mumbles, tangling her fingers in his hair to hold his head in place. "Keep doing that."

Pressure starts to build at her center, and she leans her back into the mirror to give him a better angle. One leg drapes lazily over his shoulder, and his free hand moves from her lower back to her thigh to hold it in place. She continues to press his head into her as his tongue circles her clit.

"Ron, I'm gonna come—"

As soon as she says it, the movements of his tongue slow down, his fingers pause inside her, and the pressure comes to a frustrating plateau. She groans and wraps her other leg around his head to lock him in place. She can feel the vibration of his chuckle against her.

"I'm so close!" she whines, and he removes his mouth from her to gaze up.

"Oh, I know."

What a tease. "Fuck you," she adds, aiming for a playful tone.

"Gladly." As Hermione rolls her eyes, Ron beams, "Marriage with you is going to be so goddamn fun."

He rises to his feet to turn on the shower and steps inside, motioning for Hermione to join him. Pouting, she hops off the vanity and meets him under the warm running water. "You owe me an orgasm."

"Oh, calm down," he says as he guides her back to the wall. "I'm going to finish you off right now."

She bites her lip and spreads her legs as Ron lowers to a knee and runs his nose along her center. He then takes his time kissing and nipping at her inner thigh until Hermione clears her throat and raises an eyebrow at him.

"Jesus, woman," he laughs. "So needy."

But it works — he attaches his mouth and lets his fingers travel inside her to work their magic, and it doesn't take long to get back to where he had her before. The hot water dripping down her body only intensifies the sensation of his lips on her, and this time it's her breath that gives away how close she is to release. Ron keeps his contact this time, his tongue moving slow, rhythmic circles around her center until she reaches a peak. He holds her up as she collapses against his face, grips, and tugs at his wet hair, and his name involuntarily escapes her lips as a high-pitched, breathy moan.

Ron holds his tongue on her until she comes down, cycling through a few waves of pleasure before her legs can hold her up again. Then, he kisses his way back up her body until his lips find hers.

"Worth it," she says when he breaks away. He starts kissing her cheek and neck, and she whispers in his ear, "now what?"

"I want to fuck you."

"I bet you do," she says as she slithers out of his embrace and reaches for her shampoo bottle. "You'll get your chance."

Ron smirks at her as she starts lathering up her hair. "Tease."

"It takes one to know one." Hermione smiles at him as she plops some shampoo onto his head before rinsing her own.

She takes her time cleaning herself, and Ron follows suit, but they both know exactly what they're doing with every 'accidental' brush of his cock against her hip or breasts against his back. It doesn't take long before his hands are on her again, rubbing soap over her body under the guise of helping her get clean. He runs soapy fingers over her chest, her neck, and down her legs, then flips her around so her breasts press against the hard, cold tile. She shivers as his hands run up and down her back, and then his body melts against hers, his erection nestled between her legs.

"Please?" he croons into her ear.

Teasing him is deliciously fun, but there's only so much she can take before she absolutely needs him. "Yes."

She widens her stance and feels his knees bend behind her as he positions his erection at her entrance. To allow him access, she arches her back, tilting her hips up toward him, and he slides in, groaning with pleasure as he fills her from behind.

He moves slowly at first, exploring the limits of this position before picking up his pace. His hand plants to the wall beside her head, and she watches his knuckles turn white as he grips the tile, moaning along with him as each buck of his hips presses her against the wall.

The pressure rises again, and she can sense they're both close to release. To her surprise, he slows down and settles his face next to hers.

"Hermione," he breathes into her ear, "You're the sexiest thing I've ever seen, you know that, right?"

She hopes to god the question is rhetorical because she doesn't answer, instead turning around to face him. His lips crash into hers as one leg at a time swings around his hips until he's holding her against the wall. Their position is perfect for his cock to slip right back in, and he resumes his thrusts, each one harder and deeper than the last, until they both lose themselves in pleasure.

Her legs drop to the shower tile. Panting, he leans against her, embracing her. "Let's do that again sometime."

Hermione laughs and places a kiss on his cheek. "Whatever you say, hubby."

Still covered in soap, they step under the water stream, kissing until every bubble washes off. Ron reluctantly turns off the shower and steps out to grab them each a towel.

"How did I get so damn lucky?" Ron mutters as he towels off. His voice is low and quiet, as if he's wondering to himself.

"I could ask myself the same question," she says before placing another kiss on his lips. The kiss lingers as they breathe each other in.

Hermione can't wait for more showers like this.

Once dry, Ron settles underneath the covers. Not bothering to put any clothes on herself, Hermione dives in beside him.

They settle underneath the blankets together as if it's something they've done one hundred times before. Only when Ron wraps his long arm around her waist like a protective seat belt does Hermione realize that it's the first time they've knowingly shared a bed. His embrace feels safe and secure, just like the harness on the Deathstick, and she'd almost be willing to drop through the sky again if his arms were around her. Almost.

Even though he's quite a bit taller than her, his knees fit perfectly behind hers. Just like they did in the shower. Hermione closes her eyes and listens to his breath as he buries his head in her bushy hair, now frizzing as it dries. Her own breathing settles into a rhythm, and she's about to drift into sleep when Ron speaks.

"My lease is almost up." His voice is low, almost a whisper, but even so, there's a tremble to it.

Hermione feels a smile forming on her lips. "Are you renewing?"

"I was planning on it," he says. "Before."

Before. Her smile grows bigger. "Before you accidentally got married?"

"Yeah."

It should be a big decision for any couple, but it doesn't feel that way. Not at all.

"Move in with me?"

"Really?"

"Head-first, right?" She can almost feel his eyes widening. "I have a huge shower. You'll love it."

Ron lets out a long breath and chuckles into her hair. "I hope you don't mind that my favorite color is orange," he says as he tightens his embrace.

"Oh god. I hate orange."

Ron uses his nose to move aside some of Hermione's hair and presses a kiss to her neck. "Well, marriage is about compromise, love."

Hermione imagines her flat adorned with orange curtains and art, Ron's clothing scattered around her room, and his dirty dishes in the sink. "We're gonna drive each other barmy once this honeymoon phase is over, aren't we?"

Even though he can't see her, Ron must sense her smiling too and know better than to take her complaint seriously. "Can't fucking wait."

Hermione snuggles up closer against Ron, her head in the crook of his neck. It's a good thing he doesn't take her too seriously because the reality is, she can't fucking wait either.

#ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #hpromione #muggle AU #be11a_vegas #Ron Weasley #ronweasley #Hermione Granger #hermionegranger #Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #slow burn #romione smut

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veilder · 3 years

Note

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you" - North60

Another prompt fill that I actually managed to get done? What?! Well, you're as surprised as I am. XD Anyway, I have no idea if this is even good or not but I guess I'll post it anyway. This is set vaguely as the third piece in the North60 series I intend to write. (The first part of it is published already but I've been working on the second for a long time and it's still not done. >_<) So if anyone is a bit OOC, just blame it on some intended character growth that's already theoretically happened, lol. So yeah... here's to the very few of you out there who love this ship as much as I do. Enjoy? 😅

butterflies around the flame

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

Sixty pauses, looking over to North as she sidles up beside him on the gangway. She wears her expression of steely determination just as fittingly as her slightly-singed tactical suit and Sixty can’t help the small burst of assurance both sights inspire in him despite his current irascibility. His scanners pick up a myriad of weapons on her person, knives and guns and batons and tasers, and it soothes some basic part of his coding that crows at him to keep her safe. She can look out for herself. Hell, she can look out for him too if the way she's muttered that phrase several times over the course of their friendship is anything to go by. Time and again she's looked out for him, vouching for him to her friends, taking him on as her second-in-command in the security corps, mediating disputes he manages to get himself involved in, etc.

And here and now too, apparently, she's decided to shoulder the responsibility for his actions. Even as he stares, she nods her head down to the burnt edges of his jacket and trousers, waving a lazy hand to the entirety of his ash-encompassed form. "I’m serious, I’ll talk to them. You did what you had to and I'll make sure Markus knows it. Losing one building is better than what would've happened without the distraction."

Sixty frowns, doing his best to nonchalantly lean against the metal railing as he peers down at the gathered deviants below. The deviants he had done his best to save during the pandemonium. The deviants who stood huddled and scared and singed because of his stupid plan. They were lucky... Lucky to make it out. No thanks to him.

"I could've taken the humans down myself," he says eventually, a scowl crawling its way across his face. "Far less collateral damage. Quick and efficient. You know I could've, North." He snaps his gaze back towards her. "This could've killed them." He nods his head towards the crowd below. "I could've killed them. And for what? A crazed mob of humans hellbent on destroying us?"

North shakes her head. "But you didn't kill them. You didn't kill anybody, Sixty. We have you to thank for everyone making it out alive. Even the humans." Her words are soft but her eyes shine brightly, that same righteous anger burning through them as courses through his Thirum lines. She's just as upset about the attack as he is. He knows this. After all, she'd been on guard when it all went down, too. She'd heard his transmissions, understood what he was planning. She'd led the evacuation of New Jericho personally and perfectly in sync with him springing his trap. And now, huddled in an abandoned warehouse near the wreckage of the original Jericho freighter, the harried android population coming full-circle in the worst of ways, they are the only two who can explain the full situation to Markus.

Somehow, just knowing how incandescently angry North is about all of this is enough to stabilize his systems a bit, his dangerously high stress levels sinking back down to a more moderate rate. "Well, can't have His Leaderness getting all up in arms with me for snuffing out a few organics, now can we? Not after last time."

North snorts, the sound inelegant and coarse, and Sixty feels his stress levels sinking even more. But when she looks up at him, she is far from amused, her eyes burning with resolve as a wicked, cruel smile teases the edges of her lips. "Your restraint is admirable, Six. Can't say I wouldn't have taken the shot if I were in your place."

Here in the dim light, her uniform practically fades into the darkness. Her vibrant hair is tied back and hidden, her hands are gloved, her face is cast in shadows. Every part of North is dimmed and defeated, even her muttered words wreathed in fury and despair.

But even with her glaring down at the assembly like an avenging angel, her palpable fury emanating from her like a physical thing, Sixty can't help but scoff. "You wouldn't." He smirks as her eyes snap back to his, the challenge in her gaze masking the vulnerability underneath. "You wouldn't take the shot," he says again. "You wanna know how I know?"

Hesitantly, she nods, enough suspicion in her gaze to make him cackle. (Which he does. Loudly.)

Sixty reaches out and takes her hand, giving her his own crooked, slightly deranged smile in return. "It's because I didn’t. And that’s because of you." He squeezes her hand, the pulse of her Thirium lines under the sensitive sensors of his fingertips as mesmerizing as it is reassuring. "You've always been better than you seem to think you are. You wouldn't take a life if there was another option. That's never been you, even at your lowest." He chuckles softly. "You always protect. Even when you hate someone or something, you always try to find the best option. You 'take care of things'. That's how I came to be here in the first place, isn't it?"

North's grip is firm in his own as he flashes her another grin and Sixty can feel it, the way she retracts her skin even with the barrier of cloth between them. Without thought, without care, he reciprocates, letting his own Thirium coating recede back into the magnetized nodes dotting his chassis. The two of them sink into the interface, the low hum of each other's minds a sweet and soothing backdrop to the chaos all around them. The interface is only surface level, not deep enough to be anything other than an awareness of each other, but it is enough to magnify North's words through his whole self as she speaks: "But I never hated you. Not like them."

Sixty merely laughs. "But you should've."

And there is no contestation. She knows as well as he the sins of his past. But she's never judged him for them, not once. It's perhaps what he loves most about her, her willingness to accept his flaws. Even here and now, with the ashes of their people's dreams upon his body, she never once hesitated to accept him. It's enough to incite a 0.33 second timing fluctuation in the steady beat of his Thirium pump. The error message that accompanies it is a familiar friend in her presence these days.

In the warmth of their interface, Sixty continues on: "But you know as well as I do that you don't need to like someone to do the right thing." He spares a brief moment to think of his hallowed predecessor and the complicated relationship between them.

North nods. "Yeah, I... I know, Six. I know." She glances up at him through her eyelashes. "When the hell did you end up the voice of reason?"

Sixty snorts out a laugh. "I have my moments."

Her smile is genuine this time as she stares up at him. "You sure do."

And though his records will later tell him that this moment lasted less than a second, Sixty swears they stare at each other for an eternity. Time slows as if his preconstruction software has started up, each prolonged moment a gift for his harried system. And when at last they draw apart, breaking the shallow interface at last, they both do so with a smile and severely diminished stress level.

"Alright, I still need to explain things to Markus and Josh and Simon," North reiterates. "I'm sure they're here somewhere."

Sixty nods. "Yeah, they're over in that corner," he says, pointing.

North's scandalized face is enough to have him laughing again. "Sixty! You knew they were here all along?!"

"Of course," he laughs, "I've got the best scanners on the market. They've been here the whole time. They've been delegating or something, I'm not sure."

"Why didn't you say something!"

"Well quite frankly, I needed a moment. And then you needed a moment. And then we were having a moment, so..."

"Ugh, I can't believe you! I need to go. Now."

But before she can walk off, Sixty sidles in front of her. "Whoa whoa whoa, I think you mean we need to go. Right?"

She stares at him, uncomprehending.

"Okay, lemme put it to you this way then," he chuckles. "We will go explain my actions to the Big Boss. Then we can check on the security team and see if they're still doing alright. And then we can go find a quiet spot where we can try and beat the shit out of each other for a bit. Y'know. Let off some steam. Relax." He gives her a wink and revels in how her lips twitch at the sight.

"...You wouldn't insist if you hadn't already made up your mind, huh?" She doesn't even wait for him to confirm it before continuing, "Well, alright. Because that... That sounds good, Six.” North says. And then quieter, as if she was speaking only to herself, she mutters, “What would I ever do without you?"

Her whispered question rings sincere through Sixty's audio processor. He saves the soundbyte for further review and answers, "You'd take care of things. You always do."

And she smiles, so soft and sweet that another Thirium pump error flashes across Sixty's HUD. "Yeah. I always do. But it’d be less fun without you here."

Sixty reaches out a hand again and thrills when she accepts it, the two of them walking together along the gangway down to where the rest of the Jericho leadership are stationed. He chuckles. “I knew you kept me around for something.” This time, it’s him who initiates, opening up another interface for them to connect with. North reciprocates immediately and it makes Sixty proud to feel how much calmer she is now. “But I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. I pity the poor idiot who tries to make me leave now. You’d tear them apart.”

North’s eyes flash, a sinister gleam accompanied by another cruel grin. “I’d 'take care of them'.”

Sixty barks out a hearty laugh, so enamored, so proud. “And I'll take care of you."

She chuckles right back and squeezes his hand, a steady warmth pulsing through their connection. "And maybe I'd even let you." And with eyes facing forward with renewed determination, she pulls him along with her towards their goal. “Now come on, Security Officer. There’s work to be done.”

----------------

Bonus:

Markus: "So... You're saying that you're the one who blew up New Jericho?" Sixty: "Yep!" 😃 Markus: [turning to North] "And you're saying you... encouraged him to do this?" North: "Sure did!" 😀 Markus: [staring into the camera like it's The Office] "If ever there were a time for someone to invent alcoholic Thirum, it's now." Sixty & North: 😀😀😀

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harryhandstan · 3 years

Text

washed away in you

I don’t have much to say except I appreciate your patience with me as I worked on this piece! I apologize again for all the confusion with posting and deleting and now reposting. This is the third part to my Dad!Harry series. Once again you don’t have to read those to understand this one, but I’ve linked them below in case you would like to revisit them. :)

Thank you to @taintedwonder for reading over part of this for me!

word count: 4.2k

needles tw // (small mention towards the end)

I Want Your Belly (part one) | Wonderful and Warm (part two) | writing tag | masterlist

y’all have already been so good to me but as always likes, rbs, and comments are welcome!!

Of all the weeks to be put on bed rest, it had to be the week that Harry started filming for his new movie role.

Technically you were on modified bed rest, which meant resting as much as possible but still moving around as necessary, but the phrase terrified Harry enough that he was doing whatever he could to keep you still. It hadn’t been an easy task, you were in your 8th month of pregnancy, quickly approaching your due date, and there still seemed to be a mountain of important things to get done before your son’s arrival.

It had only been two days since you’d started having what you thought were contractions. It had forced you and Harry to realize just how unprepared the two of you were when you had to rush out of the house at 2 a.m. with nothing packed for what could possibly be the night of your child’s appearance into the world. Just the two of you with disheveled hair and rumpled pajamas under the harsh lighting of the ER exam room. 8 hours of tests and scans and a visit from your doctor later, you returned home to fall back in bed and catch up on the sleep you had missed.

“Listen you’re both new to all this..I get it. But you’re putting too much stress on your body and that’s what caused this tonight. I know it’s hard but, take a week, relax, bed rest as much as possible. I’ll see you in my office again in a few days just to make sure everything is progressing along like we want. If there’s still too much stress on the baby, we may have to push your due date up a little earlier. But we don’t want to do that if we can avoid it.”

Currently you were in the nursery, where most of the last minute things to do remained. You were standing at the changing table, folding a set of onesies to be put away. Harry had been urging you for the past 10 minutes to sit down.

“Harry, I have been in bed all night, or as much of it as your son allowed me to be without kicking me in the ribs or pressing on my bladder. I just wanna get these folded and put away and I’ll be done.”

“Well you can at least sit while y’doing them. Or, let me finish ‘em.” His hands fall on your shoulders, gently guiding you towards the rocking chair in the corner. You gesture for him to bring the basket closer, “And why is he only my son when he’s causing you trouble?”

“Maybe cause it was your birthday treat that got us into this mess. Or because he already likes to tease us so much. Besides, you can’t do them, I have a system.”

“Yeah, a birthday treat planned by you. And I know the system, you showed me two days ago.”

“You knew the system, we changed it.”

“We? I’ve barely been home how’ve we..”

“I may have called your Mum again.” You shrug, propping your feet up on the small ottoman positioned in front of the chair, “She and I agreed it’s better this way.”

“You didn’t think it was important to notify me of this system you and y’new bestie have thought up?” He’s turned to lean his back against the changing table, arms folded across his chest. As much as he wants to be upset, he’s over the moon that you and Anne have become so much closer over the past few months. Between his mom and yours, plus your sister and his, he was thrilled to see you had so much support for days when he couldn’t be there. Anne had offered to fly out to spend the week with you, as did your mom, but you put them both off, promising you would need them more the few weeks after the birth.

“Been a little busy growing a human here, Harry. May have slipped my mind. I would’ve gotten around to it eventually.”

“Right, you can just tell me where everything goes then.” He’s already worked his way through folding the last of the pile, smiling proudly at you as you lean your head back and close your eyes, sinking further into the chair.

“Socks in the second drawer to the left, hats in the middle. If the onesies are newborn sized, they go to the right. Anything bigger than that gets tucked in the baskets by size there in the middle shelf of the closet, if you can find room.”

Between the two of your families and your group of mutual friends, you’d been given 4 baby showers over the past few months, combining with the items you and Harry had supplied for yourselves. People had been more than generous in helping stock the nursery for your little one.

“All done. How ‘bout some breakfast now?”

“You don’t have time. You have to be on set in less than an hour. I’ll make myself something in a bit. I may go back to sleep for a while, just got up to see you off and wanted to put those things away.”

“Always have time for you, angel,” He offers his hand to help you lift yourself up, “Maybe a smoothie?”

“Alright, if I let you make me a smoothie, will you take yours to go? Don’t want you to be late because of me.”

“Deal. But only if you let me tuck you back into bed before I go.”

“Deal.” You lean up slightly to accept the sweet kiss he offers before shuffling off to the kitchen together.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve decided. You’re not allowed to look.”

You knew he wasn’t listening, trying to maybe, but not really. He sits across the room at the desk in the corner of your bedroom, glasses perched on the end of his nose, guitar in his lap, journal open in front of him. He’s in writing mode, something that usually takes you at least 30 minutes to coax him from and convince him to come to bed. Not that you ever wanted to interrupt his process, but tonight you’re feeling anxious about your impending delivery, dread slowing working its way through your body.

It had been only a few days since your follow up appointment with your doctor. She had deemed you fit to come off bed rest, but urged you to continue to try to keep your stress level to a minimum as much as possible. Easier said than done, but you were finding small ways to relax yourself when you could; meditation, music, reading. But tonight you just wanted Harry for reassurance.

In your nightly scroll through one of your recent favorite mom-to-be blogs, you had come across an article on the difficulty of delivery. You appreciated moms who were brave enough to share their stories online and this person in particular had included a video. Despite your anxiety, you clicked to watch, curiosity overriding any fear rising in your chest.

When he finally puts away the guitar and the journal and sheds his soft purple robe to swim up the bed to settle next to you, he asks, “Were y’sayin’ something earlier, m’love? Got lost there for a bit, m’sorry.”

His writing sessions were normally done in his office or the studio, but the past few weeks he’d preferred to do them here. Liked the idea of you trying to softly hum along to a new tune he was working through, occasionally offering your opinions about what you liked or didn’t. It was rare that you disliked anything, but he liked that you didn’t shy away from being honest with him. His favorite though? The sight of you, an open book, hand always resting on the side of your belly while you read. It was just as much a comfort for him to be near you these days as it was for you.

“Yeah. I’ve decided. You’re not allowed to look when I deliver this baby.”

His head rests on your thigh, only the side of his face visible as he looks up at you, but it’s enough to see the disappointment flash before he composes himself, not wanting to upset you.

“Alright. What d’you mean by that? Like..you don’t want me in the room or..”

“No, no, I want you in the room, that was never a question. You’re just not allowed to look when I’m pushing. I watched a video and I’m traumatized and I just..”

He sits up quickly, “You watched a birthing video? Without me?”

“Yeah, earlier when you were zoned out. You’ve never seen one?”

“Never been curious enough to watch one ‘til now. Not ‘til I thought of you having our babe. Show me the one you watched?”

You’re hesitant. Truly you’re touched he’s so curious and wants to share this experience with you, but right now the thought of him seeing your body change like that is scary. He senses your unease, almost reads your mind; he knows you so well.

“Babe, s’your body. If you really don’t want me t’look, then I won’t. Just..at least show me what you watched so I can see for myself what it’s like, what you’ll go through. S’all m’askin’ for now.”

“Okay, fine,” You pat the bed next to you and he scurries up to sit, his head on your shoulder while you navigate through your browser history to find the video. You start it, but your eyes stay focused on his face.

“Y’not gonna watch it again with me?”

“No,” You drape your arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer so you can rest your head on top of his, “I’d rather watch your reactions this time around.”

You’re curious to see how he reacts to certain parts; his little gasps and winces as the video progresses. When it ends, you’re not surprised to see tears have fallen down his face and made a small wet spot on the front of his t-shirt.

“Harry, you’re not upset with me, are you?”

“‘Course not, meant what I said earlier. If you really don’t want me t’look, then I won’t..but I don’t want you to think I’ll look at you any differently after. You’re givin’ me one of the greatest gifts anyone ever has, if anything I love you more than I ever thought I could. And that’s only gonna grow once our boy’s here.”

You run your hands through his hair, not sure what to say. You’ve never had a love this big, one that envelops you so fully. The past few months have shown you just how deeply he cares for you, and just how much your own heart could stretch to fill with your overwhelming love for Harry and now the baby growing inside you.

He doesn’t take offense to your silence, just stills your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each of your fingertips. He slumps further down the bed, head level with your stomach. He pokes it softly through your shirt. He doesn’t even have to ask anymore, you know what he wants and you’re glad to give in to him. You scoot down to rest your head on your pillow, pulling your shirt up and tucking the fabric under your breasts.

Instantly his head rests on your tummy, a hand reaching around to lay there on the other side of it, wrapping himself around you. You reach over and turn the lamp on your bedside table off, sleep drifting it’s way through your body and mind. You let one hand fall to his back, the other one joining his arm to wrap protectively around your belly.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“You can look. If you want.”

“Y’don’t have to decide tonight. We still have a little time to plan.”

“No. I don’t want to take any of this experience from you. The whole thing’s just a bit scary though.”

“I know it is, m’terrified too. But everything’s gonna be alright. I’m gonna be there for every second of it.”

“I know you are. You’re the only thing that’s kept me sane through all this. You’ve been so good to me, H. Putting up with all my mood swings and late night cravings and whatever I needed.”

“I haven’t had to ‘put up’ with anything. Just want to make you and bub as happy as y’both already make me.” He turns to kiss the side of your stomach before looking up at you, “Comfy? Am I squishin’ you?”

“No, it’s nice. Don’t see how you can be comfy though.”

“I’ll move to my pillow in a bit. Just like being close to you and bub,” He yawns, “Goodnight, babe. Love you both so much.”

“We love you too, Harry. More than you’ll ever know.”

Sleep had been pretty much non-existent in your third trimester. You were lucky if you got a few hours each night and cat naps throughout the day were rare.

Tonight is no different. It’s 3 a.m and once you get up for your fifth trip to the bathroom, you know there’s no point in trying to get comfortable again. Harry will be up soon, and as much as he tries to stay quiet during his morning routine, he always found some way to unintentionally wake you. You couldn’t even sleep through his soft kisses to your forehead to say goodbye anymore.

Normally you take yourself down to the living room to find a mindless tv show or movie to carry you through your insomnia, but Harry also seemed to be infected with your curse of being a light sleeper these days. Most nights he would attempt to join you, sweet enough to not want you to be alone, stubborn enough to not listen each time you urged him to go back to bed. He always paid for it the day after though, dark circles under his eyes and nodding off to sleep throughout whatever he had scheduled.

So in hopes that you wouldn’t wake him by leaving tonight, you reach for the remote to the bedroom tv, muting it so the noise won’t disturb him. You would almost be content enough to stare at him for the rest of the night. The sharp outline of his jaw, freckles scattered across his face that would rival the constellations in the sky, all softened by the moonlight illuminating his face perfectly. As much as you don’t want to wake him, you can’t help but reach out to run the back of your hand over the smooth skin of the man you admire so much. You adore the way even in his sleep he molds to your touch, soft snores and deep, even breaths never stopping as you move up to brush his curls away from his face.

You almost make it through 20 minutes of a movie before his eyes flutter open. You know how much your false contractions from before weighed on him, alarm is quick to flood his face before he has a chance to take in his surroundings.

You answer before he has a chance to let worry take over, “It’s alright. We’re okay. Just the usual..couldn’t sleep.”

He rubs his eyes to clear them, “What time s’it?”

“4:30.”

He squints slightly at the movie playing before chuckling, “How many times y’think you’ve watched this one? Know it’s been at least a dozen or so in the last month.”

“It’s my favorite. One of them, anyway. It’s always been soothing to me.”

“Bet you could quote the whole thing by now, even with it muted.”

You glance up at the tv and it only takes a second for you to pinpoint the exact part. You take his comment as a challenge, pushing yourself up out of your nest of pillows to rest your back against the headboard before quoting, “Faith is a bluebird you see from afar. It’s for real, and as sure as the first evening star. You can’t touch it, or buy it, or wrap it up tight. But it’s there just the same, making things turn out right.”

Your voice breaks as you say the last few words. Maybe it’s the combination of exhaustion and all the new fears and hormones running through your mind and body. Nostalgia of watching this when you were younger and now sharing it with your child when they are old enough touches your heart and you can’t stop the tears continuously streaming down your face.

“Baby,” He pushes himself up to rest next to you, tugging you until you're pressed close to his side, “Please don’t cry.”

“M’miserable, Harry. I’m as big as the moon and I can’t breathe and my feet always hurt and I’m just..ready for him to be here. Ready for him to be out so I can hold him and kiss him and put him in his own bed so I can rest in mine again.”

You know you sound childish and whiny and somewhat ridiculous, but being so sleep deprived means all sense has left and so the words come spilling out, a jumbled mess you doubt he even understood.

“I know you are, love. Hate to see you so upset,” He kisses the top of your head, “Certainly as bright as the moon, but not as big. Your body’s as exactly as it should be. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but that’s only cause you’re tired. He’ll be here soon and we’ll have so many people here to help, yeah?”

All you can do is nod, you know he’s right and you know once you have a nap things won’t feel so overwhelming. You pull yourself away from him to wipe your face on your t-shirt. A smile stretches across your lips as the thought enters your mind, “If I’m as bright as the moon, you’re as golden as the sun.”

“Yeah?” He’s blushing now, looking down at his hands before his eyes dart up to meet yours, “Guess that makes bub our little star, huh?”

You giggle before shrugging, “Guess so.”

“By the way,” His hand rests on your thigh, “We gonna keep calling him bub or we gonna pick a name?”

“Bub’s cute. Bub Styles.” You wrinkle your nose at the thought, “I just want it to be perfect for him, you know? I feel like I need to see his face before I just blindly pick a name. We could definitely narrow down some options though and see which one suits him best.”

“We’ll think of something special, eh? Somethin’ just f’him.”

“Yeah, we will,” You suck in a sharp intake of breath at a particularly hard kick from within your stomach. Harry’s head snaps to look over your face before looking down to where your hand lays on your belly.

“What’s wrong?” His eyes are wide, on edge as he waits for your answer.

“It’s fine he’s just..ah, being a little rowdy this morning.” You take his hand from your thigh and press it to where the kicks were landing, “Right here. Think that’s his butt, his head’s down here, and..ah, his feet are right about here. Can you feel him?”

His palm lays flat across the front of your belly, “S’amazing, never gets old. Bet it feels so..weird to you though.”

“At first, yeah, but got used to it pretty quickly. It’s comforting now, like he’s saying hello or contributing to our conversations when we talk.”

He puts his mouth almost right against your tummy, so close his breath tickles and you feel the vibrations when he speaks, “Take it easy on mumma, little one. Just a bit longer, yeah? Can’t wait to see ya face. Bet y’so handsome like daddy, just gotta be a lil’ more patient like mummy, alright?”

“Think maybe he’s ready for his pre-breakfast snack?”

“Dunno..I’ll ask him though,” He bends again, “That why y’bein’ such a brat to mum, huh? Woke her up early cause you were hungry? Alright, daddy’ll make your usual.”

He kisses your stomach, before straightening to where he’s level with your face, “That sound good?”

Your “usual” was a bowl of what had been your biggest craving throughout your pregnancy; fruit. On nights like this when sleeplessness couldn’t be defeated, the two of you normally gave in pretty quickly and had breakfast together. On days when you were able to sleep through Harry’s departure, you would always wake to the bowl already prepared and ready for you. Oftentimes there would be a quickly scribbled note with the words “Love, H” stuck to the top or the side of the bowl, like you didn’t already know who had left it for you.

“You’re spoiling him already, Harry.”

He smacks a quick kiss to your cheek, pulling back just a second before diving back in to peck another one on your other cheek, “Tryin’ to spoil you too, angel.”

Contractions, real ones you were sure this time, had started 30 minutes ago. As much as Harry wanted to rush you out of the house in your pajamas, you had insisted on at least 5 minutes to change and pull your hair into a quick ponytail before gathering your bag and dashing down the stairs.

Just as Harry’s hand lands on the doorknob, you tug on the sleeve of his jacket, “Harry, stop for a second.”

“Why? Are you having one now?”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“This is one of our last moments before we become parents. I want you to slow down, take a deep breath, and kiss me.”

“You’re impossible, you know that? Active labor and you stop me for a kiss.” He rolls his eyes but you can see his shoulders drop, relaxing just enough to press his lips firmly against yours. You reach your hand up and around to the back of his neck, deepening it for a moment before drawing back to scan his face.

“Better?” Your hand continues to work through his hair, happy to watch his face relax slightly at your touch.

“Much. How are you so calm?”

“I don’t know, really. I thought I would be scared, and I am but..I’m ready. So ready to meet him.”

“Me too. Let’s go.” His hand falls to the small of you back, leading you out the door and to the car.

Once you arrive at the hospital, he doesn’t leave your side, not even when the nurse suggests he do so while you get your epidural. She agrees to let him stay, but makes him sit in a chair in front of you and sternly tells him not to look.

He holds both of your hands, squeezing them tightly as an attempt to distract you. He knows how much you hate needles, how the thought of this procedure alone had scared you almost as much as the idea of labor. You release a deep sigh of relief when they announce it’s done, and he helps you settle back into bed, tucking the blanket around you.

“So proud of you, baby. You’re already doing amazing.”

Things progress much faster than you ever thought they would, and it’s only three hours before you’re ready to push. Harry’s there for every second of it, hand behind your back and small encouragements in your ear when you think you can’t go any further.

“M’tired, H.” The room is full of people, your doctor and a set of nurses, but his focus stays on you; simply existing together in that moment. Small pieces of hair have come loose from your ponytail, clinging to the sweat now covering your forehead. He sweeps them away before resting his hand on your shoulder.

“I know y’are, lovie, but you’re so so close. Doin’ so incredible,” His smile is so wide, beaming at you when he leans closer, “Y’look gorgeous too, never seen you look more stunning than now.”

That has a laugh bursting from you, still breathless when you reply, “You’re such a bad liar.”

“M’serious! Know better than to lie to you.” He winks just before working his arm around behind your back again, giving you the motivation you needed to keep going.

It’s not long before you hear what you’re certain is one of the best sounds you’ll ever hear, the sweet sound of your baby boy’s cry as he enters the world.

An hour later, both of you are still in awe of your little one, sleeping peaceful now in their dad’s strong arms. Harry’s wedged himself next to you in the hospital bed, long legs stretched in front of him. He keeps looking between where your head is propped on his shoulder and the baby.

He breaks the silence first, “Definitely think he has your hair. S’nice and soft.”

“Think it’ll be darker like yours though. Maybe he’ll have your eyes.” You reach over to run your finger along your baby’s nose.

He looks between you and the baby again, a prideful smile brightening his face. He smushes his lips against your temple, and you close your eyes as the feeling of adoration combined with the exhaustion of the day washes over you.

You hear him whisper just as you’re drifting to sleep, “My moon and star, together at last.”

#harry styles imagine #harry x reader #my writing #dad!harry #still not perfect but I like it so much more #hope you all enjoy it!

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novantinuum · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 6.3K~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which freedom is a future worth fighting for.

Finally finished this chapter, yay! I promise I throw canon off a ravine entirely next chapter, I just needed to set up some stuff. Hopefully the Ruby POV makes things somewhat fresh.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

____

Chapter 13: system/REBOOT, Part 1

The whole mission is Garnet’s idea.

By this point, they’ve known about Homeworld’s rushed Beta Kindergarten project for about fifty years. Frankly, its composition leaves much to be desired. The area is rich in the iron and silicon deposits necessary to produce a strong batch of quartzes, but the foundation they incubated all their new soldiers within is red clay cemented sandstone; it’s soft, and in constant danger of erosion. According to all the rebellion’s peridots, many of them top Homeworld kindergarteners before their eventual defection, this type of stone is critically unfit for Gem production. It can’t compress the inclusions of injector fluid at the correct pressure, can’t reliably bar the excess from draining through the porous material. As a result many of the individually incubated sites are predicted to ‘weep’ and lose critical volume, which will inevitably cause the emergent quartzes to be ‘off-color’ in some fashion. Some may be under regulation height, some may exhibit crystal twinning, some may be incapable of standard abilities like shapeshifting or weapon summoning, so on and so forth.

As a fellow off-color herself, Garnet carries a deep empathy for all those who are forsaken and unwanted. She can foresee the dire fate of these Beta Gems creeping over the dawning horizon even without the benefit of future vision, can foresee that despite all of these soldiers’ loyal programming, they’re ultimately cursed to be eliminated within the cruel machine of Homeworld. One day beyond the battlefield, the so-called Great Diamond Authority will see no further use in their existence, and then they’ll be purged. Harvested for scrap. Trapped within a myriad of Gem-powered objects. Crushed and used within their drop ships for fuel.

It’s pure tyranny.

Thus, she refuses to let their cruelty stand without a just fight. They have to give these Gems a chance beyond Homeworld’s rule, because abandoning them would be abandoning everything that their brave rebellion stands for, that she stands for. She refuses to stand powerless and idle in the face of a Diamond’s commands like the Sapphire and Ruby she once was, refuses to let another tragedy slip by without at least attempting to mend its damage. She is Garnet, she is freedom, and she is love.

And deep within her core, she believes these soon-to-emerge soldiers deserve the same opportunity for renewal and hope as any other Crystal Gem.

For all Ruby’s aware, a whole geological era could have passed between that fateful moment she first set eyes on Jasper and the shards-late arrival of Amethyst and the others. All three of them duck behind the low rock formations she’s hiding in the shade of, Steven still breathing heavily from the no-doubt harried and concerned exertion of their sprint towards her. Hard light coursing from the gem in her palm to all other extremities at random intervals amidst crackling cinders of immobilizing terror, (she’s almost surprised her form isn’t flickering at this point), she desperately attempts to babble an explanation. She’ll admit— it’s not a particularly coherent one. Ask her mere minutes later, and there’s little chance she’ll be able to repeat what she said. Heck, she’s not confident about her words now, in the heat of the moment. It’s probably something about holes, something about injector scrap, about all those Gem monsters, a-and—

"Whoa, what the heck!” Amethyst blessedly interrupts, raising her head above the rocks and pointing across the clearing at the orange and red striped quartz diligently prowling the area like a true squadron leader. “Jasper’s here, too? Did everyone decide to skip on over to Beta today, or somethin’?!”

Peridot’s face scrunches in confusion as she regards her former mission partner. “What is she doing?”

“She’s got all those corrupted Gems in cages,” Steven murmurs with realization, a tiny spark of outrage lighting up behind his eyes on those creatures’ behalf. “They’re not even bubbled, they’re just… trapped, and scared!”

Ruby brings her fist to her mouth, nervously nibbling at her fingers for a moment to anchor herself back to this present. Above all else, ignoring every thread of trepidation and insecurity she bears, there’s one burning question that pulses at her core with an unmatched luminosity about this whole scenario:

“B-but why would she want so many corrupted Gems in the first place? Doesn’t she know she can’t tame them?”

The purple quartz growls, the fringe of her hair casting a dark and menacing shadow over her features as she tilts her head down and glares at her self-proclaimed rival. “I don’t think she knows nothin’.”

And as— instinctively, mistakenly, running off of over five thousand years of deep engrained habit— she attempts to open her third eye towards the winding tributaries of potential futures they may soon find themselves wading through and fails, it slowly dawns on her just how isolated and lost they all are, without Sapphire’s sight. Without her love.

“Neither do I…” she says softly, her stature shrinking in the throes of that suffocating inadequacy. Riding an abrupt wave of frustration, she slams her foot into the coarse dirt, gripping thick chunks of her coily hair between her fingers. “Aughhh, this is a terrible time to not have future vision!” she huffs, spitting out each word staccato.

“Pipe down!” Jasper hollers at the poor corrupted Gem cornered in the distance as she kicks one of the bars of its cage, her booming voice easily reverberating off the cliffs’ curvature.

All four of them can’t help but bite back their gasps upon this clamoring startle. Peeking her head just above the rim of the rocky outcropping, Ruby watches the fur covered quartz visibly shrink back at the soldier’s command. Jasper continues, her unwavering act of confidence currently undeterred by this reaction.

“You take orders from me now. You used to be a quartz too, didn’t you? What happened to you?”

Utterly failing to comprehend any of her words in this vulnerable, animalistic state, the corrupted Gem merely snaps its fangs at the bars, and then tilts its head sideways to begin chewing on one of them. Jasper scoffs, her lips rising in a mild sneer. Taking the risk to edge closer, she continues to verbally berate the poor thing, talking the same sort of smack Ruby’s former Homeworld commanding officer, Condor Agate, used to dish out. Ruby grinds her teeth together so hard as she watches this display that the pressure and heat alone might be enough to form a brand new batch of Gems. Jasper even finds a moment to rope Amethyst into her insults, which almost has the stone in question summoning her whip in pure unfiltered fury. It’s only Steven and Peridot’s quick clutch on her shoulders that holds her back from steamrolling into the clearing with zero preparation and potentially making a terrible mistake. Still, she’s gotta admit, the temptation to whoop this Homeworld brute’s butt right this minute is devilishly hard to resist.

Ruby growls, one of her gauntlets emerging into existence on her clenched fist with a burst of light. “Oh-hoh, do I wanna launch this baby right into her dumb, chalky face…!”

“But maybe first we should go back to the temple and grab reinforcements?” Peridot whispers hastily, whirling around to face her. Panic visibly tightens its grip on her form with each passing second.

She pauses a moment to let the logic of this suggestion sink in, gaze hardened, and self-consciously aware of how her fellow Gems are (wrongfully) looking towards her as their leader in this chaos. What options do they even have? They can choose to fight, that’s one. They could disengage. They could retreat to Beach City and seek backup. If they were truly desperate, they could surrender. (Although she’s not confident Jasper would gracefully accept anyone’s defeat, not until it ended with their poofed— maybe even shattered— gemstones littering the coarse sand.)

As the gears are still pirouetting in her mind, she turns towards Steven, who nods in vehement agreement of Peridot’s strategy, his mouth stretched thin.

Sighing with frustration, she loosens her grip, recalling how even Garnet was barely able to match up with Jasper’s might. “Yeah, you’re right. She’d beat us into the dirt without Pearl or Sapphire.”

“Okay, so far we got three votes for retreat,” he says, holding up the appropriate number of digits as a visual. “Amethyst?”

In sync, the trio turn towards where the quartz just stood and find nothing but faint granules of recently upended dust filtering through a beam of sunlight. Both Peridot and Steven let out a fearful squeak at her absence.

“W-where is she?” the former Homeworld technician cries, craning her neck over the top of the rock formation to try and secure a visual.

“Up there!” Steven exclaims under his breath, pointing at a ridge a good ten feet above them that crosses from the arched entrance of this natural amphitheater all the way to the other side where Jasper stands, her back still turned to them.

Following the path of his index finger, Ruby catches a flash of purple, black and lavender stealthily advancing along the narrow rim towards the very soldier who reportedly poofed her with a single strike about a week back. The light sustaining her form nearly drains from all her limbs and rushes back to her gem.

“Oh, shards no…”

Stars above, what the hell is her problem? she thinks, her mind riding in a narrow track between exacerbated vexation and dread. Does she have a death wish, or something?? Surely the last place a rational person would choose to run is directly into the arms of the Gem who clobbered them into a senseless cloud at their last meeting. Surely a rational person would instead choose to retreat and regroup. However, as she glumly reflects upon the dour happenings of the past few days, Amethyst’s actions prove she’s currently unable to think rationally about Jasper or any other kind of conflict. She’s been markedly sullen at everyone around her ever since she first got her butt whooped. Obsessed with her private training sprees. Emotionally stand-offish. Prone to making rash decisions, like letting her mouth run off at poor hapless Steven about matters that aren’t his fault, or slashing her whip right at people’s feet to push them away, or… or rushing directly towards Jasper in an enclosed space with little to no backup just because she’s desperate to show her up for the sake of her own self-worth, or whatever.

And Ruby gets it, to an extent. She understands how cripplingly powerless it can feel to be written off as ‘the weak one,’ as nothing but an expendable. She understands the vivid temptation to let one’s anger drive such antagonistic confrontations. However, she’d also like to believe that she carries enough self respect in this gem to not throw herself right on an enemy’s anvil. Whether or not Amethyst possesses the same level of restraint is another question entirely. She flexes nervous, twitchy fingers at her side as she watches her dear friend creep further along the rim, ever closer to what she fears will be her unquestionable demise.

With the corrupted Gem’s racket still occupying Jasper’s undivided attention, Amethyst leaps from the cliff’s edge and into the clearing, pulling her whip from her gem in midair. The moment her toes touch the ground again, she slashes its barbed ends at the bars of the cage, right next to the quartz soldier’s hand. Jasper yanks her digits back. Her entire body snaps tense upon this disruption. Watching from behind their rocky cover, Ruby, Steven, and Peridot bite back the urge to gasp in shock.

“HEY!” Amethyst yells, lowering on her haunches right behind her opponent.

Now, there’s obviously no way to prove it without somehow obtaining intimate knowledge of her headspace, but upon external observation, Ruby swears that this big, buff Beta Kindergarten quartz is masking surprise. The sentiment is visible in the alignment of her shoulders, lifted high and tight against her neck. It’s visible in her narrow stance, light years away from the proper form of a soldier expecting battle. Flexing her thick, dexterous fingers at her side, she makes a blatant show of puffing out her chest before she turns to face her challenger, an almost predatory smile curving upwards on her lips as she regards her.

“You back away from her,” Amethyst hisses, nodding towards the Gem in the cage.

Jasper lets out a hearty chuckle. “Oh-hoh, what do we have here? You finally decide to crawl back for a rematch, runt?”

She grits her teeth, tightening her fist around the pommel of her weapon. “That’s right. I’m back, and I’mma wipe you all over these cliffs!”

“Perfect,” her opponent practically purrs, cracking her knuckles in anticipation. “I’ve been needing a light warmup.”

Rose approves her mission without question, when she first brings her the idea. Of course she would, in retrospect— the hidden diamond she was.

Garnet takes forty of her fellow soldiers and friends with her to the Beta Kindergarten. They don’t wield any weapons. These Gems are brand new, stepping into the light for the very first time. There’s no need to threaten them; all she wants is to peacefully talk, to introduce them to the concept of freedom, of choosing their own path beyond the Diamonds’ rule.

At the time, all she wanted was to follow her beloved leader’s example and choose peace and harmony over subjugation and brutality.

But with the bitter truths they know now, and reflecting upon the horrid atrocities they themselves participated in amidst the war… despite Rose’s self-proclaimed ‘pacifism,’ despite the shaky justifications of their cause being different than Homeworld’s brand of violence... she’s increasingly unsure if any of them ever had a choice.

Tragically, it only takes mere seconds for the initial triumphant beats of Amethyst’s war against Jasper to devolve into a one-sided thrashing.

With a mighty, almost frenzied yell, Amethyst moves one foot forward for counterbalance and slings the weighted, barbed tip of her weapon directly at her opponent’s face. Jasper catches it midair, mere inches from her gem. An arrogant smile paints her visage. After winding the whip’s end around her hand, she yanks its user towards her with a snap of her wrist, swings her in a wide arc, and effortlessly slams her into the nearest cliff wall, blowing up a huge plume of pulverized rock and dust. It all happens so fast that the rest of the party barely has any time to react. As the rubble settles, Ruby finally spots her friend amidst the chaos, collapsed on hands and knees in the dirt. The poor Gem’s hands are nearly trembling as she vies to rise to her feet again, vies to stand her ground and keep fighting.

There’s only one thing she knows for sure, watching all this: if hard light were consumable rather than indelible, she would quite literally be chipping away at her knuckles with her teeth by now.

His expression blown wide with fear, Steven breaks their communal silence to holler Amethyst’s name. Hands flexing in and out of fists, he darts away from their hiding spot. And they tried to stop him, they really did— it’s simply that he’s far too nimble for either of them to catch in time.

“Steven!” Peridot cries, trying and failing to grab his hand to hold him back.

“Steven, no!” Ruby yells, arms outstretched, as he sprints into the clearing— entirely blowing any remaining amount of cover the three of them had, placing his gem at Jasper’s mercy, and causing a thousand living nightmares to flood into her consciousness in but a millisecond. “Come back!!”

“Wait! Wait,” he gasps, waving his arms wildly to catch the larger quartz’s attention as he passes into the center of this natural coliseum, firmly planting himself at Amethyst’s side. “Stop! We don’t need to do this!”

Giving a growl that would rival that of a corrupted Gem’s, Ruby clenches her fingers around thick coils of her hair at either side of her head and yanks. “Aughh, why does nobody listen to me when I’m short??”

A faint trail of glowing embers marks a record of her path as she leaves Peridot by their rocky outcropping and storms right into the open after him. Oh, hoh, hoh— that boy can disobey her clear, simple orders all he wants, but in his folly he’s forgetting one very important fact: rubies are stubborn Gems. And she’ll fight to protect him from the crossfire of Jasper’s hubris and Amethyst’s self-destruction even if that means braving her deepest terrors to run out there and drag him back to safety herself.

(Ideally, she’d be able to drag Amethyst with her out of the thunderdome as well, but she’s also quite the stubborn one. So try as she may, that’s not likely to happen.)

Ruby strides towards the middle of the clearing and defiantly plants her feet in the sterile soil right in front of Steven, and adjacent to Amethyst. She summons her gauntlets, her features twisting in a scowl. “Stand down and let them go!” she shouts up at that bulky orange quartz with all the Garnet-like confidence she can muster. “This is not a Homeworld controlled planet!”

“Steven, Ruby, get out of here!” Amethyst hisses under her breath, her battle-ready stance solidifying with a strange mixture of apprehension and anger as she regards the two of them.

“No!” she shoots back, tugging at her arm. “Come on, you know I can’t just leave you here.”

Jasper’s molten amber eyes narrow, her steely gaze colliding right into her.

“ You,” she says, enunciated as sharp as a dagger. “One half of that vile war machine.”

“War machine?!” Steven cries, distraught by the very implication. “She’s not a war machine! Garnet fuses for love!”

“Yeah!” Ruby jabs her fist in the air loud and proud.

The Homeworld warrior scoffs, seemingly not impressed by their display of solidarity. She folds her arms solid across the Yellow Diamond insignia emblazoned upon her chest and steps closer to address her directly. “And where’s this love now?” she spits, mockingly stooping to her level.

And despite the faint, triumphant memories of her last incursion with this quartz, (well… Garnet’s last incursion), she can’t help but cower in her presence, can’t help but crumble like the deficient sandstone of this very kindergarten under the cruel, personalized precision of her blunt words. Because... she’s right. Because that’s the whole problem, the pulsing heart of life’s cruel game. Fusion offered her a tantalizing taste of freedom, a glimpse of a reality where, together, a lowly guard and her sapphire could achieve literally anything through the strength of their love!— but that world feels like nothing more but an unobtainable mirage now. She’s absolutely useless on her own, just some pathetic waste of resources! No authority, no power, no wisdom of foresight— she brings nothing to the Crystal Gems’ cause. She never did. It was always her. Tears bead at her widening eyes, her gauntleted fists already beginning to tremble at her sides.

“I-I…”

“Where’s any of your power now?” Jasper continues as she raises back to her full height, lifting both open hands towards the empty, cloud-streaked skies. She throws her head back as she offers them all a bright, boastful chuckle. “To think I used to view you traitors as a threat, but now even your disgraceful cause is falling apart, isn’t it… Rose?”

Still standing a step behind her, Steven’s immediate reply brims with tones of frustration. “I’m not—“

“But you’re wrong!” a high, familiar voice urgently calls out from behind them all.

This whole messy confrontation breaks to a halt as everyone turns to gape at the lone Gem poking her head out above the rocky outcropping. Peridot gasps at the sudden influx of attention, and hastily ducks for cover again.

“What are YOU doing here?” Jasper growls with annoyance, grinding one of her feet in the dirt as if inwardly hoping she could shift the very earth they stand on and finally gain the advantage of surprise once more.

“I-I…” the green Gem stammers, slowly creeping out from her hiding spot, summoning newfound confidence as she lays her eyes on each and every one of her friends. “I’m here because our cause hasn’t fallen apart! We live on Earth to be free, to learn new things about ourselves. Like how I can bend metal to my bidding!” she exclaims, tossing enthusiastic fists into the air.

On the cliff face over twenty feet away, a skinny length of metal from one of the injector’s legs slips from the device, falls straight down, and noisily clatters as it collides against the rocky soil. Amethyst facepalms. Meanwhile, Jasper appears so underwhelmed by this display that in any other circumstance, her glazed-over expression could be comedic.

Peridot briefly scowls at her botched handiwork. “And sure,” she shrugs, nodding towards that shard of metal, “nothing’s ever perfect here, but together, we work to help and support each other, just like we’re supporting Amethyst now. Isn’t that freedom worth fighting for?”

A few beats pass as the heart of this proclamation sinks in, the ticking seconds seeing Steven beam in pride at his friend’s progression since the beginning of her stay on Earth, and Jasper’s features scrunch inwards in an almost sour manner. Between the stifling roots of her own despair, even Ruby herself can’t help but feel a little uplifted by this hopeful sentiment. It’s a well-timed salve to an old burn, a naive yet ultimately truthful promise of lighthearted days to come. After all, hasn’t her time as a Crystal Gem taught her by now that no circumstance is permanent? That a single unifying cause can collapse empires like a wildfire, can continually reshape one’s entire understanding of existence? Her gauntleted hands shift at her side as a new spark of timid confidence ignites at her core. What was she thinking, letting this brute of a quartz tower over her and define the very pillars of her own story? She’s better than this. For the very sake of her friends she has to be!

But alas, before this newfound bravery can see its hour of triumph on this secluded battlefield, she finds herself once again cast aside by one of the very friends she’s vying to protect.

Amethyst growls in frustration at their continued presence, and summons her weapon. “UGH, you GUYS!” She slashes its barbed tips against the cliff face right above Peridot, not close enough to hit her, but certainly with enough force that it spooks her into diving behind the low rock formation again. Scowling, she then turns and plucks an actively protesting Steven right off the ground. “Get out of here!” she yells, tossing him back towards the clearing’s entrance. “This isn’t your fight!”

Ruby gives a sharp yelp as she just barely leaps backwards to dodge the business end of her whip, swinging low in a vain attempt to tangle up her feet. “Hey—!”

“It’s just you and me, Jasper,” the purple quartz breathes heavily, and abruptly whirls around to jab her finger towards her opponent. “ONE-ON-ONE!”

Silently, a consenting smirk riding over her lips, the taller Gem summons her ramming helmet in a glittering flash of light.

The mission is— in the terms of the brave humans they sometimes fight alongside— a bloodbath.

When they first warped in, Garnet only expected to find a small handful of disoriented jaspers, citrines, and carnelians roaming about. Gems they could talk to. Gems they could reason with, just as Rose reasoned with her fellow quartzes at the very start of this bold rebellion. Instead, what emerges soon after their arrival is more shocking and unpredictable than any future Garnet could’ve ever visualized.

Bursting from the very heart of this slapdash, rushed Kindergarten, despite every single locational and structural disadvantage this place stacks against one’s favor, is Her.

The strongest, most perfectly formed jasper she’s ever laid eyes on. She’s seven feet tall, built as solid as diamond, her flawlessly faceted gemstone gleaming bright and proud in the rising sun. She wastes no time in following the miserable orders the Great Diamond Authority cruelly embedded deep within her soul, immediately calling the hundreds of scattered and confused off-color Gems surrounding her to action.

Garnet and her squadron simply don’t have enough time to intervene, to try and settle this skirmish halfway peacefully. They don’t have the numbers.

Twenty three Crystal Gems are shattered that day. Numerous more on both sides are cracked or poofed.

And yet one of the greatest tragedies, in her mind… is that these emergent Gems never got the proper chance to consider any purpose beyond their assigned station. Never got a chance to glimpse the promise of their own freedom.

Everything happened so fast.

She took this place for granted— thanks to her own preconceived notions about the kinds of Gems that could emerge here, utterly failed to foresee this potential turn of events— and in the end it cost lives. Both those of her fellow Crystal Gems, her friends … and those of the Beta quartzes she failed to save from Homeworld’s damaging influence.

That night, as she bitterly weeps for the recovered shards of the beloved they lost, clenches her gauntleted fists tight around her gemstones, she vows to never let such a harrowing tragedy escape her vision again. No more.

A leader like her is not allowed to fail.

With the mighty roar of a lion, Amethyst stamps her leading foot to the ground to center her balance and rears her weapon-wielding arm back, wholly intending to defend her pride from this boorish bully. The first and second slashes are fruitful, one striking Jasper in the face, and the next hitting her chest with such intense force that it slams her into the cliff wall a few feet back, but Ruby can’t help but dread the litany of unknown possibilities haunting their future as she watches, powerless in her lack of second sight to influence their present. Could Amethyst win this fight? Sure. There’s gotta be at least one river of time where that occurs, where Jasper is so wrapped up within that facade of insufferable hubris that she fails to take her seriously as an opponent and pays the price. But on the other hand, she senses so many chinks in Amethyst’s armor that she can’t help but fear the opposite. She’s blinded by her anger, unable to consider consequence rationally. Her form in battle— compared to her usual performance— is notably sloppy, as if she’s throwing herself at this fight with such an explosion of tangled, raw emotion that her years of training and refinement have all but melted away in the inferno. Her fingers are trembling as she tightens her grasp on the whip’s pommel.

All of this stated, Ruby may not possess the gift of Sapphire’s future vision, but she has more than enough experience on patrol and on the battlefield to recognize a soldier who is woefully unprepared for a fight. Something terrible is about to happen, she can just feel it.

“Be careful!!” she cries, cupping her hands around her mouth.

“It’s fine, she’s totally rocking this!” Steven says with a huge grin, seeming uncharacteristically calm, given the circumstances. He whoops, and punches his fist in the air. “Go Amethyst!”

Ruby and Peridot briefly match eyes, the noted concern in their gazes pointing towards the fact that they both think that Amethyst’s insistence to fight is reckless and naive. In retrospect, of course her friend would agree with her. She spent a lot of time cohabiting with Jasper on their journey to Earth, so she’s bound to be well aware of her fundamental nature.

At the moment however, given the shorter quartz’s tunnel vision, she’s certain that any of their valid concerns would fall upon deaf ears.

“Who’s weak now, huh?” Amethyst spits from across the clearing, flicking her wrist to activate the triplet spiked balls at the ends of her whip, an upgrade gifted by Bismuth she surprisingly hasn’t seemed to have abandoned. With a holler, she swings her leading arm back and around to build up momentum and then slashes at Jasper’s chest three times in succession. The last hit comes with enough force to push her backwards in the dirt a few feet. “Who’s powerless NOW?!”

Then, just as Ruby fearfully predicted, the winds shift.

The firestorm doubles back upon them, Jasper merely swatting the flail ends away like they were nothing more but a momentary nuisance. Her expression narrows into a scowl. Emergent shock mingles alongside the dark cloud of Amethyst’s anger like wayward lightning bolts as she growls in frustration, the side-swept fringe of her hair shadowing her features. In retaliation she summons a second whip and immediately slashes them both against the soil, endowing them with a crackling, purple-tinged energy, almost a fire of her own making. She tucks into a ball and literally hurls herself at the quartz warrior, her form only recognizable in the heat of that moment via a dazzling blaze of light.

The resulting collision throws up so much dirt and smoke that Ruby has to throw her small body in front of Steven’s to shield him from the worst of the debris.

When the thick curtains of dust finally part, the consequences of this overly-impulsive move are revealed. Jasper still stands proud and tall, her mettle unaffected by this attempted show of strength. Barely a scuff even marrs her uniform. Meanwhile, Amethyst lays hunched over on hands and knees, hacking up fragmented remnants of sandstone she likely swallowed amidst the impact. (Alas, that’s the price she pays for choosing to always reform with an semi-operational digestive system.)

“Is it sinking in yet?” Jasper queries pointedly, advancing towards the trembling Gem on the ground.

Amethyst is so exhausted she can’t even muster the strength to respond, her arms quivering beneath her as she vies to hold up the simulated weight of her hard light form.

Her foe roughly kicks her in the chest, her foot striking mere inches under her gem. Ruby visibly cringes at both the shallow huff of distress that this hit elicits from her, and Steven’s cries of fear in response.

“It doesn’t matter how long or hard you fight,” Jasper boasts, her imposing figure hovering like a bad omen over her quartz sibling’s, “because I’ll always be stronger! Runts like you never had a chance. Runts like you are worthless.”

Angrily, she grinds her teeth together, cradling the vulnerable gemstone on her hand.

Worthless.

Who the hell does this square hunk of stone think she is, slinging such heavy-handed words around like the blunt end of a mallet?

“Get your worthless, sorry forms back in formation!” wretched old Condor Agate used to scream at her and the others in her squad, back when she spent eternity guarding empty corridors, back before she was eventually reassigned to Sapphire’s personal guard. “You’re an embarrassment to your commanding agates, all of you!”

Ruby growls, finding her resolve. That’s it. No more. She can’t bear to stand at the sidelines gripped in fear while some bully is literally beating her friend into the ground, both physically and emotionally. She can’t bear for Amethyst to fall prey to the same type of unwavering torment she herself experienced all those years ago on Homeworld, torment that utterly deformed her sense of self-worth until recognizing any ounce of good in herself became a gargantuan, near-impossible task. Admittedly, she still hasn’t healed from those days. Not entirely. Sometimes she’s unsure she ever will. But it’s her duty to put an end to this, to what’s happening in the here and now. After all, what’s the point of being a Crystal Gem if you don’t look after the people you love?

“We have to separate them,” she says firmly, turning towards Steven and Peridot. “She’s gonna get clobbered!”

The former kindergartener’s expression warps to despair under her visor. “But how? She doesn’t even want us to be here! And none of us are strong enough to face Jasper…”

“Could we make a distraction?” Steven suggests, his voice tinged with the same sort of urgency she feels thrumming like a frantic drum line at the depths of her core.

Humming in thought, Ruby considers the status quo. To no success, she attempts to ignore her friends’ expectant gazes, trustingly falling upon her exactly like all those fellow rebellion soldiers used to look at Garnet… as their de facto leader. But she’s no leader, far from it. Garnet would barely have to think before coming up with a genius, foolproof plan, but she’s going into everything blind. She can’t weigh out potential consequences before rushing into action. She has no ability to pinpoint the most ideal outcome and work backwards from there. With all this in mind, it’s really no wonder that Garnet passed command of the group to Pearl instead of her. At least Pearl has experience leading missions solo.

And yet desperate times call for desperate measures.

She scans their surroundings for inspiration, considering what options may be open to them. At this point there’s no time to double back to the barn or the temple for reinforcements. (And she strongly doubts Lapis would care to so much as match eyes with Jasper, anyways.) One or more of them could always charge into the fray to attempt and break up this small skirmish by force, but that would risk their safety, too. The last thing she wants is to knowingly throw her friends into harm’s way. No, the best option would be breaking the two quartzes up using something in their immediate environment, something large and heavy but capable of being quickly moved, something like...

Her eyes snap wide. “That injector!” she whispers excitedly, pointing to the hulking piece of junked equipment precariously hanging from the cliff wall, only stabilized by a few legs that still penetrate the cracked sandstone. “It’s right above them. If we knocked it down, then maybe…”

Peridot flashes a hopeful smile, and nods.

“We’re on it,” Steven says, summoning his shield. The two of them glance at each other, perhaps silently coordinating their plan, and then leap into action.

“Metal powers activate!” she exclaims, and throws her hands up in the direction of that rusted injector.

Subtly but noticeable, its legs begin to shift and creak under the force of her ferrokinesis, loosening from the eroding stone. Licking his lips, Steven aims his weapon and hurls. It strikes the device directly at its center, clanging against solid metal. The injector wobbles for a moment, its delicate balance obviously destabilized by this force, and then begins to slide free from the porous kindergarten wall. One still-impacted leg snaps under the torque as the cylinder’s immense weight plummets towards the ground.

“Heads up!” Steven calls out, causing a bemused Jasper to flick her gaze skyward, towards the falling object staining the soil with an ever-growing shadow.

The collision of the junky old injector almost appears like a small explosion, flinging dirt a good ten feet into the air and resolutely separating the two quartzes. But Ruby barely has time to high five Peridot and celebrate their success before the kid she’s supposed to be keeping safe darts off into the clearing once more. She hisses a small curse under her breath. Drat, of course he’d run straight to Amethyst’s side again at his first opportunity! She should’ve seen that coming a whole star system away. At least Jasper’s been temporarily marooned on the other side of that busted Gem tech, though.

The real question is, for how long?

Nibbling at her lip, she hastily sprints towards the edge of the injector to keep a watchful eye on their opponent as Steven attempts to have a mid-battlefield heart-to-heart. (At least, that’s what she assumes he’s doing. Admittedly, they kinda failed to hammer out the fine details of their plan before sprinting into action. Her fault.) Thankfully though, at first glimpse it seems the impact’s force has effortlessly knocked Jasper clear off her feet. She seems slightly dazed, but beyond that remains unscathed. Time will only tell if this strategy was a beneficial one. Briefly turning back towards the group, Ruby watches Steven crouch next to Amethyst. She’s muttering something to him, she thinks— her expression raw with fresh tears— but her words are far too hushed to make out. Whatever she shares, however, it’s clearly enough to elicit a strong emotional reaction from her companion.

“No, no!” he pleads, hurt painting his features. “My mom- Rose, she doesn’t matter. Whatever Jasper thinks doesn’t matter. She's the only one who thinks you should be like her!”

“But-”

“Stop trying to be like Jasper. You're nothing like Jasper! You're like me!”

“But even you’re different!” she explodes at first, but any anger present in her form immediately evaporates into something more innately hesitant, more self-conscious. Her fingers claw thick troughs into the reddened soil as she curls them inwards. “I’m not like you at all, I’m not some di—”

“No, that’s not the point!” he says, tears of his own budding at the corners of his eyes. “You’re like me because we’re both not like anybody. And yeah, it sucks. Everyone always expects us to be someone we’re not, but you know what? At least I've always got you. And you've got me! So stop leaving me out of this!”

Slowly pushing herself to her feet behind the junked injector, Jasper groans, her voice strained with newfound exhaustion Ruby never imagined she possessed.

“Y’guys, she’s getting up!” she calls out to her friends behind her, equally a warning as it is a call to action. After all, if this bold stunt finally managed to crack through the first layer of their opponent’s armor, then they might genuinely stand a chance now.

She’ll never know if they heard her, though— because in the same split second she turns back to check on them, the now embracing pair is engulfed in a blinding white light.

Even in the absence of a soldier's fire, everything turns to smoke.

#su #steven universe #ruby #amethyst #jasper #peridot #su fanfiction #my writing stuff #crack the paragon

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bellshells · 3 years

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Nobody Can Know Part 3

Part three of nobody can know, I’ve actually split part three into two (maybe three) different parts. It was burgeoning on upwards of 35k words and I figured it’s too much in one post, so I’ll be posting what is now part four soon. Thank you for bearing with me whilst I got my shit together, and as always, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Slytherin Reader Warnings: Smut (start as we mean to go on amirite), Langauge, Alcohol, Smoking, Threat(?), Angst Summary: It all goes tits up lads, that’s all I’m going to say. Word Count: 11k+ Part One Part Four @alpha-cera

“George,” You moaned, a new wave of sheer pleasure coursed through you and built deep in your stomach. The red head on top of you frowned, his brow furrowed; a thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. He continued his thrusts, each eliciting a smothered moan from your parted lips.

“Quiet, witch. You’re going to let the whole house know how well you’re being fucked.” George scolded, he placed a large hand over your mouth and quickened his pace. He filled every inch of you and yet you yearned for more. George flicked his hips against yours, gritting his teeth to suppress the moan that threatened to escape. You knew you wouldn’t last much longer, especially with the muggle vibrator fixed to your clit with the help of a sticking charm. You whined against George’s hand; you could taste the saltiness of his skin as you gazed up into the face of the person you loved most in the world. His eyes were half closed, and lips parted with a sigh that fell effortlessly from them, you overcome with love for him. George. He was yours and you were his.

You hadn’t considered how much your life would change in the short time since you had arrived at The Burrow, how life in general would be different. You certainly hadn’t imagined going from the sprawling grounds of your family’s estate to a tiny flat above a joke shop in Diagon Alley. You weren’t there though, not tonight. Not in your flat which you had lovingly filled with books and exotic plants with a window seat big enough for two. No, you were in a single bed surrounded by wallpaper that peeled sadly from the walls and a faint muskiness from the heavy, moth-eaten curtains. Voices carried from beneath the floorboards of Grimmauld Place as the iron bedframe began to skid across the dusty floor. You knew you had had maybe ten or fifteen minutes before the meeting was the begin; so in true George fashion he had suggested you slip away, far up the creaky staircase to the very top of the house, where a dark attic room waited. It had been a struggle at first, manoeuvring the small space as George had tugged hungrily at your clothes. The bed was small, almost humorously so. It reminded you of your bed at Hogwarts, and how you had been shocked and a little impressed when Fred had told you he had managed to sneak Angelina into his dorm and they had shared his tiny bed. A few misplaced arms and a foot set firmly on the floor had allowed George to gain a delicious purchase of your frame, and he wasted no time in running his throbbing head against your slick folds.

Your eyes widened as George’s hand slipped from your mouth and wrapped around your neck, he squeezed tightly, and your eyes rolled back in delight. You absolutely adored it when George was rough with you, you knew he was really enjoying himself if he was. Whilst you found yourself on fire with his gentle touches and caresses, you were utterly flung into the inferno when he grappled at your skin; when he spanked you and when he wrapped his hands around your throat. You tried to moan, you tried to let him know how he made you feel, to let him know you were about to come. All you could do was reach for him, your arms found his shoulders and you pressed your fingernails down into his flesh and tugged slightly, as if it were possible for him to get any closer. George understood and released his grip of your throat slightly, his sharp thrusts more erratic as he lowered his head to your ear. “Are you going to come, little witch?” George breathed and you shuddered, his breath was hot on your skin and you could hear how strained his voice was; like he was merely waiting for your confirmation before he would find his own release. You couldn’t speak, how could you when George’s hand again squeezed your throat, tighter than before. You choked on the moan that tried to escape, George groaned at the sight. You managed a nod as your orgasm took you, it convulsed through your body; more intense than you had ever felt. George followed almost instantly, his body falling forward onto yours as if he were melting. Your legs trembled as the waved subsided, the weight of him on top of you pushed the vibrator even harder against your overstimulated clit. It didn’t appear thar George had noticed until you began to squirm beneath him, a whimper escaped you as the little bullet shaped object pleasantly painful, trundled you towards another orgasm. If you weren’t about to come for the second time, you would have laughed at George’s shocked expression. He blinked at you, once, twice and then a third time before he seemed to understand what was happening. A look of sheer elation seemed to illuminate his face and he pushed himself back until he sat on his heels, you whined at the loss of contact but without missing a beat, George pressed his hand against the vibrator and pressed hard. You gasped and your second orgasm erupted through you like needles under your skin, it was deliciously uncomfortable as you bucked your hips against the delightful buzz. George laughed almost incredulously as you rode out the second wave until finally, he muttered the un-stick charm and the little vibrator fell away.

You were breathless and sweaty, the inside of your thighs coated with the evidence of your passion and George ran a hand through his unkempt hair. You couldn’t move, it was like your every appendage was made of lead and no matter how you tried, you couldn’t lift them. “Such a shame we’re not going home tonight, (Y/N). I’d love to hear the pretty noises you’d make when I make you come over and over again with this.” George said breezily, he lifted the vibrator and dropped it onto the bed before pointing his wand at it and casting a quick Scourgify. You watched him lazily as he dressed, he was thinner than he used to be. He pulled his belt to the last but one hole and buckled it. You assumed it was the stress of the shop that had caused him to lose the weight, neither Fred nor George had anticipated how popular the shop was going to be when they opened. The first day alone had seen the twins more than triple what they had paid into the business and since then, George had barely had a day off. You didn’t mind though, not really, you enjoyed seeing him in his element with his brother. He whizzed around the shop like a tornado, his mind constantly ticking over what they could do to make things bigger and better. He had found a new confidence in himself, on those days that Fred wasn’t there, and he didn’t have to share the role of ‘Boss’, George was in charge. George excelled in it, and it was a dynamic that he had brought home with him into the bedroom, which you thoroughly enjoyed.

George pulled his shirt over his head and tossed your knickers over to you. “Are you coming downstairs?” He asked, you chewed on your lip. Did you want to go downstairs to sit outside of a meeting you weren’t welcome at? It was Sirius that didn’t trust you, you knew that, and it wasn’t something you necessarily lost sleep over; but it still bothered you the same. George told you everything that was said in the meetings anyway, so its not as if you were kept in the dark- but that wasn’t the point. Sirius was suspicious of you, coming from the family you did. The Weasley’s had spoken in your defence, even Harry and Hermione who had shown no interest toward you beforehand had tried to get Sirius on side. But he wouldn’t budge, and rather than forcing his hand in his own house, you had elected not to join The Order. It seemed to suit everybody that way, Sirius didn’t have to speak with you, but you were kept in the loop. “Oi, are you even listening to me?” George waved his hand in front of your face. Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment and you stood. “Sorry love, I was just thinking.” “About what?” He sat and watched you as you searched on the floor for your discarded items of clothing. You pushed your legs into your jeans and clasped your bra before pulling your shirt over your head. “I might go home George, if we’re supposed to be leaving early tomorrow morning to meet everyone off the train anyway, I’d be halfway there if I went tonight.” “Why do you want to go home? Are you okay?” He asked, concern flashed across his face as he rose to meet you. George took your face in his hands and brought his lips down to yours in a tender kiss. “I’m fine, honestly I am. I just don’t fancy waiting around for however long for you lot to finish your meeting and then sleep here as well- I just, want my own bed. I’m really tired, I had a hellish shift in the shop today and I’m due on my period any minute now and-” George placed a finger on your lips to silence you. He frowned slightly, his hands fell to your shoulders and have then a squeeze. “You don’t have to explain yourself, darling. I know you’ve been run ragged trying to get everything sorted in the shop for the holidays. Me and Fred can’t thank you enough for that, and I promise I’ll make it up to you.” He paused, he seemed to mull over his words before he took a breath. “Does this have anything to do with Sirius, (Y/N)? I promise you can tell me.”

You shook your head and smiled. You weren’t lying to George, at least not completely. You did truly want to sleep in your own bed, although the flat was cramped; you had made it home. “No love, I just want to go home. You stay here with Fred and everyone, I’ll meet you at the shop in the morning and we can have a late breakfast?” He seemed placated by that and offered a genuine smile. “Definitely, maybe we could go into London and do a bit of Christmas shopping?” “Sounds perfect, George.” “Are you going to apparate straight to the flat?” He asked as you made your way from the attic and down the rickety stairs. “I think I’ll pop into The Leaky Cauldron first, have a drink. I’ll see if I can convince Tom to let me take a bottle or two back to the flat for us.” “Are you leaving, dear?” Molly’s voice carried over the cacophony of sounds as you arrived outside the kitchen. George offered your coat to you and held it as you slipped your arms into the sleeves. You nodded and accepted the warm hug she offered you, and revelled84 in the motherly affection. “Yeah, I’m going home, see if I can get a decent night’s sleep for once without this one stealing all the covers.” You elbowed George in the ribs, and he rolled his eyes. George slung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in close to his chest. Molly smiled at the pair of you, she took your hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “Are you still coming to the train station in the morning?” She asked. You nodded again and Molly beamed. “We were just talking about going to do a bit of Christmas shopping after we’ve been to Kings Cross, as Fred’s in the shop. Would you like to come with us, Molly?” “Oh no no, the way things are at the minute you two need to take full advantage of any and all moments you get together. Especially in that tiny flat of yours.” You nodded in agreement and made your way to the door, a figure stood out from behind the door to the sitting room, stopping you in your tracks.

“Are you off, (Y/N)?” Sirius said blankly, his grey eyes bore into yours with an unsaid intensity. “I am, thank you Sirius.” You refused to lower your gaze as the older man regarded you, you could see the corner of his lip quiver slightly almost upturning into a smirk. George appeared by your side and looked between you and Sirius; he cleared his throat. “Right love, I’ll see you at the shop in the morning.” George said, his gave you a chaste kiss on the lips and opened the heavy door, waving at you until you reached the designated apparition point.

************

The Leaky Cauldron was filled wall to wall with people as you stepped through the door. You were pleased to be out of the December chill, your hands already red with cold from your short walk. You scoured the crowd for a path to the bar and deftly avoided a few rogue elbows and spilled pints, as you fought your way through the throng of people and placing your order with a round-faced witch. You paid for your glass of wine and with a smile told her to keep the few sickles change. You found yourself smiling as you nestled yourself into a corner, the red wine was cheap and tasted tangy as you swallowed a big mouthful; but the warm glow you felt in your chest was welcome. It was nice to see the pub so full all things considered, there had been massive backlash towards the Ministry in their handling of the Dark Lord’s return and you wondered whether this threat would stop people going out and enjoying their lives, tonight, it appeared not. “’Ello love, are you ‘ere by yourself?” You looked over your shoulder to see a portly man with a wide smile and flushed cheeks, his broad cockney accent was almost jarring. You managed to stop yourself rolling your eyes and offered him a curt smile. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in days and a thick layer of dirt graced his face. “No, I’m just waiting for someone.” You lied, you hoped that would be the end of the conversation, that he would take the hint and leave you to your wine. You just wanted a moment to yourself, to not have to think about the shop or the ever-impending threat of a potential Death Eater attack. You hadn’t really had a moment alone since you arrived at The Burrow all those months ago, you had left all remnants of your former life at Malfoy Manor and thrown yourself head first into anything to take your mind off what happened there. You hadn’t received a word from your parents, you didn’t expect to really, but that chance meeting you and George had had with Mr. Paris in a muggle restaurant was enough to make you shudder. You wondered if the Healers at St. Mungo’s had managed to get Mr. Paris’ two front teeth to grow back after George had punched them out of his head. Needless to say, that was a lovely restaurant that you were no longer welcome at. “Me too. D’you want to wait together?” You had almost forgotten the stout man on your side, but his misguided determination in obtaining your attention was began to grate on you. He smiled a toothy grin and then coughed deeply, the teeth that remained in his mouth were yellow and as he coughed, he produced a stained handkerchief from his pocket and covered his mouth. You noticed the gold rings that adorned each finger of his hand, some of them looked to be encrusted with precious stones, but you doubted that very much. As his cough subsided, he cleared his throat and shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket. He looked at you expectantly. “No thank you, I’m sure they’ll be here any second now.” You lied again, you craned your neck in search for absolutely nobody and leaned up onto the balls of your feet. The man next to you followed suit, he tapped your arm. “Is he over there? There’s a man coming down the stairs waving at you.” The man pointed across the room where sure enough the bottom of an old staircase was in view, and a man in the distance dressed in black held your gaze as he descended. “Yes, that’s him! Thank you.” You said excitedly to the short man, you heard him chuntering behind you as once again you elbowed your way through the crowd, careful not to spill any of your wine. You smiled widely as you approached him. “Professor!” You gushed, “How are you? It’s so nice to see you!” Professor Snape’s usually hard exterior softened as he regarded you, he offered his arm to you and you took it. He nestled your hand in the crook of his elbow and hastened away from the pulsing body of people. “Miss (Y/L/N), you should not be here. It’s not safe.” Professor Snape whispered, he looked over his shoulder and you followed his gaze. You felt your body stiffen as you watched in detestation as Narcissa Malfoy approached where you stood, her repulsive husband quick on her heels.

She was quick to disguise her shock as she saw you, Lucius merely sneered as he clasped Professor Snape on the shoulder and flounced away in a flurry of black cloth. Narcissa’s almost stoic expression faltered as you watched Lucius exit the pub, your eyes found hers as she frowned. “Hello,” She said quietly, you stared back at her with a stony expression. You almost respected the nerve of the woman to talk to you after everything you endured at her house over the summer, you didn’t blink, you didn’t move. “Goodnight, Narcissa. Merry Christmas.” Professor Snape said after a while, she broke her stare and nodded. She kissed Professor Snape on the cheek and made her way to the doors of the pub, you watched as she cast a look over her shoulder to you and with an obvious smile, she left. “Come,” Professor Snape said gruffly, “Take my arm I shall apparate you home.” “I only live up the road, Professor. I’ll walk.” “Very well, I shall escort you.”

You walked in near silence with Professor Snape the short walk to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, you watched in amusement as the serious potions master gazed up at the giant automation head placed on the exterior of the shop removed his hat and positioned it back on his head in the dim light of Diagon Alley. “Not ones for subtlety are they, the Weasley twins?” Professor Snape smirked; you shook your head with a chuckle. “No, I can’t say they are.” “Is this where you live?” He asked, you nodded and produced your wand from your bag. “We live upstairs, the three of us.” “Three?” “Yeah, me, Fred and George. It’s…cosy.” Professor Snape hummed in agreement and took a step back. “Professor?” You asked, he looked expectantly at you and you bit your lip. “I never got a chance to thank you for what you did for me at Malfoy Manor. I cannot ever repay you for your kindness, I am in your debt.” Professor Snape scowled at your emotion and took another step back. “I was instructed to help you, Miss (Y/L/N). I did only as I was told to do.” He said somewhat unconvincingly, he averted his gaze and made to walk away. Instinctively, you reached your hand out and caught his sleeve. “That may be the case Professor, but still, thank you.” You looked earnestly to his pale face; he shoulders slumped slightly. “After I had received word as to what that oaf Paris had done…I did what I thought was right.” He stated, there was no over-sentimentality to his tone, like he was reading a shopping list. You decided not to press the matter further and turned toward the door to the shop. “Professor,” You asked again, his eye roll was detectable regardless of the few feet of distance between you. “What?” He snapped, his foot tapped impatiently on the cobbled stones. “Why are you here? Term doesn’t finish until tomorrow. That’s not to say I’m not happy to see you, of course I-” “I was unaware I had to run my schedule through you, Miss (Y/L/N).” Professor Snape quipped, if he tried to disguise the annoyance in his tone- he had done an extremely poor job of it. “Of course, sorry.” “If you must know, I arrived this afternoon. I had…business in London. Now go on, there’s only so much of your company I can stomach at one time.” You expected he was only being half serious, as his black eyes betrayed a slight softness and you smiled gently. “Goodnight Professor, thank you for making sure I got home safely.” “I’ll watch you inside.”

*************

“What do you think of this, Gin?” You held up a sparkly silver top to your chest and waited for Ginny’s verdict. Ginny turned to you with wide eyes, her expression frazzled. “No, I preferred the second one.” She thrust a red velvet dress into your hands as she frantically searched the racks of clothes for the perfect Christmas dress. “Where’s Hermione?” You enquired, you looked over your shoulder to where George, Ron and Harry all stood by the changing rooms, their arms heavy with shopping bags. You gave George a stiff smile, dismayed when he rolled his eyes and looked away. He had been acting strangely with you all morning since you met at the shop. He had barley said two words to you until everyone had stepped off the train. You were grateful that Ginny said she needed to do some shopping and the boys had decided to tag along. In truth, George was getting on your nerves. You could tell there was something bothering him and yet, every time you asked him about it- he refused to say. Eventually, you gave up asking. “She’s at her parents’ for Christmas this year. She’s fallen out with Ron.” Ginny replied disinterestedly as she held up a green Bardot-necked jumper dress, “What do you reckon?” “With your hair? Stunning.” You said with a smile. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as she folded the dress over her arm and stepped passed you towards the till. You managed to grab the dress from her and slot it over yours. “(Y/N) what are you doing?” Ginny said as she tried to grab her dress. “Let me get your dress Ginny, as a Christmas present.” You pleaded, she deliberated for a moment before conceding and following you to the till. “At least let me do something for you, (Y/N).” Ginny said as she passed Ron her newest bag. He took it without thinking and then screwed up his face and passed it to Harry. “Tell you what, why don’t you come to the flat this week and we can have a girl’s night? I’m sure the boys can make themselves scarce for an evening, couldn’t you George?” George scoffed, you slipped your arm through his and he withdrew from you, putting his hand in his pocket; “I’m not being chased out of my own flat by my sister. Are you lot going to Floo to mums from mine?” “Yeah, might as well. It’s only round the corner, isn’t it?” Harry agreed.

You continued your way to Diagon Alley and through the buzz of the busy joke shop, you attempted to follow Ginny up the back stairs to your flat but realised George wasn’t behind you. Instead he was deep in conversation with a frantic looking Fred who was gesticulating wildly. Good, let Fred have a taste of what you’d received from George all day. You knew better than to get involved between the pair and arrived in to the flat just as Ron disappeared into the fireplace. “See you!” You waved as he vanished in a ripple of green flames. Harry smiled and waved as he took Ron’s previously occupied place in the fireplace and followed suit to The Burrow. As he departed, Ginny stepped toward you and enveloped you in a hug. “I’ll owl you about this week?” “Definitely,” You answered, “We’ll get it sorted.” You watched as Ginny entered the fireplace and disappeared. Just as the flames died, the door of your flat swung open and George entered, slamming it shut behind him. “Woah, what’s up?” “Fucking Fred, he couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery.” George muttered, he threw the shopping bags forcefully onto the floor and launched himself at the sofa, burying his head into the cushions. “Bloody hell George, do you want to be a bit more dramatic?” You scowled and stalked over to the discarded shopping bags and picked them up, carefully checking to see if anything was broken. You took them into the small kitchen they weighed a tonne. You just about managed to hoist the bags onto the worktop and sighed from the exertion. You were pleased with yourself, you had managed to find a few absolute bargains in London today which seldom never happened near Christmas. You had managed to buy nearly everything on your Christmas list; new baubles for the Christmas tree were the only thing left to buy. You had vehemently refused to let Fred design your Christmas decorations and instead saved the money you had earned from working in the shop to decorate the flat to your specific Christmas standards. You balled the carrier bags up and opened up a cupboard and shoved them deep inside as you placed the contents of the bags to display to George. “George, come and have a look at what I’ve got today. Just the last few bits n-” “And how much did this all cost?” He demanded; George; who was now stood hovering over your shopping looked furious as you jumped. You shook your head in shock, George had never spoken to you like that and you weren’t going to take it from him now. “It’s Christmas, George. You buy presents for people at Christmas.” “That’s all well and good when it’s not your money you’re spending.” George spat; your jaw dropped open for a split second before your face darkened. “Are you taking the piss? You think I’ve been spending your money?” “Well I don’t remember the last time you went to Gringotts, seeing as we do everything together.” He sneered and placed his hands on his hips. You offered him a sneer of your own. “What is wrong with you? You’ve been awful all day.” You said, you moved across the tiny kitchen to where he stood. “Merlin (Y/N), can’t I just be pissed off at you spending all the money? We don’t have much and between you and Fred we’re going to be out on our arses before New Year.” George’s voice was low and filled with spite. It took you by surprise, your normally lovely, cheerful boyfriend was replaced by this poison spitting man. “Well I’ll tell you what George, you can take all this stuff that I’ve bought for your family with my money back to the shops and I’ll just fuck off, shall I?” “If you wouldn’t mind.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You pushed past a seething George towards your bedroom and pointed your wand at your wardrobe and levitated your clothes into an open and waiting suitcase. It took longer than expected for George to appear in the doorway, but he did; arms folded across his chest. You were too angry to be upset, in that moment pure fury coursed through your veins as George’s accusations reverberated around your mind. How dare he talk to you like that? When your suitcase was packed, you locked it with a swish of your wand and pushed past George again, your shoulder made contact with his chest, but he didn’t flinch. “Where are you going?” He asked with a bite in his tone. “I don’t know. I’m fucking off, aren’t I?” “Going to meet Snape again?” You were shocked at that. You turned slowly; George’s face was as red as his hair as he met your eyes slowly. “Excuse me?” “That’s where you went last night wasn’t it? You went to meet up with Snape.” Your brow furrowed as you tried to process what George was saying, he didn’t give you a chance to respond. “You were seen leaving the pub together looking very chummy, (Y/N).” “I bumped into him in the pub and he walked me home.” “Convenient.” George muttered. “Why are you being a dick?” You demanded, your heartbeat pounded in your ears and your hand shook with rage. “Why were you so desperate to leave Grimmauld Place?” He stepped closer to you, almost closing the distance. The heat radiated from him in waves, what was normally so intoxicating to you, you now found infuriating. “I told you, I was tired and I wanted to be at home. Why would I want to stick around somewhere where I’m not wanted, George?” “You have to understand how it looks (Y/N). You, leaving Order headquarters to go and meet up with Severus Snape.” “Are you accusing me of being a Death Eater now?” “Are you saying Snape’s a Death Eater?” “No!”

George panted as he regarded you, his eyes wild. You could see the cogs of his brain ticking as he watched you. “Then why were you with him?” He asked quietly. Your hands trembled with rage as you tried to calm yourself. “I told you, he walked me home. Were you spying on me?” Your hand tensed around the handle of your suitcase, he said you were seen. Seen by who? “Don’t need to, it’s not like nobody knows who you are.” “What does that even mean? George, you’re not making any sense!” You exclaimed, you hated this. You wanted it to be over, you wanted to crawl into bed and never come out. “Are you fucking him?” George eventually asked, his eyes narrowed into slits as he awaited your response. Unfortunately, he wasn’t to receive one.

You didn’t know where you were going. You couldn’t go back to The Burrow, not after the argument. The thought of having to explain to Molly what George had said to you made you feel sick. She had been so kind to you, and if George suspected you of foul play, it was almost certain that Molly already knew. You couldn’t go back to Grimmauld Place either, you weren’t sure if there would be any members of the Order there; and potentially being alone with Sirius was absolutely out of the question. You walked solemnly along the cobbled road away from the shop, your suitcase squeaked as it rolled across the uneven stones; the only sound in the eerily quiet of the early evening. You still hadn’t formulated a plan, not even when you ordered a coffee and tucked yourself away in a corner of The Leaky Cauldron. You knew Professor Snape had warned you against being there, but it was the only place you could feasibly go. You half hoped George would have followed you; that he would appear looking very ashamed and apologise for his words. But alas, as the night grew darker and more and more people arrived into the pub, it became painfully clear that he wasn’t coming. You were alone.

You spied Tom talking to the witch who had served you the night before, she was beaming as she joked with her boss. She had such a kind face, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you watched her engage a few patrons in raucous conversation. She clearly enjoyed the attention; she threw her head back in laughter as though she didn’t have a care in the world. That must be nice. You stood and cast a sticking charm to your suitcase, ensuring it wouldn’t be stolen or tampered with and made your way to the bar. The young witch smiled brightly as you approached, her hand already extended for your empty coffee mug. “Would you like another?” She asked, you shook your head as you tentatively placed your hands on the bar top. You instantly regretted it as, as soon as your hands touched the marked wood, they became incredibly sticky. “No thank you, I am wondering whether you have any rooms available, though?” You asked as nonchalantly as you could, the young witch nodded. “I’ll just go and check with Tom.” She disappeared through a door behind the bar and you stood patiently and waited, you glanced over your shoulder to where you had left your suitcase and saw the portly man from the night before eying it suspiciously. You watched him as he gave your suitcase a sly kick, and when he noticed it didn’t move an inch, tried an even more forceful one. You arched an eyebrow as his shoulders slumped in defeat. “’Ello deary!” He called as he noticed you watching him. “Knew I’d bump into you again. Mundungus Fletcher.” He leaned forward and extended his hand to you and you shook it. You watched with delight as the man pulled his now sticky hand away and wiped it unsuccessfully on his pinstriped trousers. “’Ave to say, I was surprised to see a pretty young fing like you making off wiv Severus Snape last night. Never knew the old sod ‘ad it in ‘im!” You fought the scathing retort that threatened to fall off your tongue at the second insinuation of a sexual relationship with Professor Snape you had received within a few hours. You looked indignantly at Mundungus who snapped his fingers at the kind witch behind the bar. She rolled her eyes to you and began to serve him, as Tom followed slowly and approached you with an apologetic look. “Are you after a room, miss?” He asked. “Yes, anything you have is fine. It’s only for me.” You answered hurriedly, you produced your purse from the pocket of your coat and set it on the bar top. “That’s just the thing miss, all our single rooms have gone what with it being so close to Christmas. The only thing I’ve got left it the Merlin Room. And it’s Fifty Galleons a night I’m afraid.” Fucking hell, that was a lot of money. Certainly, more than what you had in your purse. You chewed your lip as you opened up the black leather purse and scooped out the golden coins and placed them in Tom’s waiting hand. “That should be Thirty there Tom, you keep hold of that and I’ll run to Gringotts for the rest now.” “’Ow much is it, girl?” Mundungus called from your side. “We’re short Twenty Galleons.” Tom answered plainly, his hand still outstretched. Mundungus reached deep into the pockets of his pinstripes and produced a load of gold pieces. “Is tha’ enough, mate?” Mundungus replied, he dropped the coins into Tom’s hand before you could protest. You looked bewilderedly from the innkeeper to the grubby man, Tom closed his had around the coins like a Venus fly-trap around a fly and smiled. “I’ll just fetch you the key, miss.”

Your cheeks were hot as you turned to Mundungus, it was made all the worse when you realised how bloody pleased he seemed with himself. “Thank you.” You managed curtly, “I was more than capable of walking to the bank and back though, Mr. Fletcher.” “Jus’ fink of it as a bit’a human kindness. Remember it next time you see someone in a bind.” “You don’t even know me. I could be anyone.” You replied, you were becoming increasingly annoyed by this man’s insistence in intruding in your life. “That’s where you’re wrong miss, I knows all abou’ you.” He smiled what was probably intended as a sweet smile, but it sent a shiver down your spine; he was menacing, this man. You didn’t like being in his debt. “The banks’ closed now anyway.” He sniffed. “Forgive me, Mr. Fletcher,” You began carefully, “I simply cannot allow myself to be in debt to you. Please let me pay you back immediately.” You waited for him to reply, your breath was coming short and you felt wildly out of your depth. You had seen both of your parents give people verbal lashings and negotiate alike, they made it seem so easy. You yourself had never been afraid of confrontation, but you were theirs then; you were known. You had the protection of your ancient family name- now, you were nobody. That frightened you. Mundungus laughed quietly, he brought his hand to his mouth as his laughter turned into a chesty cough. The stones in his rings glistened in the lamplight, his handkerchief even more stained than yesterday. He sighed when his cough stopped, a great, whisky scented sigh that permeated around your face. It took everything within your power to not wretch. “’Fing is miss, I’m not sure you can give me what I’m after.” He said with a sneer, you outwardly cringed. His eyes travelled the length of you, glancing twice at your bosom. You fought the bile that rose in your throat. “And what is it, that you’re after exactly, Mr. Fletcher?” You asked through gritted teeth. You watched as Mundungus sighed and leant casually against the bar. He looked over both shoulders before he leaned in to you, his face inches from yours. “Information.” He breathed with his whisky breath; you couldn’t help but flinch. “Information?” You repeated, Mundungus nodded. “What kind of information?” “Y’see, I am a salesman as well as a collector, miss. I sells what I collects, and I collects what I sells. And wha’ I’m wanting to sell now, is your privacy, miss.” He whispered; his face even closer to you. You could feel his vile breath on your face as your eyes widened in shock. “Goodnight, Mr. Fletcher.” You whispered as your face paled, you tried to move past him, but Mundungus caught hold of your sleeve and pulled your back flush to his torso. “No, no no.” He muttered. “I knows who you are, miss. I knows all about you, I even knows your boyfriend, miss! One of those Weasley boys, ain’t it? One of those twins, I’m sure.” You whimpered as Mundungus fiddled with the hair at the nape of your neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, please let me go.” You felt tears sting your eyes as Mundungus’ hold on you relaxed slightly. You lurched forward away from him in time to see Tom walk around the bar, room key in hand, a concerned look on his face.

“Everything alright, miss?” Tom asked, he looked between you and Mundungus. Mundungus gestured to you and you nodded with a strained smile, Tom dropped the key into your hand and turned back the way he came. You made to follow him but Mundungus was quicker on his feet than you had anticipated, his hand on your shoulder in an instant. You desperately tried to think what exactly he was trying to extract from you. “Now ‘ush miss, I don’t want no fuss.” Mundungus breathed, he patted your shoulder awkwardly and you trembled beneath him. “I’ll strike a deal wiv ya, ‘ow does that sound?” “A deal? What kind of deal?” “Good girl.” He smiled his yellow smile and gestured to the table where your almost forgotten suitcase still sat, stuck to the floor. “You said you’ve got money?” Mundungus mused as he sat across from you, wand stealthily pointed at you from his sleeve. “’Ow much you talkin’?” “About three hundred Galleons. In my savings.” You lied, there was about three hundred Galleons in the Gringotts vault you shared with George; but you still had access to your parents’ vault. You initially refused to take any money from it, but surely, they would have instructed the goblins to remove your access if they didn’t want you to use it. Besides, there was thousands upon thousands of Galleons in there. But Mundungus didn’t have to know that. You could see his face fall as he mulled over your words. “Hmm. Right. Tell you wha’, I’m feeling nice tonight. You meet me ‘ere again tomorrow night, same time and bring me one-hundred-and-fifty Galleons. Wha’ I paid for you tonight, plus a little extra- for my trouble, and I won’t tell your boyfriend tha’ your fancy man is waiting for you over there.” Mundungus pointed towards the other side of the pub and as you searched through the crowd you saw him, Professor Snape sat silently by himself; his eyes burned into yours. Your cheeks flushed scarlet. “Mr. Fletcher. Don’t be vile, Professor Snape and I don’t have any kind of relationship other than a strictly platonic one.” “Tha’ don’t matter. One-hundred-and-fifty Galleons.” “You’re trying to blackmail me. Why?” You demanded, you willed your voice not to betray your weakening resolve. “A mans got to eat, miss. It is nearly Christmas after all.” Mundungus said cheerfully. “But I haven’t done anything wrong.” You pleaded, desperate to understand what was happening, it seemed like a lifetime since you left the flat. You wondered if George was worried. “You try tellin’ your fella that after I tell ‘im I seen you two nights in a row, up close and personal wiv Professor Snape.” He said with a shrug, so fucking nonchalant. “You might not know this about me, miss. But I’ve known Weasley’s for years, we go way back. They ‘ave no reason not to believe me. And I know wha’ I saw last night.” “You didn’t see anything, you loathsome twit. Why would you interfere in my life like that?” You snapped; you were angry now you knew you weren’t in any immediate danger. He didn’t appear so frightening from the other side of the table, especially now you knew you were being watched. The horrid man didn’t even blink. “People talk. One-hundred-and-fifty Galleons.” Mundungus repeated, “Or I go I straight to Grimmauld Place right now and see who’s in. And you’d still owe me Twenty Galleons plus interest.” He offered you another grim smile as he pulled out his rotten handkerchief to dab at his brow. All this blackmail must be hard work for him. “’Fink of it as givin’ to the less fortunate at Christmas.” “You’re vile.” “One-hundred-and-fifty Galleons.”

You nodded grimly at the repulsive man and stood slowly, you made your way across the busy room, suitcase in one hand and room key in the other. You slowed and stopped just parallel to where Professor Snape sat. “I need to talk to you.” You muttered quietly, not looking in the potions master’s direction. “Not here.” “Where?” He answered, his voice low and his attention seemingly elsewhere. You dropped your room key on the floor and as you bent to pick it up, you flashed the number in his direction. He gave a short, sharp nod and you walked away hurriedly, up the creaking staircase to your room.

******

The room was to be expected. It was nicer than most of the rooms The Leaky Cauldron boasted, but still nothing compared to the luxuries you were used to. The bed at least, was large and there was a big-ish wardrobe. Nowhere worth the Fifty Galleons you had paid to stay though, you wished wholeheartedly that you hadn’t walked out of the flat. You wished you had just stayed at Grimmauld Place that night, none of this would have happened if you had. You tried to be angry at George, you just didn’t have it in you anymore. You even tried to be angry at Sirius for not trusting you, for making you feel so uncomfortable. It wasn’t any use, any resentment you harboured for Sirius Black had been shifted onto the revolting creature that was Mundungus Fletcher.

You washed yourself thoroughly in the tiny shower of the Merlin Room, anxious to get any whisper of that horrid man from your skin. You couldn’t wrap your head around how anybody could be so cruel, the only saving grace about the whole situation was that you finally knew how George had grown to be suspicious of you. If what Mundungus said was true, then he intercepted George that morning before you had met him and spilled poisoned seeds into the ear of your beloved with the intent of blackmailing you. What a hateful snake. But, on the other hand, you were disheartened at the thought of how quick George was to believe the tales of your supposed infidelity. With Professor Snape of all people, you couldn’t help but laugh sardonically at the idea that of all the men in the world, George thought the obvious choice for your unfaithfulness was Severus fucking Snape.

You dressed quickly into your night clothes and pointed your wand at your hair, it dried instantly, and you tried to relax. You poured a large glass of wine from the bottle that sat invitingly on the bedside table. It was nicer than the wine they served behind the bar downstairs, and you welcomed it as it warmed you from your toes up. Your stomach rumbled, you hadn’t eaten anything since that morning and you began to feel fatigued, the effects of the day catching up with you. You wondered how long Professor Snape would make you wait; would he wait until everybody else left before creeping up the stairs to your room? It sounded so sordid, you thought. He certainly had to wait for Mundungus to leave before he made his move, else you would no doubt find yourself with an even bigger debt to settle. Merlin, you thought, if he were to wait for Mundungus to leave, you’ll be sat waiting until New Years Eve. You tried to busy yourself by searching the room, it was warmer than it looked. The stone walls projected an almost medieval atmosphere, but with the fire burning contentedly, you were satisfied that it could be considered quite cosy. The curtains were almost as moth-eaten as the ones in Grimmauld Place and nearly as old too, and you felt as uneasy in the room as you did in Grimmauld Place.

It wasn’t long after you had settled sat on the bed was there a knock on the door. You scurried to it and opened it slightly, a sliver of light from the hallway encroached into your room and framed Professor Snape’s dark head as you granted him admittance. He closed the door swiftly behind him, but remained stood awkwardly, not quite able to meet your gaze. Instead, you pulled up two chairs by the fireplace. The wooden legs of the chairs scraped uneasily across the stone floor, but you persevered and gestured for your old professor to sit. You grabbed your wine and poured another into a glass for Professor Snape which he accepted tentatively. “Thank you for coming.” You began as you sat in the chair opposite his, you tucked your legs under you in an attempt to be comfortable. It earned an arched eyebrow from Professor Snape. “What did you want to talk about?” Professor Snape said, not wasting any time. You cleared your throat and took another sip of wine and your stomach grumbled again in protest; you ignored it. “I’m being blackmailed by Mundungus Fletcher.” You replied plainly, no need to beat around the bush. “Ah,” said Professor Snape, he brought his wine glass to lips and drank slowly. “I see. How much?” “One-hundred-and-fifty Galleons.” “Do you have it?” He asked, you nodded quickly. “Then I don’t see the issue.” “The issue is that this concerns you, as well Professor.” You said quietly, your cheeks felt warm as his gaze scrutinised you. It was like being back at school. “Please enlighten me, Miss (Y/L/N).” “Mundungus Fletcher has told George that he suspects I’m having an affair, sir. He has told me to pay him the money by tomorrow evening, or he will tell George that what he suspects is true, that he’s seen it with his own eyes. The affair is supposedly with you, sir.” You winced and waited for Professor Snape to say something, anything; but he didn’t. He sat there, an ashen look on his already pale face as he took another tender sip of his wine. “I shouldn’t be here.” Professor Snape stated finally, he wasn’t asking. You couldn’t help but nod, he was right. Under the circumstances, he absolutely shouldn’t be here, no matter how innocuous the meeting. “Perhaps not,” You said quietly, “I don’t know what to do.” “Well you’re certainly not going to pay the little cretin, that’s for sure,” Professor Snape said with a frown, “Allow me to deal with Mundungus.” Professor Snape titled his wine glass almost vertically as he drained what was left in his glass, you raised your eyebrows at his show but kept your mouth closed. Professor Snape stood and in two swift movements had opened the door and turned to you with a dark look. “I shall return.” And with that, he closed the door behind him, in the near silence of your room you could still hear his footsteps on the stone floor as he walked away. You mulled over your situation for a few moments, swirling the contents of your glass sullenly. You were sick to the back teeth of being a hapless damsel in distress, yes, you had endured some questionable fates in your short adulthood; but this one seemed to border on the ridiculous. You hadn’t done anything wrong, not a single thing and yet you sat in a lonely room feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt. Why? Why when you had no idea there were men as repugnant as Mundungus Fletcher out there who would create fantasies and try and profit from them? No more, you thought. Not this time.

You stood quickly and instantly regretted the decision, your glass of wine had gone straight to your head on account of your empty stomach. You blinked and tried to refocus your vision, when you were satisfied you made your way to the wardrobe. Grasping your heavy winter cloak, you draped it around your shoulders and pulled the hood over your head covering your face, and made your way quietly out of the room. You had no idea what time it was, the pub was full now as you came down the stairs. A few patrons looked over in your direction as you weaved through the crowd, looking for any sign of Professor Snape or Mundungus Fletcher. There was none, you scoured every corner and came up short. You cursed under your breath and exited the pub; the wind whipped around your body and caused your hair to stand on end as you looked out into the near empty street now pitch black. There was a scuffling sound to your left, and then a crash as if something large and metal had been dropped. You retrieved your wand and cast a nonverbal Lumos and followed the sound, you walked apprehensively down the alleyway behind The Leaky Cauldron, even with the light emanating from your wand, there was still much you couldn’t see. Wasn’t there an old adage about young witches walking down alleyways alone at night? You tried to push such thoughts from your mind as the sounds of scuffling increased, joined by hushed voices. You rounded a sharp corner into an even darker part of the alley, like a labyrinth of brick and mortar. “Nox.” You whispered, you lowered your wand but your grip around it tightened, ready for whatever you might meet.

“You disgusting, verminous cur-” You heard a deep voice, a snarl more than anything else. You continued your pursuit of the commotion and nearly gasped when you saw Professor Snape with his hand around Mundungus’ throat, his other hand pressed his wand into Mundungus’ cheek. You tried to make your body flush with the wall, trying desperately to disappear into the darkness. The sounds of Mundungus’ struggle were palpable now as you tried to steady your breathing. “S-Sev..erus! Come on mate, let me go!” Mundungus managed, his hand splayed against the cold brick and Professor Snape pressed harder into Mundungus’ face with his wand. Mundungus spluttered in fear and Professor Snape growled and lowered his face close to Mundungus’ ear and you stepped forward slightly so as not to miss anything that was said. “Did you think you could get away with intimidating a young woman?” Professor Snape spat, “Not only that, a Slytherin born into one of the oldest families in Britain?” He paused and Mundungus flinched, you wondered if Professor Snape had tightened his hold of Mundungus’ throat as a line of spittle had appeared at the corner of his mouth. “I would like to believe you are not that dense, Mundungus, and yet here we are.” “I saw an…opportunity Severus…you knows wha’ it’s like,” Mundungus struggled to get his words out, his voice was thin with strain. “She’s got loads’a money, she won’ miss a’undred or so Galleons!” “That may be true, but you have no right to play with the poor girl. And how much were you going to charge her tomorrow as interest for your silence?” Mundungus was quiet then as Professor Snape finished speaking. The bastard! Hatred began to build within you as you watched Mundungus try to nod. “Alrigh’, Severus. Please.”

Professor Snape removed his hand slowly from Mundungus’ throat and took a step back, his wand still aimed directly at Mundungus’ face. Mundungus bent over and coughed, he rubbed his neck and breathed deeply. “Come.” Professor Snape snapped, he prodded his wand against Mundungus’ shoulder and pointed down the alleyway, in the direction where you stood. “Fucks sake, Severus. Where are we going?” Mundungus whined. Professor Snape snarled and resumed his close proximity to the stout man. “We’re going to pay the Weasley’s a visit, you and me.” He snarled and panic flashed across Mundungus’ face. “Wha’? Now?” Mundungus asked incredulously, “It’s the middle of the nigh’!” “Precisely, it should all be fresh in your mind shouldn’t it?” Mundungus sighed and straightened his moth-eaten jacket. “She still owes me Twenty Galleons for the room though.” The dirty man stated indignantly, Severus snarled, and, in a flash, his dark clothed arm swung, and the clatter of coins echoed across the alley. Mundungus scrabbled to the floor to retrieve the coins and Professor Snape laughed without humour. “Here.” He ordered and Mundungus flitted to your professor’s side submissively. He took hold of Mundungus’ arm and apparated out of the alley.

You exhaled sharply and pulled your hood back from your face. Could it be that easy, really? In a matter of minutes Professor Snape had once again come to your aid with no talk of thanks, and it troubled you. You walked slowly back to The Leaky Cauldron and sluggishly made your way back to your room.

**********

You hadn’t realised you had fallen asleep until a faint knock on the door woke you. You opened your bleary eyes and ran a hand across them, yawning widely as you opened the door. A rather tired looking Professor Snape stood before you, arms folded, and a scowl adorned his face. “I’ve been knocking for what felt like years.” He said grumpily as he followed you into the room. You yawned again and sat in the armchair you had previously occupied earlier in the evening, Professor Snape followed suit. “Sorry, I must have dozed off.” You said quietly, you were suddenly extremely anxious to find out what Professor Snape had to say. Rather than reporting to you what transpired in the hours he had been gone; he closed his eyes. You stared rather dumbfounded as his hands that he had clasped in his lap fell apart. Was he asleep? Of all the fucking ways you thought your day was going to go, staying in The Leaky Cauldron with Professor Snape asleep in your armchair was definitely not in the top one hundred. You chewed your lip deliberating what to do. Realistically, you should wake him. He would be mortified when he awoke to find he had fallen asleep in your room, but there was something in the peaceful rising and falling of his chest that stopped you. You hadn’t really looked at him before then, but you noticed the dark circles around his eyes and how gaunt his face looked. Yes, he was always bony but at that moment in time, he looked ill. You sighed and fetched your cloak which still held the chill from your excursion outside and pulled it over Professor Snape and tucked it under his chin.

You climbed uneasily into bed and pulled the cover tight to your chest, willing sleep to come. Professor Snape snored lightly in his chair and you covered your mouth to suppress the giggle that threatened to escape. This bordered on some of the more absurd things that had happened to you and you lamented as to how you had reached this point. You must have stared at the ceiling for hours, at least it felt like hours, birds chirped happily outside of the window and finally, you felt your eyelids become heavy.

When you awoke, the room was full of light. The curtains were drawn back and the fire roared in its place. “Good morning.” At the sound of Professor Snape’s voice you almost jumped out of your skin, your heart thundered against your chest and you flung your hands over your eyes. He was stood behind the chair he had fallen asleep in, but the small table was filled with food. “Fuck!” You exclaimed as you clutched your chest. “You scared the shit out of me.” “Yes, I have that effect on people.” Professor Snape mused, a small smirk on his face. You stared at him for a moment, just a fleeting moment, a smile crept to your lips. “Sleep well?” You asked, feeling instantly full of glee as a tiny blush inched over Professor Snape’s cheeks. He averted his gaze and gestured to the table laden with pastries and meats, but most importantly, coffee. You stomach betrayed your hunger as a mortifyingly loud rumble echoed throughout the room. You groaned and got out of bed; the cold floor made your feet tingle as you padded over to the table. You shoved half a croissant into your mouth and moaned as the buttery, flaky goodness melted there. Professor Snape cleared his throat. You shot him an apologetic look and continued devouring the treat. Picking up a mug of piping hot coffee you sat in the armchair and hooked your legs underneath you. Professor Snape joined you with a mug of his own and took a great gulp, sighing as he rested the mug on his thigh. “I didn’t know they did breakfast here.” You said after a brief silence, the coffee was delicious, strong and sweet; exactly the way you liked it. “They don’t, I went home when I woke up this morning and brought this here.” He said as he stared intently into the fire. “You made me breakfast?” You enquired, rather taken aback at this act of kindness. “I made myself breakfast, I just happened to make enough for you as well.” He said flatly, you rolled your eyes into your coffee but decided not to press the matter further. “I spoke to George last night.” Your ears pricked at the mention of George, you sat up straight eager for Professor Snape to continue. “Well, I should say Mundungus spoke to George last night. I was simply there to…supervise.” A sly smile tugged at his lips as he drank again from his mug. “And?” You pressed, you wished you could have been there to see what happened. How George reacted, what he would have thought to Mundungus and Severus Snape knocking at his door at Merlin-knows what time. “Was he at the flat?” You asked. “No, he has joined his family at The Burrow. We went to Grimmauld Place first and Shacklebolt told me where he was.”

George had gone to The Burrow? Probably to tell his family all about your fight. Your stomach turned at the memory of how you had spoken to each other, of how he had doubted you. “Needless to say, everything has been thoroughly put right. Mundungus Fletcher won’t be bothering you again.” He continued. You sighed a breath of relief, it was sorted. Everything was sorted. But why didn’t you feel better? “I’m really sorry, Professor. Yet again you have been dragged into my dramas.” You said wistfully, you meant it too. Professor Snape has shown you such kindness when he had no obligation to, it was endearing. “Shut up. I have a reputation to maintain. I will not allow my name to be dragged through any licentious plots, real or fabricated by a common street thief.” Professor Snape said, an edge of bitterness twinged his words. You felt you understood. It was not right for him, a man eighteen years your senior- your old professor no less, to be embroiled in any scandal with an ex student, no matter how innocent it might be. You offered him a small nod and watched as he took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, he gave you a cursory glance before he asked; “Do you mind?”

You shook your head, and he placed a cigarette between his teeth and lit it. With a flick of his wand, the window flew open and the chilly December air flowed into the room, eliciting a shiver from you. You watched him as he took a long drag, the smoke twirled in beautiful shapes above his head before disappearing into nothing. “I wonder what you think of me, sir. You must think I’m a mess.” You smiled sadly; he lifted a hand to stop you. “On the contrary, I think you’re doing rather well given the circumstances.” He paused to take another drag of his cigarette. You placed your coffee mug on the floor and wrapped your arms around your body against the chill. “I’m returning to Hogwarts for the Christmas break. My business is finished in London, and I detest being here so my house will be empty. If you have need of somewhere to go.” You eyed him suspiciously. He stared blankly at you, as if he had just asked you the time. “You’re offering me your house?” “You may stay in my house whilst I am away. I understand you are short of options at this time.” You shook your head; it was all a bit much. Had you saved Professor Snape from a terrible fate in a previous life or something? “Professor,” You faltered, your breath came quickly. “Why are you doing all this for me? I can’t imagine you go to this much trouble for all your old students?” “Don’t be ungrateful.” He chastised, he tossed his cigarette into the fire and it roared in acceptance. He sat straight in his chair and leaned forward. “It may come as a shock to you, but not everyone means you harm, (Y/N).”

That was the first time he had used your given name. “I just don’t understand why-” “If you don’t want my help, then I shall take my leave.” “No!” You said, “No. Stay, please. Sorry, I’m just…struggling, I suppose. Everything seems to be happening a million miles a minute and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” You felt tears sting in the corners of your eyes. “I am so appreciative of you, sir. You have done more than my own family would have done. Thank you.” “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Professor Snape muttered under his breath, you could have enquired further, but decided not to. “So, how did you leave things last night? With George?” “Well, obviously he felt very foolish. He was absolutely incensed with Mundungus, I feared for his safety at one point. He said he would seek you out at some time today.” “…Oh.” “He wanted to come last night, but Molly intervened. Said you’d probably relish the time alone.”

Which you did, well you would have done, if you were alone. Your heart leaped at the idea of seeing George soon, but just as quick as your excitement grew, it was extinguished by a feeling of disquiet. George had said some really hateful things to you, he had been so quick to assume you had slighted him and refused to see reason when you challenged him. You had never thought that George could be like that, it made you uneasy. “This displeases you?” Professor Snape said, his voice twinged with amusement. “I thought you’d be climbing the walls with excitement.” You ignored his dig and walked slowly to the window; it was really very cold now. You watched as people meandered from shop to shop, children laughed full of Christmas cheer. You smiled sadly as you watched them, that was you once. Your father would hoist you onto his shoulders and you would race down the streets of Diagon Alley, singing songs and laughing. This was to be your first Christmas without them, your parents. And whilst they had hurt you beyond measure, you found in that moment you missed them terribly, even your cold and indifferent mother. She would have a glass or two of sherry on Christmas night and invite you to sit at her feet as she stroked your hair. But that part of your life was well and truly over with now, a memory to be forgotten in time. A part of you that was dead, and nobody mourned. Sad really, wasn’t it?

“I am going to leave now, (Y/N). Thank you for letting me sleep. I’ve been so tired, I’ve got so much to do I- well, you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.” Professor Snape said from his chair behind you. “I’m travelling back to Hogwarts today.” “Have a safe journey.” You replied, you made your way across the room and offered your hand to Professor Snape to shake. He arched an eyebrow in amusement and took your hand, he shook it roughly. He nodded once and left. Alone, absolutely, definitely alone. Turmoil, absolute, definite turmoil. You hadn’t noticed Professor Snape had slipped a piece of parchment into your hand until it dropped to the floor, you picked it up inquisitively.

65 Spinner’s End, Cokeworth. If you have need, you need only knock.

Severus

*********

Your suitcase trundled behind you sarcastically as snowflakes drifted aimlessly to the ground. You snatched your cloak tight around your chest as you cursed yourself for not packing a pair of gloves. The Burrow was quiet, you could tell from the stillness of the garden. There was usually a creature of some sort causing absolute chaos in the hedgerows, but not today. You steeled yourself against the wind as you approached the front door, you could hear voices on the other side; not the usual calamitous laughing but a stillness you hadn’t expected. You knocked once and pushed the door open; it was warm and the heat stung as it hit your near frozen cheeks. Fred was the first one to spot you as you removed your cloak from your shoulders and hung it delicately onto a peg by the front door, careful not to get anything wet. He moved towards you and took a cold hand and gave it a squeeze before he said; “He’s in the kitchen.”

Indeed, he was, George stared absently out of the kitchen window, mug of tea in hand. He didn’t hear you as you came in, you took a seat at the table and waited. It must have been minutes before he turned around, you weren’t sure if George was aware there was someone staring into the back of his head or whether he had run out of tea, but nevertheless, he turned. A multitude of emotions flashed over his face as he regarded you, you tried to keep your face as neutral as possible as you stared up into the face of the one person you loved more than anything in the world. “(Y/N),” George whispered, “I’ve missed you.” “I think we should talk, George.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x slytherin!reader #fred weasley #severus snape #professor snape #nobody can know #mundungus fletcher #Harry Potter #harry potter reader insert #george weasley #weasley twins

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firstfrostfall · 3 years

Text

A Cold Lament - Chapter Four

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

Anna knew what business the Shelby’s were in. They were gangsters, plain and simple.

There was an earlier time in her life where even the very idea of that particular business frightened her. But things were different now. She was different now.

Really, nowadays, she was content to live and let live. She didn’t care much for what other people did, or how they made a living, as long as she could exist somewhat peacefully. That was all she wanted.

When she arrived in Birmingham, most of the men were away at war, meaning that most gangs in the area were few and far between, including the Peaky Blinders.

Her first run-in with a Blinder wasn’t until a few months after the fighting had ended, and the men suddenly returned home en masse in the early days of 1919.

It was also around that time where Anna attempted to forge a rebellious streak for herself. She had been cooped up inside of their tiny home almost all day every day with her cousins, save for a few trips to the market and back, of course. Her aunt worried too much to let her niece venture off in the city by herself.

But Anna craved for the opportunity to prove to her aunt that she was just fine. That she could go about the city on her own. Back in Eastcliff, she was able to come and go from her home whenever she pleased.

So, one night, Anna decided to sneak out.

It was late, too late. Late enough that midnight had long already passed, and the wee third hour was just moments away from ringing. She climbed out of their first-floor kitchen window and, rather unceremoniously, tripped onto the sidewalk (she had a terrible bruise on her hip for days after).

She wandered from street to street, gawking at how ominous the neighborhood looked in the dark. Even under the shroud of night, the sky was still laced with a thick layer of smog from the factory chimneys. She couldn’t help but smile at how good it felt, the cool night air, that buzzing sense of stolen freedom.

At some point, however, she had gotten herself lost, despite the fact that she had been living with her aunt in the city for a little over a year. Fortunately, she knew the area well enough that she could at least find the grocer, and from there, she would be able to find her way home.

It was a fine and dandy plan until she took the wrong turn down the wrong street, which led her through an alley, where she stumbled upon something that was surely not meant for her eyes.

She watched as a man in a flat cap beat the living hell out of another individual. A few others stood by and observed, all wearing similar caps. A lump formed in her throat as she stood there, the sounds of the beaten man begging for mercy ringing in her ears, the rusty color of blood on the assailant’s knuckles. She surely felt her heart stop beating when the man removed the cap from his head and began swiping at his victim’s face with it, his cries growing louder with each slice.

There’s something in his cap, she thought, there must be a blade in his cap.

Anna knew this city was different from Eastcliff, of course, but she didn’t think she would see something like that with her own eyes. She wasn’t going to scream but placed a hand over her mouth anyway. In situations like that, you can’t scream. Instead, she backed out of the alley slowly, and then ran to the grocer, and ran home. She fought back the tears that welled in her eyes.

When she finally got home, her aunt was frantic, frightened, afraid. Apparently, one of her cousins had snitched on Anna’s master escape plan, and her aunt was moments away from ringing the police. Her aunt sobbed with relief when her niece came barreling through the door, and then, as any parental figure would, she got mad. Her aunt asked her a million questions. What were you thinking?! I thought you were smarter than this, Anna. It’s dangerous out there, especially at night.

Anna started crying and told her what happened, what she saw. Her aunt had wild eyes and kept asking about their caps.

Her aunt then explained who the men in the flat caps were. Gangsters, part of an even larger organization. The Peaky Blinders, she called it.

They were big in the city before the war, but most of them were shipped off to France, and now that they were home, they would be big again. She told Anna that they were in a gang, yes, but they were good to the little people. They would offer protection for a price. That they were more than just a gang, they were a business.

Anna thought she was going to throw up. She couldn’t shake the images of the weeping, bloodied man in the alley from her mind. She had only read about gangsters in books or heard about them in stories her grandfather would tell about times where he had to take the train into the seedy parts of London. There weren’t any gangsters in Eastcliff. No, certainly not.

The same few questions gnawed at her stomach in the days following the attack.

They were good to the little people, offering protection for a price. That phrase made her resent her aunt for a while. How could she be justifying the actions of an “ organization” that brutalizes people? What good would come from beating a seemingly helpless man within an inch of his life?

However, as time passed, Anna learned that the world was a little grayer, and a little bleaker, and a whole lot darker than the breezy seaside town that she grew up in. The world wasn’t just good or bad- it was a terrifying mix of the two. She felt painfully naive and then accepted the notion to live and let live. She had bigger things to worry about than what gangsters did in the city. She had to help make ends meet with her aunt. At the very least, the gangsters weren’t stealing food from their table.

The day before her first shift at The Garrison, her aunt sat her down for tea and gave her a stern warning.

I didn’t want to scare you before your interview… but these people are serious, Anna. Polly is a friend, and I know that no harm will come to you. You’re good, Anna. I know you’re good. Remember when I told you that the Peaky Blinders look out for the little people? This job is an example of that. Mind your own business, be respectful, and speak when spoken to.

When she got the job through the Shelby’s, whom she now knew were the heads of the Peaky Blinders, she realized that maybe her aunt was right. That they were good to the little people. And after meeting Polly, she believed that even more. She was kind.

But there was another thing Anna remembered about them, too. That they were good to the little people for a price.

What would her price be?

She started to notice the flat caps more and more, like the one Mr. Shelby had sitting on the booth beside him during her interview.

On her first day at The Garrison, Harry gave her a similar warning, too.

She knew the deal, speak when spoken to, keep to herself. Although, she supposed she was pushing it with Mr. Shelby. In fact, she was still reeling in embarrassment over telling him to call her Anna.

Perhaps the rebellious streak still lived inside of her. Like a little bird trapped inside of a cage, vigorously flapping its wings and cawing, desperate to come out. She felt like a mystery, tucked away in her aunt’s house, and now in her own lonely flat. She hoped this job would change that.

But then again, she was content to simply let things live and let live.

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A little over two weeks had gone by since her first shift. Anna wasn’t an amazing barmaid (by any means), but she was getting the hang of things. Slowly, she was getting the hang of things.

Polly would come in to say hello, or rather, check on her, usually before an evening mass where she would see her aunt at church. Always asking if she was getting home okay, or if anyone was giving her trouble. Anna told her she was fine each time, like clockwork. She really was fine, nothing she couldn’t handle (yet).

One evening, a young man, who was more of a boy really, came rushing into the pub asking for Harry. He wore a flat cap that was far too big for him, and his eyes were as wide as saucers. Harry spoke to the boy quickly, his own cheeks turning beet red by the end of their conversation.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and tossed a stained rag onto the bartop with an audible sigh.

“Is everything alright?” Anna asked in passing, glancing at him from the corner of her eye while she poured a drink for a patron.

“Yes, yes,” Harry’s voice trailed off, clearly preoccupied.

She didn’t want to pry, so she simply nodded, and continued on with her work. Harry paced back and forth for a bit, opening and closing his mouth quickly to speak each time he walked past her.

Finally, he started talking.

“Do you think you can close up tonight?”

The question tinged that hidden rebellious streak in her, the tiny bird inside of her chest started fluttering its wings.

“Of course, I can take care of things from here.”

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. As he untied his apron, he gasped. “But can you get home by yourself?”

Anna nodded, a little too fiercely, and cleared her throat. “Without a doubt.”

He stared at her for a few moments too long, skeptical, before continuing to untie his apron and folding it over his forearm. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She flashed him her best smile, but he still looked hesitant. “Mrs. Gray said I was to escort you home.”

Anna waved a hand at him. “It’s just one night. I know the way home from here like the back of my hand now.”

That response was good enough for him it seemed. He nodded and took hurried strides toward the back room. Anna exhaled a sigh of relief. The bird inside of her started cawing.

Much to her relief, the rest of the evening was fairly slow. She assumed it was because the weather was so cold. Cold enough that not even the thirstiest man would venture out of his home for a beer tonight. Only a few regulars here and there, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. In fact, she only spilled one drink and managed to keep her blouse clean. It was a new personal record.

When the sky grew dark and the night was waning to the early hours of the morning, she tucked a butter knife into her apron. She felt silly, of course, but it was better than nothing. Perhaps she could whack a potential assailant with the mop from the back room.

There was about half of an hour left until close, and Anna kept herself busy by trying to work out a scuff that was on the floor. She tied her hair back into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck and scrubbed at the floor. Her wrists ached.

“Good to see you’re keeping busy.”

Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. She gasped, rather unceremoniously, and dropped the soaked rag to the floor with a smack.

A pair of glossy shoes were in front of her. Slowly, she trailed her gaze up past a sharp tweed suit, only to reveal that it was Mr. Shelby who towered above with a perfectly balanced cigarette between his lips. His nose and cheeks were tinged red, and the collar of his winter jacket was pulled up close around his neck. A testament to the weather that evening.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Anna sighed with a wry chuckle, wiping a forearm across her brow with a sigh. “You gave me a fright.”

“Where’s Harry?”

“He had other business to attend to,” She said as she dropped the rag into the soapy bucket. “He won’t be back this evening, I’m afraid. I’ll be closing up.”

“You’re closing up alone?”

Anna simply nodded. “I meant to lock the door, I must’ve forgotten. I was too busy working out that scuff on the floor.” She gestured to a particularly polished plank on the floor. “I’m quite pleased with myself.”

Mr. Shelby, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly as impressed as he stared down at her, his eyes piercing as ever. She grimaced, realizing that she was still sitting on her knees with the sleeves of her blouse pushed up around her shoulders. Not ladylike at all.

She cleared her throat and stood up, patting out excess dust from her apron. In the process, she felt the outline of the butter knife in her front pocket. She felt her cheeks grow warm, her pathetic attempt at self-defense with a knife that could barely cut a loaf of bread would have been embarrassing to explain. Forcing a smile, she reached for the bucket and lugged it behind the bar. “Can I get you a drink in the meantime?”

He nodded and jerked his chin to a specific bottle.

The pub was silent while Anna fixed a drink for him, the only other noise came from the wind outside that rattled the windows.

“Is he coming back to walk you home?”

Anna shook her head. “He offered, but I insisted that I could do it myself.” She corked the bottle. “It’s just one night.”

Mr. Shelby clicked his tongue against his teeth, a smirk quirking at the corners of his mouth. “What about Polly’s instructions?”

“He seemed to be in quite the hurry, I didn’t want to trouble him.” She slid his drink toward him with a smile. “It’s one night, and far too cold for anyone to give me a hard time.”

Mr. Shelby hummed in response and took a sip of his drink. She didn’t want to hover while he was drinking, so she gave him a curt nod and continued her work around the bar. Sweeping the floor, wiping down tables, cleaning soap scum from glasses. It was all very monotonous.

Without turning toward her, he placed his cap on his head and said, “I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh, Mr. Shelby,” She blinked, pausing mid-sweep. “It’s too cold.”

“You said you live nearby, yeah?”

She nodded when he glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“Then you’ll be on the way home for me,” He said dryly. “Polly’s instructions are something to be followed.”

“Well, that is incredibly kind of you. Thank you. I just have a few more things to clean, I’ll be quick.” Anna laughed under her breath, returning her attention to the broom in her hands. When did she start gripping it so tightly?

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Mr. Shelby walked a few steps ahead of her the whole time. Normally, Anna would have felt funny in the silence, she hated it, but it was far too cold to even pretend to be chummy. So, she happily trailed behind him, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her coat.

“Right here,” She pointed to the building in front of them. It was dreary and gray, even in the hazy orange light of the street lamps.

They stood in the damned silence for a moment, before Mr. Shelby cleared his throat. “You live there alone?”

The question was slightly off-putting. Employer or not, being asked that question so late at night by an almost stranger was certainly... uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Anna answered quickly. “I used to live on the next street over with my aunt.”

“I live around there.” He motioned to the other street with the jerk of his head.

“Whereabouts?”

“Watery Lane.”

“I’ll be,” Anna replied, warming up. Perhaps pretending to be a little chummy wasn’t too terrible after all. “I suppose that makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

He hummed in response, never looking directly at her, instead, his eyes were fixated on the building in front of them.

Sensing that the conversation was ready to come to an end, Anna took a few steps backward toward her flat.

"I won't keep you any longer. I'd invite you in for tea, but I suspect I'd be poor company. I could fall asleep at any moment." She felt stupid, filling the silence when it didn't need to be filled.

He tipped the brim of his cap to her.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Shelby.”

“It was no trouble.”

A lie, she thought. It was late and dark and cold. It was certainly trouble for him. But, she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

Anna stopped short on the front steps when she heard him say her name.

“Goodnight, Anna.”

As she turned around to look at him, he was already walking away.

Hell, she didn’t even know his name.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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the-young-and-forgotten · 3 years

Text

A Glimpse Through The Years ~ Third Year

| Masterlist |

September 1st 1993 - Third Year

Your father shook out his notebook as you pulled your suitcase down the staircase, struggling. “Daaaad” you complained “HELP. PLEASE.” You head snapped towards him as he gasped, completely ignoring you. You drop the suitcase and walk towards him. “What could be more important than your daughter almost being crushed to death?” Your eyes fall on the front of the newspaper and your heart plummets. “Oh”

There was a picture of Sirius Black, grinning evilly, baring his teeth. Underneath was a caption reading “BLACK STILL AT LARGE”. Your dad notices the look on your face and puts the newspaper face down, standing up to go help with your suitcase. “Hogwarts will be well protected honey.” You roll your eyes “I know dad. I was shocked he could’ve gotten out of Azkaban.”

You could tell your dad was desperate to get off the subject as he tried to make a joke about how heavy your suitcase was. You laugh falsely, indulging him.

The drive to the station was quieter than it had ever been. Not that you minded much. It did give you time to think. How did Sirius Black break out? Why after 12 years did he pick now and What the hell does he want to do now that he’s out? All of these questions captivated your thoughts for the entire journey.

Your father beeped his horn to shake out of your thoughts “y/n, we’re here.” You lean over and give him a huge hug, promising him good grades and tons of Hogsmeade sweets. You collect your case from the trunk, running into Kings Cross Station. You wave to your dad for the last time running off to where the portal for Platform 9 & ¾ is located, a big grin on your face.

Another year at Hogwarts was starting. Sure, the school years so far have had its up and downs, but that's what you get for being in the same year as Harry Potter. You grab a spare trolley and quickly throw your belongings onto it, running full speed at the pillar between platforms 9 and 10.

You emerge onto platform 9 & ¾ a small smile gracing your face. You stand on your tiptoes, looking over the crowds of people and spotting Theo and Blaise talking with Draco. Your eyes light up as you push your trolley towards them. Over the summer break, you had been consistently conversing via letter with Blaise and Theo, making the three of you pretty close friends.

“Hey boys!” you say grinning. Theo gives you a hug as they both greet you. You look at Draco and smile sweetly at him “Hey Dray.” He blushes a little and moves to hug you as well. “Have you guys been doing okay?” Theo slung an arm around your shoulder “Yep! Mother was freaking out about big ol’ Black but I’m not fussed.” “I saw you with your mother Theo, you were scared shitless.” “Hush!” he said, placing a finger over your lips and glancing around. No one needs to know that!” Blaise laughs as the two of you start walking away, taking long steps to keep up with you. “Sounds like something he’d do..”

Draco runs to catch up, walking in silence beside you. Linking your arms through his, you shove Theo off, telling him to “Stop leeching off my trolley, I know what you’re doing Nott.” You and Draco walk ahead of your trolley (Theo somehow ended up pushing it), the bickering coming from Theo and Blaise acting like background music.

“What’s wrong Draco.” You say, breaking the silence between you two. He startled, blushing. “Oh! Nothing Y/n, I was just..” “Lost in your thoughts?” “Exactly.” “...” “You know you can tell me anything right?” “Yeah, I know.”

You take a deep breath, ready to interrogate him further. But before you could get a word out, he straightened up suddenly, standing on tiptoes to look over the heads of the crowd. “Hey look! I can see Crabbe and Goyle! I gotta go! See ya!” He runs off with his trunk, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Confused by his sudden disappearance you stand on tiptoes, searching for his friends as well. But you see nothing save a sea of new first years. Frowning, you walk back and join in on Blaise and Theos squabble, walking onto the train.

You fling open the door of your dorm, slumping down onto your bad, extremely tired. The train started to have malfunctions that turned out to be dementors that started feeding on your energy, making you weak with tiredness. Then, as per year, Dumbledore's speech had dragged on a little too long, making you almost fall asleep in your food.

And now you were back in your dorm, dead tired. Eyes heavy and brain-fried, you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

The first week back, as always, was a pain. Long lectures, mountains of books and homework and one too many headaches. Now, because of the escape of Sirius Black, the school was even more on edge. Students talked in low voices about the dementors, pointing out to the black, barely visible creatures standing at the edge of the borders to their friends. Gryffindors kept freaking out the First years, laughing as they jumped with fright. Teachers scolded students more harshly than before, glancing nervously at the dementors. Hogwarts had become cold, filled with fear. Cold but not boring. You ran down the hallway with Theo and Blaise running for the Divination classroom, drastically late. You burst through the trapdoor just as Professor Trelawney was explaining the significance of cups. Sneaking along the back of the room, the three of you slumped down at Dracos desk as he raised an eyebrow. “Long story” Theo said “Don’t bother asking,” Blaise added. “We exploded part of the potions cupboard.” you blurt out. Theo and Blaise sigh, giving you looks. You shrug at them as Draco holds in his laughter “How did you manage that?” “Theo doesn’t know how to use his damn wand” you glare at the boy in question, who turns red and shakes his finger at you.

Professor Trelawnley suddenly approaches your table and picks up your cup, peering closely at it, her eyebrow rising. All conversation halts as you shift uncomfortably, wondering what she is seeing. “Ahh dear, you have a somewhat tragic future ahead of you.” She turns the cup and hums a little. “In the close future you are going to lose someone close to you, this will warrant discourse in your life, but be careful of cutting them out completely because you never know what they decide.” With that, she put down the cup and left your table bustling to the front of the room. You looked back at your friends disbelief and confusion written all over their faces.

You jumped down from the divination classroom, the last one to exit. “What's next?” You ask Blaise as he pulls out the timetable “We all have DADA together… that should be interesting.”

Draco pushes open the door of the classroom and you all file in. The desks were all pushed to the back of the room, leaving a big empty space with a sole cupboard in the middle of it as a scarred middle aged man leant against the side of it, reading a book.

He looked up at the sound of the door closing and snapped shut his book “Ah, the last stragglers! Right, let's get down to business.” He gestured for the class to stand in front of him as he moved to the front of the cupboard. “I'm Professor Lupin and I will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year. We’ll be learning all about the creatures in the magical world and today we are learning about the boggart! Now, can anyone tell me what a boggart is?”

As the class was entertained by the explanation of boggarts, you felt someone poking your shoulder. You follow the hand to its face and glance at Theo who wordlessly gestures to Draco.

Draco had a blank look on his face and seemed to be shaking? You share a concerned look with Theo and go to ask Draco what's wrong before Lupin tells the class to line up in front of the cupboard, separating you from him. Oh well, you can just ask him later.

You were halfway through the line watching as Ron defeated his fear. While everyone cheered for him, you watched from the corner of your eye as Draco walked up to the Professor and said something to him. Lupin nodded and Draco headed out of the room. You, Blaise and Theo all look at each other with concern before continuing on with the lesson. After watching Blaise beat the banshee and Theo defeat a severed head, it was finally your turn.

You nervously step towards the cupboard and hold up your wand defensively, ready for what the boggart was going to create. Slowly, a figure steps out. Quick as a flash, you point your wand at it, and scream “RIDDIKULUS!” at the top of your lungs before anyone could see what your worst fear was. The boggart starts spasming as Lupin steps in front of you, putting the boggart back into the cupboard.

He dismisses the class not before he scrutinises you for a second. You ignore this and run out of the class, barely having time to grab your bag in the hopes of finding Draco.

You ran through the corridors, but he was nowhere in sight.

One day, in DADA class, Snape took the lesson for Lupin. Your teachers mysterious illness was a monthly occurrence, something you were keen to know about. You sat there pondering on it as Snape argued with the Gryffindors. What could be so serious that he had to stay off for at least a couple of days? You snap back to reality at the mention of your books. You pull it out and puzzle over the chapter he had assigned you to read. Werewolves? You weren’t supposed to cover this yet…

You shrug and start to read through it, engrossed in the knowledge it was feeding you. The signs and facts of spotting a werewolf were vaguely familiar to you though you couldn’t think of why. You glanced up briefly seeing Snape gaze at the class with a smirk, who looked like he was plotting something. Now that you thought about it, why did he pick this chapter? He knows they weren’t up to it, what could be his real intentions? At that moment, Snape looks at you and you shift your gaze back to your book pretending to read even though you had already finished.

The lesson slowly crawls by and he finally dismisses you, everyone running for the door. You stepped over the threshold, still thinking about that chapter and how familiar it seemed. Your eyes widened as realisation struck you in the face and everything clicked. No wonder it was so familiar to you. Professor Lupin… was a werewolf.

Days later, the match arrived. Hufflepuff against Gryffindors. You hurried along the corridor, disastrously late for the game. You glance out the window, noticing the horrible weather ‘Ugh, glad I'm not on the quidditch team.’ you think, picking up the pace.

Your breath starts hitching, as your mind reels on the thought of the game. ‘All negative thoughts...’ you realise, eyes widening. ‘Oh no…’ you run to the window, grabbing onto the railing and gasping at the scene ahead of you.

You shivered as you watched several dementors move towards the quidditch pitch, frozen in shock. You shake yourself to snap out of it, taking a few steps back. “I gotta warn someone…” you mumble, thoughts wild “I gotta- DUMBLEDORE!” You take off down the corridor, running as fast as you could to the quidditch field.

You push through the teachers, tugging on Dumbledore’s sleeve. “De-dementors” You puff out, struggling to speak. He looks at you with a hard gaze before standing up and hurrying down to the court. You go to follow him, not knowing what else to do.

You feel a hand tug on your sleeve and turn to see Hagrid pulling you back, shaking his head slightly. You sink down onto the bench beside him, trying to calm down from the adrenaline still coursing through your body. “Dumbledore’ll take care o’ it, don't you worry” You jump at his voice, but nod along what he said. “I know… I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.” He looks down at you, smiling broadly “Dumbledore let a student be hurt? I wouldn’t spare it a second thought”

Several agonizing minutes go by before you hear any news. Without any insight as to what had happened, the school was sent back to the dorms. You could hear students all around you grumbling.

Amidst the voices you heard your name being called. Shoving through the crowd was Theo and Blaise “Finally! We were looking for you everywhere! What happened? Do ya know what's going on?” Theo pressured you.

“The dementors got into the school” you told them bluntly “probably lured in by the emotions coming from the stadium” They stare at you in shock, waiting for you to say you were joking. When none was forthcoming, they screamed “WHAT” together, busting the eardrums of everyone in a 20 meter radius.

As you walked back, you filled them in on what had happened to you during the game, making them stiff with shock and hardly believing it.

“So you saw a dementor up close?” Theo asked. You were back in the common room and playing a game of chess. You moved your pawn before nodding. He leant over the game and shocked you with his closeness “WHAT WAS IT LIKE?!”

You push him away, glaring “It wasn’t fun at all Theo” He sits back sighing “I know, sorry”

You stare off into space again before responding. “I looked out the window and felt like a shell. I couldn’t feel anything. Completely numb.” You curl in on yourself, replaying the scene in your head. You felt a hand place itself on your shoulder as a distinctive voice asked what was happening.

Looking up, you see Dracos concerned face. A smile stretches across your face at the sight of him. You hadn’t seen him in so long. He notices you staring at him and gives you a weak grin. You shuffle over and pat the spot you just created. He shakes his head and remains standing. “Uhh actually I was hoping we could take a walk?” You get up and follow him out of the common room, trying to ignore Blaise and Theo’s unsubtle sniggering.

“Whats up, Dray?” you say as soon as you step out. “Just wanted to talk. We haven’t been hanging out much lately..” the two of you walk in silence for a bit before he mumbles something you barely catch. You look at him curiously as his face becomes flustered under your gaze. He pretended to muss up his hair trying to hide his red face. “I missed you” he says, still mumbling “Like, a lot.” You smile at him and link your arms through his “I’ve missed you terribly as well you know?”

He trips over his shoelaces and laughs it off nervously eyes darting to you as you laugh with him. He clears his throat, and opens his mouth to say something. “Sorry I haven’t been around around lately-” You clap a hand over his mouth to shush him. He looks at you in surprise, noting your determined stance. “I have no care for your reasons as to why you stopped hanging out with me. Just long as you keep our old promise okay?” Draco nods and you remove your hand from his mouth.

He stares at you for a little too long for it to be accidental before turning away and jogging slightly ahead. You run after him, laughing as you catch up.

He watches you laugh as the sunlight from the windows you were passing reflect on your face, making you look angelic. He smiles and blushes again and re-links your arms. He pulls you along and starts talking aimlessly with you about anything and everything, wasting away the hours.

The next few weeks were perfect for you. It was nearly the end of this school year.

Even though the idolized “golden trio” were being as obnoxious as ever, Draco had started hanging out with you as well which made you forget about their behaviour.

The golden trio just kept getting more suspicious. From subtle glances and hushed whispers has your curiosity piqued. You could see it was affecting Draco too, but neither of you made a move on that.

A few days go by and you watch as Professor Lupin leaves the school, his secret now out. You were sad to see him go as he had easily been the best teacher you could ask for. As you waved him off, you saw Draco smirk out of the corner of your eye and you frown wondering if he was somehow connected to all of this. Days go by and Dracos snobby side comes out momentarily, shouting about how glad he was that Lupin was gone. You keep your distance, not wanting to be caught up in the strings of hate he was causing.

Finally it was the last day, the Great Feast was just in a few hours. You race down the staircase, still disappointed from the last match. You knew it was likely Gryffindor would win, but maybe, just maybe, Slytherin could snag it this year, you were, after all, in the lead right now.

But alas, that was not what fate had set out for you. You and Draco watched in disgust as the Gryffinddors celebrated and the room was clad in red and gold. They mussed up Potter's hair and almost broke his glasses. “Why are they winning again?” Draco asked “Because Potter fell off his broom and they all took pity” you snap back. Blaise rolls his eyes at your petty disgust “Pretty sure its ‘cause they won the damn Quidditch Cup” “Shut up Blaise” You and Draco chorus.

You sigh and pick some confetti off your plate, sitting down. “Well, I call it favouritism.” The Slytherins within earshot nod at your words, all silently cursing the Gryffindors. Minutes go by and you eat your food in silence before you speak up, glancing at Draco. “That petition is really starting to look tempting eh?” “You sure are right Y/n”

Waking up the next morning to Pansy’s obnoxious laughter was a pain, you rolled off your bed and lumbered around, gathering the stuff you had prepared last night. You stumble down to the Great Hall where Theo, Blaise and Draco were waiting for you. They laughed at your tired state, teasing you all the way to the train.

You slept for most of the ride, catching snippets of conversations that didn’t interest you at all.

Hours later, you were woken up by Draco gently shaking you, holding out your bag for you to take, you smile at him and grab it, racing off the train.

One foot off the train and you feel a pair of cold stares coming from across the platform. Looking up, you stare directly into the eyes of Lucius Malfoy who looked at you with disgust.

Rolling your eyes you turn to Draco, whose face had turned grave. “Well I guess this is goodbye Dray…” you say reluctantly “Yeah…” The two of you stand there awkwardly for a bit before you drop your bags and throw your arms around him, drawing him in close. You feel his face turn red and you chuckle softly. “I’m gonna miss you” He was quiet for a moment before responding “Not as much as I will” He lets go of you and keeps his face hidden as he walks off to his parents.

You feel Blaise and Theo creep up behind you, staring at his retreating figure. “You reckon he’s gonna be okay?” Theo asked “Yep. The Draco I know is stronger than you can guess.”

Blaise smiles at you and gives you a quick hug, signalling to his parents he was coming. “Well, I will take your word for it Y/n. You know him best” You hug him back before he runs off.

Theo looks at you for a second before scooping you up into a bear hug, laughing “Write me?” he says, letting you go. “As if I won’t” You retort, winking. He grins wildly, as he passes and salutes you. “Well i'm off! Take care Y/n!” You salute back shouting after him “see ya, you big oaf!”

Theo’s laughter rings in your ears as you run towards the pillar, knowing that the muggle world is waiting for you, just beyond the wall.

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#draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #a glimpse through the years #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine

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fred-george-fic · 4 years

Text

In the Middle Pt. 4

Cedric x Reader & George x Reader (Eventually)

A/N: I have started a tag list, so please let me know if you would like to be added!

Summary: It’s time for the first task of the Triwizard tournament!

Pairing(s): Cedric x Reader & George x Reader (eventually)

Word Count: 1.9k

Masterlist: ~Part 1~Part 2~Part 3~

Warnings: Mentions of characters getting injured

The First Task

November 24th came quicker than you had hoped, but you were glad Harry was willing to tell Cedric about the first task, since the other champions already knew. You followed George and Fred through the stands as they took bets from students about the champions. Eventually, you found your seats, noticing that Hermione wasn’t sitting next to Ron. You turned to the twins, “I’ll be right back, I am going to go talk to Cedric” You quickly got up and began heading towards the champions tent. You could see Hermione on the outside, speaking to Harry and saw her slip in and a flash go off.

Once you entered the tent, Rita Skeeter was there antagonizing the champions again.

“…this tent is for champions and friends.” You hear Victor say giving Rita and stern look.

“No matter, I got what I wanted.” Rita said with a smirk and left the tent.

Cedric saw you standing at the entrance the moment that Rita left and ran towards you lifting you up off the ground. “Y/N, what are you doing here?” His mouth was in a wide smile, but his eyes were worried

“I had to come wish you luck!” You kiss him lightly and then hear Dumbledore, Crouch and Bagman come in.

“Ms. Granger” Dumbledore looks over at you “And Ms. Y/L/N. What are you both doing in here?”

“We were just leaving.” You say, giving Cedric’s hand one last squeeze and grabbing Hermione’s arm. You both head back to your seats. George and Fred had gotten binoculars out and then you hear the announcement. “First up, we have Cedric Diggory versus the Swedish Short-Snout!”

You see Cedric come out of the tunnel, the dragon immediately notices him and begins to pursue him. You throw your hands over your eyes, “Just let me know when it’s finished.”

You hear him yell something and when you look up you see he had turned a rock into a dog, distracting the dragon. You cheered excitedly, but as Cedric went for the Golden egg, the dragon turned back to Cedric blowing blue fire out of its nose, burning half his face. However, despite the burn, he manages to grab the egg and successfully complete the first task. You sigh in relief, but you know that the burn had to hurt. “I need to go to the Medical tent!” You say to the twins, getting up from your seat and making your way out of the stadium and back towards the tents.

-------

As soon as you made your way out of the stadium, you immediately began sprinting towards the medical tent, where you could see them taking Cedric. Once you entered the tent, you saw them laying Cedric onto one of the available beds. “Madam Pomfrey!” You yell, gaining her attention. “I am here to help!”

“Ah, Y/N! We’re going to need some burn-healing paste for this one.” She pointed towards Cedric and grabbing the paste. “Did you want to apply it?”

“If I may.” You say taking the paste from her and sitting next to Cedric’s bed. You begin to slowly cover the burnt side of Cedric’s face, eventually covering it in the thick orange paste. As he moved slightly, you run your fingers through his hair, rubbing his head lightly. He began to stir, opening one eye on the side that wasn’t burnt.

“Y/N?” He looks over at you, giving you the smallest smile he can manage.

“Get some rest, Ced.” You say trying to soothe him.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” His voice is strained, but he still tries his best.

“Of course.” You’re about to grab his hand when you hear someone else enter the tent.

“We’re going to need more of that burn-healing paste over here!” Madam Pomfrey yelled as she helped lower Fleur onto the bed. Once you went over there to assist, Fleur was still conscious, with only a mild burn on her leg where her skirt was set on fire. You applied the paste to the burned area and gave her a small smile. “You’re going to be okay, Fleur. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Merci beaucoup.” Fleur winced. You walked away from her bed as Madame Maxime walked in and immediately went to her side. Victor Krum came in next, he showed no visible injuries as Madam Pomfrey looked him over and was given the okay to leave the medical tent.

It was quiet in the tent for a long time, only the occasional sounds of Madam Pomfrey checking on Cedric and Fleur and Madam Maxime talking. You heard the roar of the last dragon, meaning Harry was up. You waited awhile, soothing Cedric when you could, but he was mostly unconscious by this point. Eventually, Harry is brought in due to a cut on his shoulder that he sustained from the dragon. Madam Pomfrey quickly used a healing spell to heal the gash, quicker than you’d be able too. “Y/N, can you use the bandaging charm for this one?” She taps Harry’s bed and goes back to check on the other patients.

You walk over to Harry’s bed, tap his shoulder and say “Ferula”, immediately bandages wrapped around Harry’s shoulder and torso, ensuring that the wound was covered.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Harry said giving you a wide smile, probably from adrenaline more than anything.

“How was your first task?” You ask him, sitting near his bed.

“I think it went well, except for the shoulder.” He said sitting up in bed.

“Mr. Potter, you are cleared to head back to the Gryffindor dormitories, just make sure you come and see me in the morning.” Madam Pomfrey says as she begins to look over Fleur’s and Cedric’s burns. “These two however, will need to come to the Hospital Wing in the castle. The paste needs to stay on at least through the night.”

As you help Madam Pomfey clean up the medical tent, both Fleur and Cedric are moved into the Hospital Wing. You both quickly follow, along with Madame Maxime. Cedric continued to sleep throughout the day, even when his Hufflepuff friends came in to check on him. Fleur had visitors as well, Madame Maxime and her sister stayed for most of the day, random Beauxbatons would come into the room and chat. You continued to sit next to Cedric’s bed, reading your potions textbook and occasionally asking Madam Pomfrey healing questions.

Around 10:00 PM is when Fred and George slid their way into the room, motioning you to come out and talk to them. You roll your eyes, check to make sure Cedric is still sleeping and follow them out. “What is it?” You whisper closing the door behind you.

“We thought you might want to know the results of the first task.” Fred whispered back pulling you a little way down the hall.

“Harry and Victor tied for first, Cedric came in second, Fleur in third.“ George said.

“You also missed the Gryffindor celebration in the common room for Harry.” Fred continued.

“Harry opened the golden egg and it let out a nasty shriek.” George shook his head.

“Thought you might want to warn Diggory.” Fred finished.

“I appreciate the concern; I will let him know once he wakes up.” You turn around and begin to walk away when George grabs your arm.

“You’re going back?” George looks at you hoping that you’ll come back with them to the common room.

“I promised Cedric I would be there when he woke up.” You look between the boys and sigh. “I’ll be there for breakfast in the morning, okay?”

George lets go of your arm, deflating a little. “Okay.” They both say and turn back down the hall, walking away. You felt bad really. You had already abandoned the boys at the tournament, now you weren’t spending time celebrating a big win for Gryffindor. You knew they were going to tease you about it later, but you also knew Cedric needed someone to be there for him. You had never seen the boys so upset about you not spending time with them, maybe because you had never not spent time with them. You sigh, making a mental note to spend some quality time with them and head back into the hospital wing. Fleur and Cedric were both asleep and Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen. You take your seat back next to Cedric’s bed and grab his hand with a small squeeze before returning back to your book.

“Y/N-” Someone whispers nearby waking you up suddenly. You rub your eyes and look around the dimly lit hospital room, before your eyes land on the boy staring at you from the bed.

“Oh, Cedric. You’re awake.” You give his hand a squeeze and smile at him.

“You’re still here.” He smiles back at you, returning a squeeze to your hand.

“I told you I would be. I had to make sure you are okay. How does your face feel?” When observing his face, you notice most of the burn-healing paste has dissolved leaving an orange tint behind.

“Much better, thanks to you.” Cedric continues holding onto your hand, when you hear the door adjacent to the room open and Madam Pomfey step out.

“Wonderful, you’re awake.” Madam Pomfrey begins grabbing supplies in order to clean off the paste.

When you look out the window, you notice that the sun is beginning to rise and Fleur has already left the hospital wing. “Where’s Fleur?”

“I sent her back about an hour ago.” Madam Pomfrey hands you the supplies and begins setting up the room for the day.

You begin cleaning off Cedric’s face, trying to be as careful as possible in case there’s any pain leftover. As you methodically clean, he looks at you intently, taking in all of your features. “Who knew someone who just spent the last six hours sleeping like that could look so lovely.” Cedric says breaking into a wide smile as you finish cleaning up the last of the paste.

“Well, aren’t you cheeky this morning?” You laugh slightly. “Come on, let’s get you back to your common room.”

Cedric slides off the bed, giving Madam Pomfrey a “thank you” and walks out of the room while you follow behind. The moment that the doors close, he cups your face with his hands and gives you a passionate kiss, staying like that for a moment. “Woah, what’s gotten into you?” You look into his eyes, which squint at the edges from his wide smile.

“I am just beyond grateful for you.” He intertwines his hands with yours, pulling you with him as you walk towards the Hufflepuff common room. Once you arrive, you notice a few students coming out of the common room to get an early start on their day. Many offer Cedric a “congratulations” as they walk out. “Thank you. For everything.” He says kissing you again and slipping inside the room. Before the doors closed, you could hear cheering inside and then silence.

You walk slowly back to the Gryffindor common room, saying the password as you approach. Once you walk in, you notice a familiar red headed boy sleeping on the couch. “George.“ You whisper tapping him on the shoulder. You wonder why he’s on the couch, but want more than anything to head down to breakfast, so you keep your questions to yourself.

He jumps up slightly, instantly smiling when he sees you. “Hello, Y/N.”

“Go grab Fred, I’m starving.” He gives you a mock salute and runs up the stairs, bringing Fred back down with him. You three walk down to the Great Hall together, listening intently as the twins tell you about their newest creations.

-------

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weasleydream · 4 years

Text

The wolf of my life

This is for @summer-writes 200 followers celebration! Once again, congratulations love!!! My prompts were “You don’t get to die today” and “You’re beautiful and I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

This is also my first Bill imagine and I’m sooo excited!!! I hope you’ll enjoy!

Masterlist

“Why do they have to hide in such an isolated place?” I muttered. “I thought these Death Eaters weren’t the sharpest tools of the box, couldn’t they find a five star hotel?”

“If you keep complaining like that they will hear us.” replied Bill. “I swear we’ll spend the night in the luxurious hotel of Luxor if you shut up.”

“Deal.”

Bill chuckled and I was pretty sure he had also rolled his eyes. It was a full moon night but the latter was hidden behind dark clouds, very practical when we were looking for potentially mortal enemies in the middle of the Valley of the Kings in the heart of Egypt. Surrounded by silencious animals, under the threat of an imminent attack we couldn’t anticipate, I was bitterly regretting having involved the both of us in such a suicidal mission. With each unknown sound around us, my grip on my wand tightened a bit more, and I subconsciously walked a bit closer to Bill. Hard to believe that there was a time Egypt was my home, and this same Valley was one of my favourite places in the world.

“Did you hear that?”

Absolutely all my body hairs suddenly stood on end and I stopped breathing. I listened attentively, my blood freezing more and more with the seconds, and I was on the verge of sighing, thinking it was a false alarm, when an almost imperceptible noise arrived in my ears. I hadn’t even identified it as sand being removed that I had turned vividly and blocked a green flash of light.

“Bill!”

Somewhere on my right, Bill was busy fighting two Death Eaters. Relieved to see he was doing well, I muttered a spell to send red sparks in the sky, a few friends of us patrolling in other parts of the Valley. I also had two people in front of me, but strangely, only one of them was fighting against me. The other was too far for me to see who he was. Before sending us here, Moody had told us they weren’t very smart, but they were certainly vicious as hell. They used all the weapons they could, without hesitating one second to blow sand in our eyes. Soon, the man in front of me became my only concern, and I didn’t even notice we weren’t six anymore, but about fifteen.

I got read of the Death Eater after what felt like hours, and as it seemed, all the fights were over. My wand projecting enough light to see clearly around me, I frantically looked for Bill and finally spotted him helping Alexander, an old friend who had been the first one to volunteer to help us tonight.

I was glad our mission was finally over, as it consisted of verifying the presence of Death Eaters in the Valley, but I couldn’t help but think something was wrong. A greatly appreciated wind pushed the clouds, and the moon illuminated the Valley.

“Y/N!”

Before I could process I was in danger, someone grabbed me, and an excruciating pain exploded on my abdomen and my left shoulder.

My sight became blurry, and the only things that helped me identify Bill when he leant over me were his touch I knew by heart and his voice.

“Y/N? Y/N? Love, do you hear me?”

My brain was cloudy as it felt like all my energy was getting drained, and it was like if another person was thinking in my own head when the thought came up that Bill was completely panicked. I felt his hands on my body, getting closer and closer and too close to my wounds. I heard my own screams as he was trying to stop the blood from flooding. And as my eyes were fixed on the sky, on the perfectly round moon that had betrayed us tonight, as the same word echoed in my mind - werewolf werewolf werewolf - everything around me disappeared. In my world, there was just me and my pain. And Bill’s voice echoed far from me, so low I didn’t really understand what he was saying, and if I hadn’t been so dizzy I would have known he was trying to reassure me and himself.

“Stay with me, love. It’s okay, you’ll be okay. You don’t get to die today, Y/N. You hear me? You’ll be okay.”

Third POV

Harry understood something was wrong as soon as he opened his eyes. Something had woken him up in the middle of the night, and after a few seconds, he understood it was Sirius’ mother’s portrait. It was screaming, its piercing voice crossing the floors, yet no one else seemed to have heard it as the screams didn’t stop. Ron moved in his bed and grumbled.

“The hell is happening?”

As if they had heard him - and it wouldn’t have surprised Harry that much - Fred and George suddenly appeared in their room. A split second later, the door opened and Ginny and Hermione appeared.

“What are you all doing here?” asked Harry, confused.

“We wanted to ask you if you knew who came back, but it seems like you didn’t even know someone was gone.” replied Hermione.

“The extendable ears-” began Ron.

“Are useless.” finished George. “Plenty of spells have been cast. I wouldn’t be surprised if we couldn’t even go downstairs. Something grave is happening down there, if you want my opinion.”

“Did you even try?”

“Who do you think we are?” hissed Ginny. “Of course we tried! It’s a true anthill, everyone is running and Mum threatened to stupefy us if we don’t stay in our rooms.”

“I hope it’s not Bill or Y/N.” suddenly said Fred. “They are on a mission, somewhere in Egypt, right?”

“Yes.” confirmed George. “But there’s no way they’ve been surprised by anything. They are too skilled.”

“Yes, but this is Death Eaters in the other camp.” said darkly Hermione.

And it appeared that their fears were founded. The next morning, the six of them got downstairs and the first thing they noticed was that no one seemed to have slept the previous night. They stumbled upon Mad-Eye Moody who grumbled louder than usual and Arthur who had dark circles under his eyes. None of them bothered to say anything when Fred and George harassed them with their questions.

As the Weasley siblings were trying to get Arthur to spill the beans, Harry noticed the door of the living-room. It was slightly open. He glanced at Hermione, who shook her head vividly.

“What if they don’t want us to know what’s happening yet?” she murmured.

“Since when do we wait for people to tell us what’s happening?” replicated Harry. “Usually, we get the answers ourselves, no?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and followed him.

The first person Harry saw was Mrs Weasley. She was giving him her back, whispering something into Tonks’ ear. When she heard Harry and Hermione approaching, she sighed.

“I thought I told you to stay in your room?”

“Mrs Weasley, is it Bill or Y/N?”

And her eyes filled with tears. Harry stepped forward.

Y/N was leaning on the couch, her skin paler than ever and sweaty. She was slightly moaning, and Harry could tell it was because of her pain just by looking at her face. Bill was kneeling next to her and slowly stroking her hair.

“Are you sure we have to wait?” he asked Lupin, who was standing behind him.

“Unfortunately, yes. You said the werewolf was transforming, there’s no way we can know if he was transformed enough for Y/N to become one.”

Bill slowly leaned over her and laid a kiss on her forehead. He was completely oblivious to Harry and Hermione’s presence, and he didn’t react either when his siblings entered the living-room. His face showed such a despair that it was quite painful to see. No one knew what to say, and Harry was sure that it wouldn’t change anything. Bill was totally terrified, holding onto Y/N’s hand like a lifeline and constantly murmuring in her ear.

“Come with me. Hurry up, in the kitchen!” ordered quietly Mrs Weasley.

Throwing a last glance at the injured girl, Harry followed her in the kitchen and sat between Ron and Ginny. As soon as the door closed, everyone pressed Mrs Weasley on questions.

“What happened?”

“It was a werewolf?”

“Will she be okay?”

“Yes, it was a werewolf,” answered Mrs Weasley, “and yes, she’ll be okay. The only thing we don’t know is- it’s if she’s gonna become a werewolf or not.”

“How is it possible?” frowned Hermione.

“The werewolf who attacked her was transforming when he hurt her. No one knows what will happen, Remus says it’s a unique case.”

“That’s a chance the Wolfsbane potion exists.” muttered Fred.

Mrs Weasley’s eyes darkened.

“That’s the point.” she said. “We have to wait before giving her such a potion. It can have nefast effects if she isn’t actually a werewolf.”

“Does that mean she’ll have to transform?” asked Ginny, horrified.

Mrs Weasley nodded and left precipitately, Bill’s voice having echoed in the silent house. Harry, who had stayed silent since the moment they had entered the kitchen, was so lost in his thoughts that Hermione pronounced his name three times before obtaining a reaction.

“Harry, you okay?”

“Mmm.”

In fact, he wasn’t that okay. He had first met Y/N the previous summer, during the Quidditch World Cup, and he had immediately found her really cool. She was a curse breaker, like Bill, and passionate about Quidditch, without mentioning that she was funny and really smart. Harry had seen how adored she was by everyone in the Weasley family, and he had completely understood the depth of Bill’s love for her a few weeks ago, just before the third task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry was still wondering if it was really the Dursleys that were waiting for him when he opened the door in the back of the Great Hall. Much to his surprise, Mrs Weasley, Bill and Y/N were waiting for him. The three of them were smiling broadly and greeted him warmly. They had a really pleasant morning and Ron, Fred, George and Ginny joined them for lunch. Harry was stressed, and it felt like his stomach was forming big knots.

“It’s so strange to come back here after five years!” exclaimed Y/N. “Everything seems identical, yet it looks different.”

“Look at him.” whispered Bill with a small smile. He was looking at Filch, and Y/N chuckled. “You remember the night he caught us coming back from the forbidden forest?”

“The one that ended with us being pursued by centaurs or the one Charlie found us fighting with two woodsticks?”

“What does that mean?” asked Mrs Weasley, probably horrified at the thought that they had gone in the forest more than once or that Charlie used to go there too (even though it wasn’t a big surprise, in Harry’s opinion).

“You have your secrets, we have ours!” Bill winked at his mother.

“You were already together back in Hogwarts?” asked Hermione.

“Yes, since our fifth year.” said Y/N. “He asked me out between two classes, Charms and Potion if I remember correctly.” Bill nodded to confirm. “I said yes and we were both so excited during the Potion class that Snape excluded us.”

“And what did you do after that?” asked George with a big smile, which led Harry to think that he knew the answer.

Both Bill and Y/N blushed furiously and Bill stuttered a few words among which Harry heard “alone” and “common room”.

“And you've been together since?” Hermione asked dreamily. Probably imagining Ron asking her out, thought Harry.

“Not exactly.” Bill, who hadn’t stopped grinning until then, looked down before grabbing Y/N’s hand.

“We broke up when Bill left for Egypt. At the time, I wanted to be a healer at St-Mungo’s and it had led to an argument. But I realized that it was not what I wanted, and a month later, I was packing my things and joining him.”

“Happiest day of my life.” added Bill.

Harry smiled with everyone around the table. Bill and Y/N were really happy together, everyone could see that. And, all absorbed by their story he was, he had forgotten about the knots in his stomach and was eating his plate with envy.

Y/N was a good person, and yet she was suffering because she was on a mission for the Order. The only thing Harry hoped was that she wouldn’t become a werewolf, because he had seen the effect of lycanthropy on Lupin and never in a million years would he want to see Y/N so sad.

“She doesn’t deserve that.” said Harry.

Hermione nodded sadly.

Y/N’s POV

I woke up in the room I shared with Bill at Grimmauld Place. I felt like my body was burning and sent the sheets that covered me flying. The sudden movement caused my abdomen to ache and my shoulder to feel like it had exploded from pain, and my groan made a human form moving on the chair next to the bed.

“Y/N, you’re up love?”

His voice was hoarse, as always when he was still sleepy. He opened an eye to see me struggling to sit and immediately helped me.

“You shouldn’t force, love.” he recommended in a somewhat condescendant way that would irritate me soon if he kept using it. “The wounds could reopen themselves.”

“The wounds?”

For a second, Bill seemed as confused as I was. Then it came back. I remembered cursing the moon and myself for having forgotten the mysterious enemy. I remembered my skin being torn and Bill’s hands hurting me while trying to save me. I remembered having been attacked by a werewolf. The shock of the realization was probably visible on my face, and even if it wasn’t, Bill knew me by heart.

“Oh love, it will be okay.”

He wrapped me in one of these warm embraces he had the secret, careful not to hurt me more than I already was. The tears that escaped my eyes soon soaked his shirt. Bill was gently caressing my back and my hair, murmuring words of comfort in my ear and slowly rocking me back and forth, but nothing could have suppressed the thought that I was now a werewolf, that once a month I would turn into a monster, that the only way for me to not kill anyone would be to drink a potion. My sobs probably alarmed everyone in this bloody house and soon Molly barged in, followed by Remus Lupin.

“How are you feeling, dear?” she asked sweetly while removing my bandages.

I didn’t answer, focused on Bill’s face. When he saw my shoulder, he winced and looked away, and no matter how hard I tried to reason myself, I was fearing that he would leave me.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

I mumbled a positive answer and decided to stay silent, in the very same way that Lupin. He was on the corner of the room, looking by the window and the fact that he didn’t bother to bring me any information was beginning to get on my nerves.

When Molly eventually finished changing my bandages, she didn’t say anything and left, followed by Bill who seemed particularly reluctant to let me alone. Lupin didn’t move for a few seconds, and he only sat on the chair when the door closed.

“Come on,” he said with a gentle voice, “tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Am I really going to be a bloody monster?”

I realized one second too late who I was talking to, and if I hadn’t been so angry I would have probably apologized. However, he didn’t seem upset by what I had just said.

“We don’t know.”

“What? We don’t know? How can we not know?” I exclaimed.

“The werewolf was transforming when he bit you. The only way to know if you’re infected is to wait.”

“And what will happen if I transform?”

“Then you’ll have to learn how to prepare Wolfsbane potion. You won’t be able to take it next month though, it can-”

“Have dangerous effects on someone who’s not a werewolf, I know. I’ve had Outstanding at both my OWLs and my NEWTs in potion.”

We stayed silent for a few minutes, and I wondered where I would have to hide to be sure I wouldn’t attack anyone.

“I don’t know yet where you’ll go, but Sirius will be there to make sure you won’t hurt anyone.” It was as if he had read my thoughts. “Don’t worry, he’s used to do that.” he added when I frowned before explaining how Sirius, along with James Potter and Peter Pettigrew (“The traitor?” I exclaimed in disbelief) had helped him during their Hogwarts years.

After that, he patted my shoulder to show me he knew what I was feeling and left me alone with my thoughts and the disgust of myself that was slowly but surely installing in my mind.

Two weeks had passed since this night in Egypt. Two weeks during which I had isolated myself, the shame of what I possibly was preventing me from seeing that everyone wanted to support me. Molly and Bill were determined to crack my shell but all they could do was enhance the anger I kept bottled up. I didn’t even know who I was angry at, probably the werewolf responsible for this, but he was too far away from me to get my revenge. It was easier to snap at Molly when she tried to help me or Bill whan he wanted me to talk to him. It didn’t make anything better though, just added to the shame that was consuming me.

To make matters worse, I had received the autorisation to get rid of these stupid bandages, and I was now facing the old mirror of my room. I only wore my underwear, and all the scars that covered my body were visible. The marks left by the claws on my abdomen started just underneath my chest and stopped after my belly button. The bite mark on my shoulder was surrounded by a purple bruise, and it was still quite painful, especially when I wanted to lift my arm.

“What are you doing, love?”

Bill had opened the door and passed his head inside. In the mirror, I saw his expression turning from restraint to genuine worry and he closed quietly the door behind him before making his way to me. He stopped a few steps away from me, his eyes never leaving mine through the mirror.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

And for the first time, I didn’t even think of refusing and I realized I needed to talk to him. If there was one thing I missed more than the times I didn’t have to fear for my humanity, that was my relationship with Bill. I wanted to tell him so many things yet not a single word came from my mouth. Only a loud sob. Without hesitating, Bill wrapped his arms around my waist and tightened me against him. I didn’t feel like I deserved such a proof of love and stayed in the same position, only turning my head to rest my forehead against Bill’s one.

“Shh, it will be okay, my love.” he whispered before kissing lightly on my shoulder. “Everything will be okay, I’ll be with you. Always, I promise.”

When my tears finally dried, I looked up again to see Bill smiling. His hands began to move from my waist, caressing my skin in the most tender way possible.

“You know,” he began with a quiet voice, “you’re beautiful, and I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

“And who else thinks I’m beautiful?” I asked with a slight smirk.

“A lot of people. I’m quite sure Ron and Harry have drooled more than once thinking of you.” he laughed.

“I’ve never heard such a thing.” I whispered.

“Because everyone knows better than claiming my girlfriend is gorgeous right in front of me.”

“That was before…”

Bill’s eyes followed mine and fell on the scars on my stomach. He grabbed me shoulder and gently yet firmly forced me to face him. He put a hand under my chin and lifted my head to make sure I looked him in the eyes.

“Listen to me, Y/N. You’re a beautiful person, inside and out, and these scars will never say the opposite. Okay? It only shows how strong you are, it claims that you’re a brave warrior who fought for her convictions. And, if my opinion matters, I think it’s sexy.”

I let out a watery chuckle, and Bill’s eyes shone with love.

“Here, you’re so much prettier when you smile.”

But my smile didn’t last for long.

“Bill, if I happen to be infected…” he knew what I would ask, I saw it in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything, waiting for me to formulate it out loud. “If I’m a werewolf, will you still love me?”

“Of course I’ll still love you Y/N. They won’t separate us that easily, and you won’t get rid of me that easily either. You’re stuck with me, love.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I would love to say that my doubts and anger disappeared after this discussion, but it would be a lie. In fact, it was quite the contrary: the closer got the next full moon, the more I was on my nerves. Bill tried everything to help me relax, Lupin gave me a few advices, but I was so terrified that nothing helped me. The fact that I was more and more tired and sick and that everyone was worried wasn’t very helpful either.

The day before the full moon, an argument exploded between Bill and Sirius. Bill wanted to be with me during the night and Sirius had refused, saying he couldn’t protect him if I transformed. I tried to tell Bill I wanted him to stay safe but he didn't listen.

“I don’t care if I’m not safe! You’re more important!”

But he eventually gave up, and after a passionate kiss, I left with Sirius and Remus to go to an old house they had found.

“You’ll be okay?” asked Remus.

I nodded weakly and glanced at the window. The sun was almost down.

“Remus, I need you to be honest. Do you think I’ll transform?”

His sad gaze told me what I wanted to know. To him, I was infected. He left without a word and locked himself in a room, leaving me alone with Sirius.

“If you could be gentle on me, that would be awesome. My bones are rusty.” he winked before smiling sympathetically. “Listen Y/N, everything will be okay. I won’t let you hurt yourself, don’t worry. It will be over before you know it.”

The sky became completely dark, and an excruciating pain invaded my body.

Once more, I woke up in my room of Grimmauld Place, but this time Bill was anxiously pacing in front of my bed. When he noticed I was awake, he literally threw himself on me and crushed me in a strong embrace.

“Thank god you’re okay… Oh love, I’ve been so worried…”

I hugged him back, gladly melting into his touch and kissing his soft lips as if it was the last time.

“What happened?” I whispered a few minutes later, as we were cuddling in the bed.

“Sirius says you were quite easy to control. You didn’t hurt yourself, he has just a few scratches - nothing bad, don’t worry - and you didn’t try to leave.”

“I don’t remember anything.” I murmured. “I would like to know what I do when I’m not myself.”

“For that, I can’t do anything, unfortunately.” said Bill while tightening me a bit more. “But I have a good new! Yesterday, I needed to keep my mind occupied, you know, as I was really fucking worried, and I studied the Wolfsbane potion. With a bit of training, I’ll be able to prepare it myself just for you! If that’s all I can do to help you, I’ll-”

“Don’t tell that.” I cut him before leaning in, stopping when my lips were a few centimeters away from him. “You help me so much, Bill. Without you, I would still be considering myself as a monster and… And if you want to help me, just keep loving me.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

He smiled and pressed his lips on mine.

#summers200challenge #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #bill weasley #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley x yn #bill weasley x you

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justanobsessedfangirl · 4 years

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Harry Potter Preferences - Marauders Era - How He Asks You Out

Request from Anonymous: Can you do a Maradaurs preference, you can choose the topic just something cute and fluffy

Author’s Note: I wasn’t sure whether to include Peter Pettigrew or not. Obviously, he’s an awful person, but I think it could be interesting to explore his character when he was younger and more innocent. I also debated about adding Severus Snape. In the end, I didn’t add either of them. If someone would like another part including Peter and Severus, I’d be happy to write that! And if you guys have any other opinions and/or requests, I’d love to know!

Masterlist

Sirius Black

An angry bird was pecking your shoulder.

You were in Transfiguration, wand in hand, the clawed goblet in front of you halfway turned into a dove. To your right sat your best friend, her cup even less birdlike than your own, and to your left was a gray goose with a sharp beak.

It pecked you again.

“Would you stop that?” you huffed, shooting the bird a glare. You refused to look at the table of Gryffindor boys across the room, even though you could hear them snickering.

The goose looked up at you. Its beady black eyes matched your intensity. Its orange beak gaped open and it let out a loud honk as its wings spread, beating the air. Honking even louder, it sprung off the desk and flew toward your face.

Just before it bit you, it froze in midair. Professor McGonagall’s stern voice rose in place of the honking. “Mr. Black. Please do a better job of controlling your work.” With a flick of her wand, Professor McGonagall sent the goose whizzing to Sirius Black’s table.

He was surrounded by his friends, smirking. “Sorry Professor. I got distracted.” He looked at you, gray eyes bright with amusement. The goose sat in his lap.

You frowned, even though your heart beat a little faster at getting his attention. Ignoring those feelings, you sniffed and looked away. “You’re supposed to be making a dove, you git,” you muttered, making your friend giggle.

“I hope the rest of you are doing a better job of staying focused. There will be a test next class. I expect all of you to do well.” Papers rustled as the class began packing up. Over the swell of students chatting and laughing and gossiping, Professor McGonagall said, “Your only homework is to study.”

You scoffed internally. Fat chance of that with a trip to Hogsmeade this weekend. Before you let your thoughts drift too much, visions of chocolate frogs and sugar quills and fresh butterbeer already dancing through your mind, you raised your wand, said the spell, and tapped your goblet once more.

Metal morphed into feathers. The long stem split in two, forming short pink feet. Farther up, the cup rounded into a proud chest, the upper portion growing, growing, growing into a small head. In seconds, an adult dove stood in front of you.

Giddy joy brought a smile to your face.

“Wow! Nice work, Y/N!” your friend said.

“Yeah, that was pretty good,” said a different voice.

Slowly, you took your eyes off your dove, which was preening its feathers, and found Sirius Black. He was smiling, but when wasn’t he? He always looked like he was in on a joke you weren’t.

“Maybe you could give me some tips? Say...at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow?”

You had to fight to keep your jaw from dropping. Your heart was beating uncontrollably and your tongue had dried up. Your palms hadn’t, so you discreetly dried them on your skirt while you tried to think of something, anything, to say. As if to prompt you to answer, your friend nudged you on the back.

“I don’t know if that’s the best environment to study,” you heard yourself say.

Idiot! What were you doing? Of course you wanted to go to the Three Broomsticks with him!

But what if this wasn’t real? What if this was another one of his jokes, one of the pranks that he and James and Remus and Peter always pulled?

“I’m sure we can figure it out.” Sirius shifted and you finally realized he was still holding his goose. He set it on your desk. The gray beast (you wouldn’t forget that sharp beak of its for a long time) waddled to your dove. The two birds stared each other down. After a second, the goose took a step forward. The dove allowed it. It moved closer. The dove tensed, tucking its wings in tight, then sat. The goose joined it. Both eyed the other warily.

You looked back at Sirius. “Okay,” you said. “I’ll see you at the Three Broomsticks. Tomorrow.” And I’ll figure out what game you’re playing, you thought.

Sirius smiled. “Perfect.”

Remus Lupin

The Gryffindor common room was quiet at such a late hour. The house-elves had come and gone, silently cleaning around your piles of books and parchment and quills. You yearned for your bed, but instead of calling it a night, you rubbed your bleary eyes and continued working on your partner project alone.

“Lazy Slytherin,” you mumbled. “Knows I can’t afford a bad grade.” You crossed out a line in your essay about how Laverne de Montmorency had invented numerous different love potions in the 1800s - you’d already written about it in the fourth paragraph, using slightly different wording. You reread the fourth paragraph, decided you didn’t like the sentence there either, and promptly crossed it out. In a margin in the second paragraph, you added the detail back in, creating the third iteration of the same fact and the same words in a mostly new order. “Thinks he’s too good to work on a project,” you continued grumbling.

With a heavy sigh, you dropped your quill and leaned back in your chair. Maybe I could just...your eyes fluttered closed. Moments later, they shot back open as a weight was draped across you.

“What-”

“Sorry!”

You looked down at the blanket that now covered your legs, then up at Remus Lupin, who stood over you with red cheeks and upraised hands.

He continued, “I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought you might want a blanket.”

It took you a second to remember how to form words. It felt like you’d left all of them on the parchment, and now that you were face to face with Remus, who hopefully hadn’t just seen you drooling, you were struck mute. “Thanks,” you managed to say.

Remus rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um, are you working on the Potions project?” He shook his head. “That was a stupid question, of course you are.” He gestured to the table, where your Potions textbook was wide open to the section on Amortentia. “How has your partnership been going?”

You shook your head. “Awful.” With that reminder, you picked up your quill, dipped it in ink, and scrawled another sentence about the most powerful love potion in the world.

Remus eased into the seat next to you. He smelled familiar, like warmth and the woods and the Amortentia Professor Slughorn had shown the class yesterday. You squeezed your quill tighter to try to get rid of that memory and make your blush go away, but you didn’t think it was working.

“Maybe...I mean, if your partner isn’t helping...I would be happy to...We could work together in the library tomorrow?”

Your quill stopped mid-stroke. If your blush had faded at all, it was back now with a vengeance. You glanced up and saw Remus staring intently at the table, his ears tinged pink.

“Yes!” you blurted. His head shot up, a smile growing on his lips. You cleared your throat and said, more calmly, “Yes, that would be very helpful. And kind. Thank you, Remus.”

“I’m happy to help, Y/N.”

Your heart fluttered as he smiled sweetly at you.

Neither of you spoke for a second until you heard a crash from behind you. You spun around. Tumbling down the stairs to the boys’ dormitory were James and Sirius. Peter Pettigrew followed behind on foot, wearing a sheepish look. Next to you, Remus groaned and covered his face.

“Well,” said Sirius, struggling to untangle himself from James. “Did you finally ask her out?”

James Potter

The rain was coming down hard, making it difficult to see even your teammates, much less the glimmering gold of the Snitch. You wrapped your hands tighter around your broom and squinted. From this height, you could see the entire Quidditch pitch. In the stands were swaths of blue and bronze, your fellow Ravenclaws out in the bitter cold to support you. The other half of the bleachers were filled with people clad in scarlet and gold.

You scanned the air for the Gryffindor seeker, James Potter. Through fog and rain and hail you managed to catch a glimpse of him circling the Ravenclaw goal posts. Then, in a split second, he took off, barreling toward the far side of the pitch.

Without a second thought, you pointed your broom nearly straight down and zoomed after him. As you shot through the rain, the cheering grew louder and louder. You couldn’t make out any words. You didn’t care to, anyways. What you wanted was to get that Snitch before James Potter.

Losing would sting. But losing to him? That would kill.

You leaned forward, hoping to make your broom speed up. The wood vibrated under your hands. You felt the magic coursing through it. You gritted your teeth and pushed it faster.

James wove between the stands, swooping low and making Ravenclaws duck. He didn’t seem to be following anything, and for a moment you worried that you should have stayed up higher, surveying.

But then you saw a flash of gold. The Snitch hovered mere feet off the ground at the center of the pitch. You darted for it. James pulled up from a dive and went after it too, coming at it from the other side.

He was closer. You were faster. The Snitch flitted to the side. You adjusted with ease. It climbed; you climbed; James climbed. It dropped; you dropped; James dropped. It was running out of space to maneuver as the two of you closed in.

You gritted your teeth, wind whipping at your hair. The rain meant nothing, even as small drops pricked at your face like needles.

You would win. You were going to win. You were almost close enough to stretch out your hand. James was close too. He reached out a hand, you reached out a hand, one of you had to fly up or to the side to save you from a collision, but it wasn’t going to be you because you felt the flutter of wings brush against your fingers. The Snitch was there, golden and beautiful, and behind it was James, his hazel eyes focused and determined. You felt cold metal under your fingertips, you felt the Snitch, you felt James’s hand, you felt your bodies crash into each other, you felt the ground underneath you, and then you were rolling and tumbling along the pitch, limbs twisted with James’s.

The two of you came to a stop in the wet grass. One of his legs was across your stomach, and your left arm was flung over his chest. Your ribs pierced your sides with every inhale. Your head pounded. Your face felt warm with blood until the rain set to washing it away.

James groaned. You were so close that it was audible over the fans screaming and a professor yelling orders.

“Could you move your arm?” he asked through gritted teeth.

You tried and piercing pain raced from shoulder to fingertips. Biting back a squeal, you said, “Uh, no, I don’t think I can.”

“At least close your hand so I don’t have to see it,” he grumbled.

Your fingers twitched. You felt metal slick with rain. Delicate wings fluttered against your palm. You were holding the Golden Snitch. Ravenclaw had won.

Despite the pain, you grinned. You even let out a quiet cheer.

Beside you, James groaned again, this time out of annoyance. “Just wait until the rematch.”

“I’ll gladly beat you again, Potter.”

Other voices grew louder as professors made their way across the pitch.

“I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the hospital wing,” James said.

Your nose throbbed. Stars danced across your vision, falling with the rain. “Probably.”

“So it’s a date, then?”

A surprised laugh left your lips. “What?”

“I’ll pick you up in around, oh, 20 minutes or so? We can share a treacle tart after Madam Pomfrey fixes your nose.”

Professor McGonagall arrived, wand in hand, and you felt your body start to float, coming to a hover a couple of feet off the ground. Turning your head to look down at James was painful, but seeing the earnest, hopeful look in his eyes was worth it. He had the hint of a devilish grin on his face.

“Ok,” you said. “But next time you ask me out, don’t feel like you have to crash into me.”

His smile grew. “Sorry, I just couldn’t help falling for you.”

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