Ali

rose / @lingeriecashmere

[expectodeer]

Ali’s Library

— she/her, 20 isfp ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。slytherin, cabin 4

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[webslingingslasher]

Hey, j! an u do nerdy!Peter and Angel being scared she's using him?

*a/n: nerdy!peter has finally been released from his cage. he missed you all very much.

'and what do you do for him?'

you've been thinking about it for days. peter's softly snoring on your left but you can't sleep, tossing and turning, looking down every so often at your ring finger and feeling the same gut punch you have for the past seventy two hours.

your friend's cousin just moved to new york to follow her dreams, she's nineteen and full of life. she also very innocently asked a question that sent you tumbling down a whirlpool. you all met up for brunch, you even went the extra mile and snuck her a mimosa to show how friendly the city would be to her- but then she had to ask about your ring.

it's a new addition, you just got used to the weight and sparkle but anytime someone asks, you're shoving it in their face and bragging.

'that's a big ass diamond!'

'i know! i couldn't believe it when he asked me... i kept asking him if he was sure.'

of course you had to spill all the proposal details, your friend's cousin awwing at the right moments before doubling down with a congratulations. it was a nice moment that led into other conversations, somehow falling back on rent prices.

'it's fucking crazy out here, i don't know how you guys do it. how much do you pay in rent?' your friend shared her monthly rent, you stayed quiet, her cousin was looking at you for an answer.

'ew. you think i pay rent?' you flashed your ring again, giggles fell around the table, the topic moved on. someone mentioned a restaurant, you chimed in to say it was amazing, that your fiance took you there for your last anniversary.

'god damn, the cheapest thing on the menu is two hundred bucks! i looked it up and a glass of wine was like eighty dollars, that's crazy!'

'hmm... peter splurged on a bottle.' there was a chorus, the girls loved hearing that. you shrugged at your humble brag. when you have a good man, you want everyone to know. little comments got brushed under the table, nothing major until the bill came.

you offered to pay, the two girls with you excited with your generosity. 'ah, don't thank me, it's on peter.' you slid the credit card to the end of the table, your friend's cousin put the final nail in the coffin.

'okay, okay, you gotta tell me. so, he buys for your friends, he pays the rent, he buys you super expensive dinner, you have a rock on your finger... and what do you do for him?' she laughed, your friend laughed, you laughed. it was funny. until you couldn't come up with anything you give him back.

now it's been three days and you're watching peter sleep, feeling more and more guilt creep in by the minute. you don't deserve the things he's given you. you're not sure if curling up to him makes you feel better or not but he's warm and your eyes are finally feeling heavy.

---

'good morning, angel.' peter made you breakfast and while your heart fills with adoration, you have to fight the urge to frown. he does everything for you and you can't even make him breakfast?

'good morning.' you're still tired, you weren't able to sleep in either. rest hasn't come easily to you, peter's been noticing it too. 'i felt you moving around last night.'

'i couldn't sleep. i finally dropped off around three.' you sit at the kitchen counter and rest your head on your hand, peter kisses your forehead, the oven timer goes off. he made cinnamon rolls.

'was anything keeping you up? you've been a little quiet since you had lunch with your friends.' he knows something's off, he's just not prying it out of you yet. 'i don't know, i couldn't get my mind to turn off i guess.'

you're staring at your ring again, peter serves you the middle roll. it's the best one. he splurged on the ring, he pays for the rent, he pays for every date, he buys for your friends, he gives you the middle cinnamon roll and you... and you...

'i know i don't have to tell you this, angel, but just in case... you can tell me anything. even if it's something you don't think i want to hear.' peter's thinking it's something about your friend or work, something that doesn't really pertain to him but if it's weighing on you, it should weigh on him too.

'i know.' you reach for your breakfast, the shine of your diamond stops you. 'how much did you spend on my ring?' peter's looking at your ring too, a sly smile crosses over his face.

'that's for me to know and you to never find out.' he's not saying it because it was cheap, you know it wasn't. you wouldn't care if it was, the fact he got down on one knee and asked you to be his forever was enough to say yes, even if he did it with a ring pop. but you've been scrolling and trying to do your own investigative work and what you've found makes you feel like you don't deserve it.

'how much money do you make every month?' you have an idea but you don't have a specific number and you need a dollar amount. peter looks at you funny, probably because your question came from left field. 'why do you want to know?'

'because i'm going to marry you and i want to know your finances.' it's a cheap shot around the truth, peter knows it too. 'alright, well, we'll talk about that when we get there. we haven't even talked about the wedding yet.' you told peter you wanted a couple months to bask in the fiance glow and you'd start planning when you got bored of it, he had no problems with it.

'i think money is a great starting point, how else am i supposed to know our budget?'

'tell me how much you want to spend and i'll let you know if it's possible.' you don't want a numbers game but you'll play. 'ten thousand?'

'yes.'

'twenty?'

'yes.'

he has to draw the line somewhere, you're going to find it. 'fifty?' he laughs through a bite of icing, you feel like you still haven't scraped the barrel. 'if you can find a way to blow fifty grand on a wedding, sure.'

you're not pushing it any further, you have a feeling that no matter what you said, peter would tell you it's doable. it's frustrating and the only thing that eases you is the sweet, sticky pastry in front of you. 'you'd tell me if you were broke, right?'

'hey,' peter puts his cinnamon roll next to yours. 'you've never had to worry about money before, you don't need to now, either. is that what you're worried about? our wedding budget?' it's not but you'll take the bait, you're tired of talking in circles.

you take too much and he'll never admit it.

'yeah.' you're looking at your ring again, you're not hungry anymore.

'don't worry about it, angel.' peter kisses your temple. 'i'll take care of you.' you know he will. that's why you feel so bad.

---

you might not be able to do much but you can pay for dinner.

'i want to go out for dinner.'

peter's on board. 'ooh, date night. whatcha thinking?' you blurt his favorite place, he's extra excited now. 'double yes, six or seven?'

'six thirty?' you think his eyes have stars in them. 'i love when you meet me in the middle. six thirty it is, i'll reserve a table right now.' you grin, your plan is already rolling into motion.

his favorite dinner and when he leasts expects it, you're going to put your card down instead. it'll be your treat tonight. even if it's minor, it'll make you feel better.

at least you thought. dinner was excellent, the conversation was even better- you felt more connected to him tonight than you had in the past week. the second the bill came, you scrambled for it.

'oh, do you want to guess the total?' it's a small game you've both come up with, you each take a guess at the number to see who memorized the prices best. 'nope, i'm paying for this one.'

'cute. pass it over, angel.' he thinks you're playing, you refuse to hand the check back to him. 

'it's on me tonight.'

'then pay with my card.' you shake your head, 'i'm using mine. dinner's on me, i mean it.' peter's uncomfortable but he's playing nice in public. 'no. give me the check, please.'

you hold it with a vice grip, he would have to pry it from you. 'i'm paying, peter.'

'no you're not. you don't pay for me, that's my job.' you grit your teeth in frustration before easing into a smile. 'not tonight, petey. let me take over.'

'not happening. give me the check.'

'no. i'm paying.' you won't let him win this one. you need this, you need to feel useful for something. 'angel, seriously, hand it over.'

'no.'

'i always pay, let me see it.' that's more than enough reason to keep it from him. 'exactly, let me get this one this time.' peter looks at you dead on, he's not budging. 'no.'

'you're not paying for this no matter what, peter. i wanted to treat you to dinner and i am.' he sighs, you know he's about to gentle parent you into giving him what he wants but you're prepared for it and you won't give in.

'go ahead and pay for it, i'm just going to send you the money for it.' your mouth parts, you didn't expect that curveball. 'if you do, i'm sending it back. double.'

'i'll block you from sending it back, don't test me.' you buffer in the silence, peter tries to grab the checkbook from your hands, you slide it underneath the table. 'i'm paying and you're not reimbursing me. got it?'

you have your card ready, the second you see the waiter you'll hand it over before peter can think about reaching for his wallet. 'you're not paying and that's final.'

'no, i'm paying and that's-'

'are we ready with the check or do we need some more time?' you grin at the waiter, he came right on time. you hand over the bill and your card, peter's card is outstretched with yours. the waiter looks between the two with an awkward smile, you push yours further out- peter opens his big mouth.

'don't take her card. use mine.'

'i'm capable of buying you a dinner!' your waiter's caught in the middle and on everything in you, you swear he went with peter because he's a man. 'use mine.' your waiter takes peter's card and swiftly leaves the table.

you're defeated. you slump back in your seat with crossed arms.

'i told you i was paying.' he's happy about it. the one thing you thought you could give him, he just took from you. you don't know if you're more mad at him or yourself. you blankly stare at the wall across from you. you stare at it when peter's card is returned, you stare at it as he signs the receipt, you stare at it while he asks if you're ready.

you move in silence. you have nothing positive and nothing negative to say. you feel beat down. 'and what do you do for him?' nothing. not even pay for a god damn dinner. peter swings his arm over your shoulder, you shrug it off a block down.

'wanna get some ice cream?' you shake your head. you don't want to force another expense on him. 'oh c'mon, you love something sweet after dinner. how about that chocolatier place next to the apartment?'

you think he can sense you're upset. 'i'll let you pay. how about that?' he knows you're mad about it and offering you to pay for a cupcake instead of a full blown dinner sounds like he's giving you peanuts.

'can you go to may's?' he looks confused. 'why? what's at may's?'

'hopefully you. unfortunately we live together and i don't want to be around you right now.' you can shut him out of the bedroom but it sucks knowing he's right there... probably doing something for you that he won't let you return the favor on.

'you're kicking me out because i didn't let you pay for dinner? that's a little extreme.' your guilt comes out as anger, it's not his fault but it is. 'no, peter, you're the extreme one. i'm supposed to marry you and you can't even let me buy you dinner? i'm going home, don't follow me.'

of course he's following you. 'this is a really stupid thing to argue over.'

'yeah, it is. so why are you?' if he thinks it's so stupid why wouldn't he just let you pay? couldn't he tell how much you needed it? 'i'm not fighting with you, angel. i just don't know why after five years buying me dinner is a hill you want to die on.'

'because! you, you- ugh! go to may's, i'm done with you.'

peter's been with you long enough he knows when to back off. 'fine. you win. i'll hang with may for a couple hours but i'm not sleeping there.' if he thinks that means anything to you, he has another thing coming. 'i'm locking the bedroom door, you can sleep on the couch.'

'are you-'

'serious? deathly. thanks for dinner, peter.' you made sure to end the argument on how it started, just in case he needed to ask himself how he got in his position. you take off into a small crowd and arrive home by yourself.

the small adrenaline rush you had settled, all you can think about is your fiance. he bought you dinner and you yelled at him. he paid for a meal and you kicked him out of the home he pays rent for. even when you're trying to do the right thing you failed.

you stare at your ring, think of peter's confused face and start crying. once you start, you can't stop. every negative thought and feeling you've harbored comes pouring out- you're nasty and you don't deserve peter.

and you damn well don't deserve his ring. not an expensive one. you're not worthy of it, you've given him nothing in return. turning the hall for your bedroom, you fall on your shared bed and feel worse thinking about how peter bought the new mattress.

he's tailored the last four- basically five years of his life to you and your wants and needs and you can't think of a damn thing you've given in return. you sob, your tears are salty and you're happy peter isn't there, if he was, holding you would make everything worse.

this was a private breakdown, the kind where you feel like you're about to throw up from crying too hard. you gasp for air, the ring on your finger feels choking. you rip it off your finger and slam it down on the nightstand, you can finally breathe. tears are still racing down your cheeks but you can think clear, everything screams that you need to tell your fiance.

you need to tell peter that you're not okay because now you're treating him like he isn't okay. and it's all because of the ring. you can try and cope with everything else but a two carat diamond on your hand was too far. you have the ring but no wifely duties, you just watch peter tend to your every need and feel more and more useless.

it feels good to cry about it. you feel less like a monster. you sniffle and catch yourself tearing up about it over and over, you squeeze your eyes shut- you think you fall asleep crying.

---

the tv is on when you wake up. the bedroom is dark but you can see a peek of light under the door, a soft candance of sound follows with it. peter's home and even though you didn't lock the door, he's respecting your space.

your ring is still on the nightstand. you have to give it back. and apologize to the person you love most. you hesitantly grip the gem in the palm of your hand, it feels heavier than normal, you're not sure if you're doing the right thing.

but you see that peter's still awake and folding the laundry you left in the dryer. you've never felt more sure. you don't deserve the ring. you don't deserve him.

'i thought you were down for the night.' you check the microwave for the time, it's a little after eleven. you're not sure how to tell him, seeing him fold your socks sends a pang to your heart. you hold out your hand, he does it back, your engagement ring falls into his palm.

'i don't want it.'

panic. instant, fucking, panic. 'what do you mean you don't want it? the ring? me? engagement? are you breaking up with me?' peter's chest rises and falls rapidly, all of a sudden your panic is matching his and you're crying again.

'angel, you really need to talk to me right now. why is your ring not on your finger? what does 'i don't want it' mean?' you shake your head, peter's trying to be the calm one but he's failing.

'why the fuck did you give me your ring back?'

you whimper, it sounds like you just got shot. you did the wrong thing. you keep messing up. 'i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i'll just-' you try to take it back, peter's hand closes around it. 'no. you don't give me your ring and tell me you don't want it just to take it back.'

'i didn't mean it, i swear i didn't mean it. i want it back!'

'you meant it enough to give it back! what the hell is happening?' you went too far, you're not sure how to take it all back. 'give me my ring back, peter!' you're fighting with him for it, it's a lost cause but you're not giving up.

'you can't walk up to me after a fight, tell me you don't want the ring and start crying and beg for it back when i question you. no, you're not getting it back.' you're trying to pry his fingers off it, struggling more and more with each passing second.

'you've been weird for the past week. are you getting cold feet? do you want to call off the engagement? i'm at such a loss right now, why the hell would you give me your ring back?' you're in a panic, everything is crumbling at your fingertips.

'because i don't like it!' peter stops fighting as hard, you gasp for air the second it's back on your finger. it feels like a bandaid on the situation but it's better than nothing when you're preparing for war.

'you don't like the ring?' he sounds sad. really, really sad. 'that's okay, angel. i wish you would've said something sooner but we can pick something else out.' you can't let him be this kind when he's sad. the truth has to come out.

you sit next to him on the couch and lay your head on his shoulder, sometimes hard things are easier to say if you're not looking at him.

'i love the ring, peter. i really do. i just don't deserve it.'

even if you missed wearing it for a few minutes, you feel ashamed looking at it. 'why wouldn't you deserve it?' you chew on the inside of your cheek, you don't know how to explain it without him brushing it off. you have real, valid concerns about the future you have with him.

'you're gonna think it's stupid.' you're soft spoken.

peter matches it. 'maybe. but tell me anyway.' you take a deep breath and close your eyes, the story spills out. it starts last week at brunch, you give him the side comments that fell into your internal crisis.

'-and when she asked 'what do you do for him' i couldn't think of one thing. so i kept thinking about it and i don't have anything. i use you, peter. you pay for the rent, you buy me anything i want, you make dinner all the time, you clean the dishes, and you gave me a big ass diamond i don't deserve. i don't deserve you.'

peter leans his head back against the couch, a deep breath follows. 'and when i refused to let you buy me dinner, it was the final straw.' it was a very small, fine straw but he didn't know the load you were carrying- of course it all fell apart right there.

'i want to spend the rest of my life with you. i just don't want you to wake up one day and regret it when you realize i don't do enough in return.' that's the biggest fear you have. the unspoken one that kept haunting you, that one day ten years from now, you'd wake up to an empty house with a pack of divorce papers.

'you're right, angel. i think it's stupid.' you restrain from telling him off, you're glad you did. 'but it doesn't sound stupid to you, so, as the person who asked you to marry them, do you want to hear why i think you deserve it?'

you nod against his shoulder. 'please.'

'because it's you. that's why you deserve it. you have had my back every day for the past five years, like, you're solidly in my corner. and i've never had that from another person before. if i have to cancel something for spider-man, you tell me not to say sorry for it. when i forgot my cheat sheet for my third year midterm, you ditched your class to bring me it. when i was sick a couple months ago, you called out of work to take care of me. when i helped may move in her new furniture, you were there before i was. you pack me lunch every day, with a note and every day when i come home i get greeted with an 'i missed you' and a kiss.'

you hope if you stay quiet he'll keep going. he does.

'that's something i can't repay you for. but i can take care of you and make your life easier, and that makes me feel better about it. you give me a reason to get out of bed in the morning, if anything you deserve a bigger ring.'

peter bragging about you made you feel a lot better. he thinks you give him more than enough, it's just in a different way. 'if we're being honest, the money stuff makes me a little uncomfortable, i feel like you're spending too much on me.'

it was never about the wedding or the ring, it was about how much you think you're really worth. 'that's where all the questions came from?' you nod, peter shifts around, you end up curled in even closer to his side.

'i just don't want you spending more money than you have to just because you think it's your job to provide for me.'

'if we're being honest, i have something to tell you.' your fears are true, you put peter into crippling debt. 'i wasn't sure how to tell you and you were going to find out eventually but... remember that trust fund my parents left for me that i got when i turned twenty one?' it's worse than you thought. he never got one, did he?

'yeah?'

'i don't know why i lied but i got a lot more than i actually told you.' you slowly raised your head up to look at him, he's nervous for your reaction. you're still processing what was said.

'peter, are we rich?' you watch his hand teeter back and forth, your jaw drops open. 'i was stressed out for an entire week about you paying rent and now you're telling me we have money?!'

you gasp, would you be able to accomplish every new yorker's dream? 'do we have house money?' peter corrects you quickly. 'okay, woah, calm down, we're not millionaires... but yes, we do have a down payment on a house money.'

you've been bamboozled. 'then where's the house?'

'wedding first, house second. whatever's leftover from the wedding we can put down on a house.' that made your decision real quick. 'courthouse. i want a three bedroom.'

'we can have a wedding and a three bedroom, i promise. once we get married it becomes our money and we can spend it however we want. but until then it's my money and i'm gonna make sure you get a wedding out of it.' you'll accept it but it still doesn't feel even.

'i just feel bad that you do everything and i barely do anything to repay you.' now that you noticed it you're not sure if you'll be able to notice it. 'what does do everything mean to you?'

'you pay the rent, you pay the bills, you pay for all our dates, you clean the dishes and cook dinner five night out of the week-' you point to the mess in front of you- 'you fold our laundry.'

'we already talked about rent and bills, that conversation is over. i pay for our dates because you buy the groceries, in case you forgot.' you might've. 'if you pay for it when we eat at home, i should pay for it when we go out. the other stuff is household chores, i live here, i should do those things. i make dinner because we have to eat, i clean dishes because they need to get washed, i fold the laundry because half of it is mine. do i really need to tell you how you do way more than me around here?'

it doesn't feel like you do so... 'yes.'

'you wash our sheets once a week and remake the bed, you make the bed every morning, every sunday you plan out our dinners and go shopping. i've never touched our vacuum, actually, i don't think i've ever adjusted a pillow on this couch either. you decorated for christmas and halloween, you're definitely the only one who's ever cleaned the shower and don't think i haven't noticed how since you've moved in i've never, not even once, run out of deodorant or toothpaste. i help with some stuff but you're the one that makes this a home, angel.'

you do all those things. and support peter with everything in you.

you do deserve the ring.

'so i really earned the wifey title?'

'more than earned. you were made for that role... in a non misogynistic way, of course.' you grin, you can't wait to marry him. 'i can't believe i didn't think i did enough. i'm kind of awesome around here, aren't i?'

'you're the reason we're able to run the routine so smoothly, all i do is keep the lights on.' you raise your eyebrows, 'maybe you're the one that doesn't deserve me.'

'you're probably right. that's why i gotta use the free rent ruse to trick you into staying with me.' you play gasp and show off the best piece of jewelry you'll ever be gifted. 'and you trapped me with a diamond.'

'if i keep you focused on the sparkle you won't notice my con man ways.' he must see you lost in the little rainbows. 'well, it's working.'

'good. let me know when it starts to wear off, i'll get you a bigger one.' you know he's joking but you don't want a bigger diamond, you like this one. it's perfect because it's the one he picked out for you.

'you know, sometimes bigger isn't better.' 

[webslingingslasher]

j! its been so long but omg hi

i was super obsessed with ur frat!peter hows he doing?

i just saw a tiktok that was about a frat boy yelling at a party “if youre not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!” has this been brought up in the frat!peter circle?

i have so many scenarios in my mind like at the different stages! when they first started and trouble isnt super stable in the relationship and she goes to head out but peter (or ethan omg) grabs her arm and hes like ur part of that demographic trouble. im melting 🫠

or when theyre like broken up/taking a break and she goes to leave and peter goes all sad puppy dog eyes :((

omg yes queen::

*a little something ya'll can wake up to. <3

---

'if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!'

you hold in a sigh, the party's over. ally won't make it home with you tonight, she ditched you thirty minutes ago to 'go with matty,' aka, you won't see her again until tomorrow.

you glance down at your drink and debate chugging it, if you do you know you'll leave with a woozy stomach. you take two sips and dump the cup in the kitchen trash, it sends two empty beer cans falling, you shrug at the mess and keep walking.

a girl stumbles into your shoulder and profusely apologizes with tears in her eyes, you keep telling her it's okay but she doesn't let it go until her boyfriend nudges her out of the house.

the house music cuts, any stragglers were just seriously kicked out. you follow the crowd and prepare for the cold walk home, a hand loops around your upper arm before you can get through the threshold.

'where do you think you're going?' you turn around and grin at your friend. 'home? where are you going?'

'also home. i'm just waiting for everyone to clear out first.' ethan pulls you away from the dwindling party. 'you know, brother duties.' he sends a wink your way, you nod along like you understand.

'yeah, but i'm not a brother so i don't think i should help with that.'

ethan stops you again. 'parker is a brother, yes?' he is. he's also not there tonight. something about going to queens being more important than the typical friday night party. 'he is.'

'and you're fucking him, right?' you love when ethan has a little liquor in him. 'i am.'

'okay, so then you fit the requirements. hang back with me and we can go to my place together.' it's not a hard sell but you'll act like it is. 'are you sure? peter's not even here, do those rules still apply?'

'i'm a god damn chapter officer, i get to make the rules and it's everyone else's job to follow them. how about that?' you pat ethan's shoulder, you're not arguing one bit.

'can't fight you on that, can i? you twisted my arm good enough, lorax. i'm yours until peter gets home.' ethan holds out his hand, you shake it like it's a business deal.

'good. he told me to make sure you stayed.' he says it with a wink, a gentle suggestion he wasn't supposed to tell you that but you're glad he did. it makes you warm thinking peter didn't want you to feel excluded, especially because he was missing in action tonight.

'well... i am fucking a brother, right?'

'you are. and you know what that means? you have to stay here after every party.' he says it like it's a bad thing but you can get used to being on an exclusive guest list.

it feels nice. so, ‘hell yeah.’

-- vs. after the breakup--

'if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!'

hearing it makes you sad. no one's going to make you stay or tell you that those exceptions still apply to you. ally gets to stay here and you have to tuck your tail between your legs and scoot out the door.

'i can leave with you.' your best friend is kind for offering, you're an even better friend for saying no. 'that's okay, stay with matt.'

'are you sure? you shouldn't have to walk out of here alone, that kinda blows.' it does and you don't like the reminder. you'd prefer if ally stays, actually. you don't want her pity.

'it's fine. beats the alternative, right?' she looks at you to say what the alternative is, you do it with a sigh. 'fucking peter. that's my other option.'

'who said it had to be peter? there's like forty guys in the frat and you're buddies with at least five, take your pick.' you've thought about it but frat boys, especially the ones from sig nu, make you queasy.

'it's fine, ally-cat. i'll walk back with one of the other girls in our dorm.' the same faces you see in the hallway at your dorm are gathering their stuff to leave, they'll have no issue with you tagging along. 'boo. i miss when we would have frat house sleepovers.'

'good. blame peter.'

'and i do. he hates to see me coming his way, he really does.'

another brother screams out the same line, you frown and decide to leave while you still have friends in eye-distance. when you reach the door you look behind one last time to send a wave to your best friend. ally sends one back and blows a kiss with it. you catch it and slam it to your cheek, she giggles, you grin. your eyes flit up to the stairs, someone's already watching you.

peter sends you a sorry smile, he hates that you don't get to stick around anymore either. you match his melancholy and give him a shrug, more like a 'whatcha gonna do?' vibe. rules are rules and you're no longer a fitting member for the requirements they need.

'you can stay.' peter mouths it, you pretend not to know what he just said. 'wait.' you're still pretending, you turn around and walk a little faster down the steps- peter catches you on the bottom step.

'i said you can stay.' you have no reason to stay behind. you're not a brother and you're no longer involved with one. you point to an imaginary watch on your wrist, 'i'm about to turn into a pumpkin.'

'yeah, you almost left a shoe running out of here so fast, cinderella.'

you grin, 'i'm just following the rules.'

peter wavers his stance, he doesn't care who said what- he wants you to hang around a little bit more. he likes seeing you around. 'you're still included. i mean, we're involved, aren't we?'

you look at him like he's crazy, you swear you see him blush before he starts fumbling over his words. 'i just meant that i'm not moving on and you're not moving on and i'm trying to get things back to how they were- no, wait, i'm trying to get things better than they were before. not that they were bad! well, i mean they were bad but not... trouble, help me out here, you know what i mean.'

you do. you just like ignoring it. 'you're cute when you grovel for me.'

'i'll get on my knees right fucking now.' he's not even drunk and he's willing to beg for you in front of his party goers. you have to hold in a smirk of pride. 'to ask me to stay or to convince me with your mouth?'

peter's eyebrows raise, 'if you're asking me to go down on you the answer is yes. it's very much a yes, my place or yours? fuck it, let's go to the bathroom.' you're halfway back inside before you realize what you started.

you rip your hand away from peter, you refuse to go back to what it was. you need more than a few apologies to make you crawl back into his bed, you need a real confession. 'nuh uh, not happening. not in a damn bathroom.'

'okay, that's fine, my place is closer.'

you have to stop yourself from following him a second time. 'no, wait! i meant no, it's not happening. period.'

'i don't care if you're on your period, i'll still do it. that's how committed i am to you.' you manage to keep from gagging at the visual, instead you shove peter's shoulder. 'ew! you're so gross! i'm not on my period, you dolt. i'm just not having sex with you.'

'cool, don't have sex with me, let me just show you i can still make you come in under five minutes.' he has no idea how tempting it is. you're being braver saying no than he is for asking, post-breakup included.

'go find another girl, i'm sure there's a whole line-up waiting to get picked on.' peter's nose wrinkles, he doesn't even think of it as a cheap shot. 'gross, other girls are icky.'

you shut it down. 'peter, i'm not a brother and i haven't touched you in two months. there's no reason for me to still be here, goodnight.' you try to leave, a whine follows behind you.

'but you're still-'

but you're not, no matter how much he says it.

'if you changed the rule to 'if you're not a brother, fucking a brother, or used to fuck a brother, then get the fuck out!' how many girls would stand around and wait on you?' peter looks at you, he doesn't say anything and silence always screams that you're right.

'mhm. rules are rules, goodnight.'

there's a sense of succeeding when all you get is a wistful goodbye behind you. it lasts until the next week when the routine friday night party comes to an end with the normal call.

'if you're not a brother, fucking a brother, or go by trouble, then get the fuck out!'

ally squeals and tells you 'that's you!' but you're too busy glaring at peter's smug face to celebrate. it's his turn to shrug, his mouth forms four words that fuck you over.

'rules are rules, trouble.' 

[mxlfoydraco]

Harry has such a resting bitch face that all the people he fancies think he hates them... his intense pining look is murderous and he doesn’t realize it

[hogwartsfirebolt]

I have never seen anything more accurate this is CANON

[aparalleliwouldlaymylifeon]

ִֶָ ☾. ִֶָ — tag game!!

let pinterest describe you to its best abilities and share how accurate you believe it is!! use the first picture that pops up!!

first search “aesthetic”, then “character”, and lastly “me”

thank you for the tags @dearmisshoney @riddlesrizzler 🖤

aesthetic ⋆ character ⋆ me

npt: @obsessedwithceleste @pizzaapeteer @godricgryffinsnore @draco-malfoys-lovergirl @redeemingvillains

[godricgryffinsnore]

Thank you for the tag, Leigh 💗💗💗

npt : @wintrsoul @solsticehymns @lovedrunkmess @agreeewrites @dismalflo @yasministration @ghostedgwen @potterheadlovespotter @prettydaisygirl @outromoonyy @g1rld1ary @laufeysvalentine @sunskisser @aetherraeys @foodiegoogie @1-800-tacomuncher @milesdrift @sarahwithanh5 @neverthatsirius-jo @tea-biscuits-books @i-heart-atj + anyone who wants to join <333

[potterheadlovespotter]

Thanks for the tag, Tumblr played with me, it didn't notify me!

Anyways,

Not Pinterest giving me Harry 😭🤌🏻

Tagging: @ijr09, @nuninho2000, @desipotterhead18, @expectodeer, anyone who wants to join.

[expectodeer]

thanks for the tag! 🩷🩷

Tagging: @sweetlypunk @pottersdeer @buttersuaa @wistericaine (I love your writing lol)

[yasministration]

concussions and interruptions au m.list

ˋ°•*⁀➷ navigation

꩜ smut ❀ fluff 𖤓 angsty/angry 𖤐 funny

synopsis: when you accidentally meet harry's parents for the first time, they quickly learn that you're a very sweet girl, but you have a very complicated family. slytherin!reader

✩ concussions and interruptions - You aren’t expecting to meet Harry’s parents for the first time while you share an intimate moment in the hospital wing after he sustains another quidditch injury (❀𖤐)

✩ after curfew - you and harry seem to forget his godfather is doing rounds when you sneak out after curfew (❀𖤐)

✩ it's a date - when harry and his parents see you in diagon alley, they are surprised to see the sudden change in behaviour you have at your parents' presence. but that won't stop harry from getting his kiss. (❀𖤓)

✩ heavy dresses, tight corsets - in the guise of having a sleepover with daphne, you go over to harry's house, where you can finally take this stupid dress off. (❀)

✩ people are watching - it seems that you begin to care less and less who gets to see the true side of your parents. and apparently, so do they. (❀𖤓)

✩ the talk - when james potter catches you and his son making out in his bedroom, he excitedly goes to tell his wife. but he isn't expecting her to call you both down for a talk no one can take seriously. (❀𖤐) COMING SOON

✩ pass the wrench - when james enters his living room and can't find harry to help him fix something, he decides you're fit to help with the job. after all, you're practically already his daughter in law. (❀𖤐) COMING SOON

✩ be my baby - another night at the potter household reveals that you love one of harry's least favourite songs, a.k.a his dad's all time favourite. (❀) COMING SOON

[buttersuaa]

OMG OMG OMG A HARRY FIC??!?!🫦🫦🥰🥰

[expectodeer]

Happy Endings

dedicated to @potterheadlovespotter (hope you like it <3)

Peaceful Wakeups II

“Do you believe in happy endings?"

The ringing in your ears quieted as you turned toward the voice, lifting your head from Harry's shoulder. Rubble surrounded you, and dust clung to both your skins, settling in every crease and fold like ash. The Great Hall was filled with survivors, moving and murmuring in a daze, but none of it felt real.

They had done it. Voldemort was gone. The war was over. And yet the acid in your throat, the one that had risen the moment you stepped back into Hogwarts, refused to leave.

Everything around you seemed distant, suspended in a dream you couldn’t wake from. You didn’t feel real. You weren’t sure if you ever would again.

Harry’s voice had barely broken the air when he spoke. His eyes were fixed on the bodies being carried from the room, the light in them dimmed and washed out. Your gaze followed his, and that burn in your throat deepened, spreading through you like something toxic.

His arm stayed wrapped around you, his hand pressed tightly to your shoulder, and though you could feel it, the sensation was muted. It was too comforting, too grounding.

You forced yourself to swallow.

“Do you?”

The words slipped from your mouth, soft and uncertain, hanging in the quiet space between you. You turned to look at him again, searching his face, unsure what you hoped to find. The green of his eyes looked darker than usual in the dimming light, and his skin was littered with cuts and bruises, each one caked with soot and dried blood.

He looked different now.

His cheeks were hollow, lips graying. His face had thinned so much it almost didn’t look like him. For a moment, you wondered if he really was alive.

Your stomach twisted.

Your mind went back to that moment, just before he slipped from Hagrid’s arms. When Voldemort announced him dead. When McGonagall screamed, so loud it felt like the walls should have shattered. When your breath caught in your throat and didn’t return, and the sound in your ears grew so sharp and overwhelming that you couldn’t hear anything else. When the cold had crept into your bones and made a home there.

You weren’t sure if you had stopped breathing by choice or by instinct.

You weren’t sure how you ever started again.

His fingers tightened on your shoulder, drawing you back to the present. He turned toward you slowly, and the movement made something sink inside your chest. His face was too pale, too quiet. The grey in his skin made the ruins around you seem more vibrant by comparison. But his eyes, though dulled for hours, now flickered with something small and warm. Like the reflection of a flame in still water.

His thumb brushed gently across your skin.

“Not really,” he said, voice hoarse and rough. He didn’t look away. “But I…”

The words caught, and his expression shifted. He closed his eyes for a moment, eyebrows knitting together as he drew a slow, unsteady breath. When he opened them again, he leaned forward, pressing his lips softly to your forehead. He lingered there before resting his head against yours.

“I could have lost you today,” he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. “If happy endings exist, it’s because I got a second chance at a life with you.”

Your breath hitched, and a tremble moved through you as the sting behind your eyes grew stronger. You wanted to blame the dirt, the dust, the smoke still hanging in the air, but your shaking shoulders and the quiet hiccup that escaped your lips betrayed the truth.

Harry’s arms closed around you, pulling you closer, his hand slipping into your hair as you broke. You cried into his shoulder, letting the sobs come, breathing in the scent of battle still clinging to his clothes.

For the first time in hours, you could feel again. The air touched your skin. His warmth held you. His breath brushed your cheek. Your heart was beating.

So was his.

And for the first time, you began to wonder.

Maybe happy endings were possible after all.

—

Four Months Later.

Harry rubbed his hands over his pants, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Sweat glistened across his neck and forehead in the fireplace lighting as he stood nervously in the living room, anxiously checking the placements of the flowers and candles.

Sweat clung to his palms and his body burned like he was standing in the fire. He let out a few quick breaths, closing his eyes as he swallowed the bile in his throat.

What if it's too soon?

His stomach twisted and he brought a fist to his hair, his chest constricting as he took in a deep breath.

The image of you flooded his mind. Your smile, growing ever brighter as the pain of war faded into memory, and the way your eyes sparkled like his own private constellation. A quiet warmth washed over him, settling deep into his bones.

"I'm going to marry you one day," his voice echoed, young and naive, spoken before the fire of his prophecy took hold of his fate. Back when your touch was playful, haunted by nothing heavier than fairytales.

“Promise?”

“I swear it."

The front door opened with a soft click, startling him. He turned just as you stepped inside, your head lowered, eyes fixed on the leather-bound book in your hands. Too caught in thought, you slipped off your jacket without noticing the boy watching you, his heart burning like fire in his chest.

"How was Luna?"

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice. Candlelight bathed the walls in gold, casting a gentle glow over the flowers and petals scattered throughout the room. Your knees wavered, breath catching in your throat.

Something warm bloomed inside you. As your eyes moved slowly across the room, surprise and wonder stirred within you, until they found his. Just a few steps away, his green eyes held you still, steady and soft, like he had been waiting for this moment all along.

“Harry?” you breathed, unsure if he was real or just something your heart had imagined.

His hand trembled as he reached for you, a shaky breath escaping his lips. He gave you a small smile. Wobbly, uncertain, and somehow powerful enough to strike something deep inside you.

Your bag slipped from your elbow and hit the floor, followed by the book of fantastical creatures Luna’s new boyfriend had given you.

You stood still for a moment, heart racing, before closing the short distance between you. Gently, you placed your hand in his. His skin was soft, warm beneath your touch, and his eyes held you steady as the room seemed to fall away.

He took a slow breath, trembling fingers brushing along your jaw, and for a moment you swore your heart might burst from your chest.

"Hi," he whispered, his touch featherlight.

You blinked, a giddy smile tugging at your lips before you could stop it.

"Hi?"

"So, how was Luna’s?"

The repeated question caught you off guard, your eyes flicking between his. The candlelight turned his emerald gaze into a forest of green and gold, the flecks glowing like something only you were ever meant to see.

Your throat felt dry, and the warmth rising in your chest spread through your limbs, making your skin tingle.

"I… good," you said softly, your voice barely more than a breath. "She made cranberry pie.”

A quiet hum left him as he swallowed, his gaze still locked on yours. If you were right about what he was about to do, then this was him trying to steady his nerves, letting your presence settle the chaos he was carrying.

You let his gaze hold yours, letting yourself fall into him for a few moments. His grip tightened now and then, as if he needed the grounding, but eventually, the pounding in your chest became too much to ignore.

“Harry, what’s going on? What is all this?”

He took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before his shoulders eased into a calmer posture. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he looked at you, then stepped back slightly, gesturing around the room.

“This… is me keeping my promise.”

Your brows drew together as he turned to the fireplace mantel and picked up a torn leather journal. His fingers glided over the worn edges, and something in you stirred.

You recognized it.

It was the same journal he wrote in during the hunt for Horcruxes. The one he never let anyone read. Not even you.

“Is that…?”

You stepped forward slowly. He glanced up and gave a small nod.

“Yeah. It got a little ruined, but…”

His hand brushed across his bottom lip before he stepped closer again, now standing directly in front of you. He swallowed hard, his eyes locking with yours.

“I lied,” he said, voice low and rough. “There aren’t any plans in here. No strategies. No theories. At least, not about Horcruxes. Or Voldemort. Or any of it.”

Your lips parted, confused.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“No,” he said gently, “I think you do.”

He reached for your hand and placed it over the journal. You curled your fingers around it, letting him guide it into your grasp. But your eyes never left his.

“Open it,” he whispered.

You inhaled, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you carefully opened the book. The leather creaked softly beneath your fingers.

On the very first page was your name, written in his messy but beautiful handwriting. You’d always thought your name looked loveliest when he said it or when you saw it in his writing.

You traced it lightly, your hand trembling. Your teeth caught your bottom lip as you swallowed, then turned the page.

14 September 1991

The day I finally had the courage to talk to Y/N Y/L/N.

She was wearing this soft yellow dress with tiny daisies along the hem, like she’d stepped out of a herbology handbook.

Her boots were scuffed and muddy, probably from following Professor Sprout through the greenhouses again. I remember wondering if she even noticed the mess, or if she liked the feeling of dirt under her soles.

There was a streak of soil on her cheek, and a leaf caught in her hair. She didn’t seem to mind either.

I think I stared too long. She caught me once, but she just smiled and kept rambling to Sprout about some magical seedling I couldn’t pronounce. I didn’t understand half the words, but I remember the sound of her voice. It was fast and warm and full of life.

I told her I needed help in Charms. I didn’t. I had finished the assignment the night before. But I needed an excuse. I needed a reason to hear her speak to me the way she spoke to the plants. And when she looked up, bright-eyed and eager, and said “Of course I’ll help,” I felt something shift.

She sat beside me on the grass later that day. Our robes got damp and I didn’t care. I don’t think she did either. She smelled like vanilla and honeysuckle. I kept pretending not to understand the lesson just to keep her talking.

It’s strange, really. I’ve fought monsters. I’ve faced death. But to this day, nothing scared me more than asking her for help with a spell I already knew.

—

Your eyes fluttered as you flipped through the pages, date after date slipping past your fingers like falling leaves. The sting behind your eyes returned, that familiar blur rising as you blinked quickly to keep the tears at bay.

Every page held pieces of you. Little moments, quiet memories, things you thought no one would remember.

But he had.

He remembered everything.

7 June 1994

I don’t know why I said it. Or maybe I do. Maybe I’ve always known.

I told Y/N I was going to marry her.

We weren’t even really dating yet. Not officially. But I think we both knew. There was something about us that felt settled, like it had already been decided long before we ever said it out loud.

She looked so pretty that day. A little tired, still aching, her arm tucked in a sling from the night before, but there was this light in her. She still smiled like she wasn’t hurting. Like helping me had been worth it.

It was the night we saved Sirius. The night I thought I might lose her. That feeling, watching her run into danger just because I was there, it stayed with me. It never really left.

The next morning, she sat down beside me on the grass. She didn’t say anything at first, just leaned into the quiet like she always did. And then she gave me that smile. The one that unravels everything, and I knew I could spend a lifetime chasing it.

So I said it.

“I’m going to marry you one day.”

She blinked, then laughed. Not because she didn’t believe me, but like she hadn’t expected it to come so soon. Then she looked at me, serious all of a sudden, and made me promise.

I didn’t even hesitate.

—

“You were still wearing those awful brown boots that day.”

Harry’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as he watched your finger trace along the page. Your tear-glossed eyes lifted to meet his, and he gave you that smile. The one that always made your stomach flutter, no matter how many times you’d seen it.

He reached up and gently wiped a tear from your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you were crying.

“Harry…”

His thumb lingered softly against your skin as he spoke again, his voice barely more than breath.

“I needed to write it all down. Just in case.” His gaze shimmered, and through your blurry vision, you saw it. The mist in his eyes. “If anything happened to me, I needed you to know what you meant to me. That I never loved anyone the way I love you.”

You inhaled sharply, trying to swallow the knot rising in your throat. No words came. It felt like your voice had been sealed away, caught under the weight of everything you were feeling.

Harry didn’t wait for you to speak. His hands moved gently over the journal, turning the pages with care until he found the one he was looking for, near the back.

You looked down as he stopped.

Your breath caught.

If We Get Tomorrow

1. Propose.

2. Build a life with her.

3. Wake up beside her every day.

4. Make her laugh for the rest of my life.

5. Never let go.

You gasped softly as your eyes fell to the bottom of the page.

Y/N Y/L/N, I’m going to love you forever.

When you looked up, the air caught in your throat. Harry was already reaching into his pocket, slowly pulling out a small box as he sank down on one knee. Your legs wobbled beneath you as you closed the journal with trembling hands, letting it fall to your side.

He opened the box with care, revealing a ring, delicate and steady in his shaking fingers.

“I told you once that if happy endings exist, it’s because I got to live this life with you,” he said, his voice low and unsteady. “And I meant it. You’re my happy ending, Y/N.”

You brought a hand to your mouth, trying to stop the sound that rose in your throat. Tears spilled freely now as you slowly sank to your knees, letting the journal slip from your grasp.

The ring shimmered in the candlelight, but it wasn’t what held you in place. It was his eyes. Clear and green and full of something that felt like forever.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered.

You couldn’t speak. Your voice was caught somewhere between disbelief and joy, and all you could do was nod, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve.

“Harry,” you finally breathed, your voice cracking. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

He exhaled, long and deep, like he’d been holding that breath for years. Then he smiled. It was bright and boyish, pure in a way you hadn’t seen in so long.

He reached for your hand and slid the ring onto your finger, his touch soft and reverent.

“You have no idea how scary that was.”

You let out a tearful laugh, still wiping your cheeks as he leaned in and pulled you close. His hands cradled your face as his lips met yours. The kiss was warm and salty from the tears, but soft and certain, like everything had finally fallen into place.

“I’m going to love you forever,” you whispered against his lips, the words trembling with truth, echoing the ones he had written with shaking hands and a hopeful heart.

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, like he was memorizing the moment. His fingers brushed softly along your bottom lip, tender and slow, as if grounding himself in your presence.

“Promise?” he asked, barely more than breath, but everything in him was in that question.

“I vow it,” you murmured.

Bonus Scene:

7th June 1994

You hopped down the steps of the courtyard, your left arm resting carefully in a sling. It didn’t hurt much anymore, not after Madame Pomfrey worked her magic, but it was still too weak to use, which frustrated you more than you’d admit.

Then again, that was the least of your worries right now.

Harry could barely look you in the eyes after last night.

You shouldn’t have been surprised. After three years of knowing him, you should’ve recognized the guilt in his shoulders the moment your arm made that awful crunch. You’d jumped in front of him when Professor Lupin struck, and yet you were sure Harry had spent the night blaming himself.

You didn’t. Not for a second.

You weren’t exactly sure what you and Harry were at this point in time. It was clear you liked each other, too many lingering glances and half-spoken what ifs had made that obvious, but whatever it was seemed to press heavier on Harry’s shoulders than yours.

Like caring about you came with a weight he wasn’t sure how to carry.

Your boots crunched quietly against the grass as you crossed the courtyard, scanning the edges just like Ron told you to. He said Harry had wandered out here an hour ago, quiet and far away in that way only Harry could be.

Your feet ached a little as you walked. The boots were starting to get too small, pinching at the toes with every step, but they were too cute to let go. And they were your favorites.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you spotted him. He was sitting alone near the fountain, knees pulled up, fingers weaving blades of grass through each other in slow, nervous movements. The light caught in his glasses, and his hair was messier than usual, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times.

He looked up just as you approached.

And for a second, he looked like he might run.

You held your breath, standing still for a moment before taking a few quiet steps forward. He didn’t move, just sat there frozen. As you got closer, he looked away, turning his gaze to the concrete path as if it held the answers he couldn't find in you.

The soft flutter of wings echoed above as a few birds passed by, their flight the only thing moving in the stillness between you.

You lowered yourself beside him in the small patch of grass, careful not to jostle your sling. Your right shoulder brushed his, light but certain, and still, you weren’t sure what to say. The silence lingered.

Harry shifted beside you, his shoulders rising with a deep, uneven breath. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him part his lips, like he was about to speak, but he paused.

You let your hand settle between you, your pinky brushing gently over his.

“I’m sorry,” he finally breathed, the words slipping out like something he’d been holding for too long. “I…”

You turned toward him in surprise, eyes wide. He looked at you helplessly, words caught in his throat.

Amusement stirred in your belly. You couldn’t help it. You covered your nose as a quiet laugh escaped. Shaking your head, you gave him a smile, one that softened the sting of the moment.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?”

Harry blinked, stunned, his mouth still slightly open. His green eyes stayed on you, wide and searching, as if he didn’t know what to do with your laughter.

His cheeks darkened.

You tilted your head, smile still curving your lips.

“What?” you asked, voice soft.

He simply shook his head, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his finger gently hooked around yours. The gesture was small, but it sent something fluttering through your chest.

He cleared his throat, and curiosity flickered in your eyes.

There was something different in his expression. A quiet kind of awe. Like he was seeing something he didn’t fully understand but never wanted to look away from.

Then, without hesitation, the words slipped from his lips. Soft, certain, and completely unshaken.

“I’m going to marry you one day.”

Your eyes widened, and you leaned back just slightly, taking in the boy beside you. He wasn’t joking. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no smirk on his lips. Just quiet sincerity, raw and real.

“Where did that even come from?” you asked, voice breathless, a smile already tugging at your mouth.

Harry didn’t answer. He just kept looking at you like he was memorizing the way the light hit your face, like the words had slipped out before he could stop them but now that they were out, he had no regrets.

And then, without warning, laughter bubbled up in your chest. It wasn’t mocking or disbelieving. It was startled, giddy, so full of warmth and surprise that you had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep it from spilling out too loud.

You shook your head slowly, your grin threatening to split your face in two.

“Promise?”

He blinked, the question catching him for a moment. His lips parted like he wanted to say more, but instead, he just stared at you with something like wonder. Then he nodded, eyes never leaving yours.

“I swear it.”

You looked down at your hands, his pinky still hooked around yours, and something inside you softened.

“Good,” you whispered, leaning in closer until your head rested on his shoulder. “You better keep it… or you’ll regret it.”

Harry drew in a slow, shaky breath. He turned his head slightly, his breath ghosting over your hair before he closed his eyes and rested his head against yours.

“I’m really sorry about your arm,” he said quietly.

You lifted your head, startled by the way his voice cracked ever so slightly. His expression was unreadable. It was calm on the surface, but something behind his eyes was breaking.

“Harry…” you murmured, searching his face. “That wasn’t your fault.”

He looked at you, and the weight in his eyes made your breath catch.

“I should have protected you better.”

You frowned, heart aching at the self-blame you saw etched into every line of his face.

“That’s not your responsibility,” you said, voice soft, almost pleading.

But he shook his head once, slow and certain, and brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek with such care it nearly undid you.

“Yes it is,” he said, this time firmer. His eyes didn’t waver. “You got hurt because I was too slow. Because I hesitated. And I know people keep saying it’s not my fault, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

He paused, swallowing hard, his thumb brushing over your skin like he was afraid he might lose you just by speaking the truth.

“I don’t ever want to see you in pain again. Not because of me. Not if I can stop it.”

Your eyes flickered between his, surprise etched across your face. Your lips parted, caught off guard, as you leaned back just enough to take him in fully.

There was something different about him now. Not in how he looked, but in the way he held your gaze. Something steadier. Heavier. Like he'd stopped being afraid of how much he felt.

And then his eyes locked harder onto yours, and it hit you like a jolt.

I’m going to marry you one day.

Your breath escaped in a soft exhale, warmth rushing to your cheeks. You could feel the flush spread down your neck, your heart thudding so loudly you wondered if he could hear it.

You looked at him, eyes wide, lips trembling just slightly at the edges.

“…Okay,” you whispered, breathless.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic. Just a word, small and fragile. But it was yours. And it was enough.

He smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t just touch his lips, but softened every line of his face. The kind of smile you knew, even then, you’d remember years later.

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to.

And maybe it was too soon to know what forever looked like. Maybe the world was still too big and uncertain. But sitting there beside him, shoulder to shoulder in the fading light, your pinkies still linked between you like some unspoken vow, you felt something shift.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t sudden.

It was a quiet knowing. The kind that settled into your bones without asking permission.

You didn’t know when, but one day, Harry would keep his promise. And when he did, you’d say yes, like you’d been waiting your whole life to.

[expectodeer]

Heyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!

I love your writing!!!!!!!!!

I was just wondering, if you are upto it, can we get a part two for Peaceful Wakeups?

It was amazing 😭

AH, thank you so much!

I’m so glad you liked it ❤️❤️ I’m currently figuring out a story I’m writing, so it might take me a little time to get to part two, but I do have ideas for it! I’ll try to work on it during breaks from the book. I’m really happy you enjoy my writing 🥹 xxxxx

[lumosou]

୨୧ — The Harry Potter boys and their Love Languags 𖦹 + ♡

ꕤ — Characters ; Harry J Potter. Ron Weasley. Fred Weasley. George Weasley. Neville Longbottom. Draco Malfoy. Cedric Diggory.

ꕤ — Discretion ; none!! just fluff and love.

ꕤ — A/n ; eee i’m so sorry for disappearing for a bit ☹️. but i appreciate alll the support u guys have been showing me on all my works!! ily guys!! so here’s a fun lil treat :3 thank u endlessly 🫶🏻

; masterlist.

୨୧ — Harry J. Potter & Acts Of Service.

Harry isn’t good with words—not the ones that matter, anyway. He stumbles, stammers, gets stuck trying to say how he feels. But when it comes to showing you, there’s no hesitation. His love is found in the way he waits outside the library to walk you back to the common room, how he memorizes your favorite tea and makes sure there’s always enough sugar. It’s the way he notices when you’re too tired to finish an essay and stays up scribbling notes for you even though he’s just as exhausted.

He’s the boy who gives pieces of himself quietly, always watching, always finding the small gaps in your day where he can slip in and help without you asking. Because that’s what he needs—to feel like he’s protecting you, even from the smallest inconveniences.

Harry doesn’t say I love you in grand speeches. He says it in the way he fixes your broken quill without telling you, how he gives you the better seat at dinner, how he’d gladly carry your burdens if you let him. To him, love is action—every unspoken I’ll take care of this wrapped in the quiet hope that you’ll understand.

୨୧ — Ron Weasley & Quality Time.

Ron doesn’t need extravagant displays of affection; he just wants you. To be near you, to sit next to you, to share the little pieces of his world that make him who he is. He thrives in your presence, whether it’s laughing over a ridiculous chess match, walking the long way to class just to keep the conversation going, or sitting quietly by the fire while the hours slip by unnoticed.

Time with you is how Ron shows he cares. It’s in the way he always makes room for you—on the couch, in his day, in his life. He’ll wait for you after lessons, save you a seat at every meal, and offer you the last Chocolate Frog without hesitation. He’s happiest when you’re there, no matter what you’re doing, because your company makes everything better.

For Ron, love is in the small, stolen moments. It’s in the way he notices the things you like, the way he teases you just enough to see you smile. He doesn’t need to say it out loud—not when every minute he spends with you is his way of saying, You matter to me.

୨୧ — Fred Weasley & Physical Touch.

Fred speaks in touches—quick, fleeting, and full of mischief. A hand on your shoulder as he sneaks up behind you, a playful nudge of his elbow to make you laugh, the way his arm always ends up slung around your shoulders like it belongs there. He’s tactile in a way that feels effortless, like he can’t help himself when it comes to you.

But then there are the other touches, the ones that mean more than he ever says out loud. His hand brushing yours under the table, his fingers ghosting over your back when you’re standing close, the way he pulls you into a hug that lasts just a second longer than it should. He’s all warmth, all ease, all Fred.

With him, touch is a language of its own. It’s how he shows he’s paying attention, how he steadies you when the world feels too loud, how he reminds you that he’s there—always, without fail. He’ll twirl a strand of your hair around his finger while you’re trying to focus, just to see you roll your eyes, but his thumb will stroke gently over your knuckles when you’re quiet, reminding you that he sees more than you think.

Fred’s love is in the way he’s never far, his presence a constant, reassuring hum. Every touch, whether playful or tender, says what he won’t always put into words: I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re mine.

୨୧ — George Weasley & Acts Of Service.

George loves quietly, but he loves deeply. His affection isn’t loud or flashy—it’s in the little things, the unnoticed gestures that leave no room for doubt. He’ll stay up late helping you finish that essay, even though he’s got his own work waiting for him. He’ll charm the Gryffindor common room fire to burn just a little brighter when you’re cold, or tuck a sweet you love into your bag without a word.

With George, it’s all about thoughtfulness. He pays attention—really pays attention—to the things that make you happy. He knows your favorite snack, your favorite quill, the way you like your tea. He notices when you’ve had a rough day before you even say a word, and his first instinct is to fix it. A joke, a small gift, a ridiculous gesture—it’s all his way of saying, I’m here for you.

But his acts of service aren’t just practical—they’re personal. He’s always finding ways to make your life brighter, softer, more manageable. If you’re overwhelmed, he’ll take something off your plate without you asking. If you’re sad, he’ll make you laugh, even if it means making a fool of himself. And when you ask why he does it, he’ll shrug, his ears pink, and say, “Because I can.”

George’s love is subtle but unwavering. It’s in every thoughtful detail, every small action, every quiet I’ll take care of it that he hopes you’ll notice but never expects you to. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t demand attention—it just is.

୨୧ — Neville Longbottom & Words Of Affirmation.

Neville’s love is soft, steady, and full of reassurance. He’s the boy who sees the best in you, even when you can’t see it yourself. His words are careful, heartfelt, and impossibly earnest—he’ll tell you how brilliant you are after every small success, remind you how brave you are when you’re doubting yourself, and whisper how beautiful you look when you catch him staring.

But Neville’s words aren’t just sweet; they’re intentional. He notices the things you’re insecure about—the things you try to hide—and makes it his mission to remind you of your worth. When you’re frustrated or overwhelmed, he’s the one who tells you, It’s okay. You’ve got this. You’re stronger than you think. He believes in you wholeheartedly, and he’ll never let you forget it.

His love is in the way he writes you little notes when he’s too shy to say things out loud, the way he always manages to find the perfect compliment at the perfect moment. Neville’s words aren’t about flattery—they’re about truth. He means every single one.

With Neville, you never have to wonder how he feels. His words wrap around you like a warm hug, a constant reminder that you’re loved, cherished, and seen. To him, every You’re amazing is another way of saying, I’m so lucky to have you.

୨୧ — Draco Malfoy & Gift Giving.

Draco shows his love in the way he gives—not just things, but pieces of himself. His gifts are thoughtful, deliberate, and so carefully chosen that you can’t help but feel how much he pays attention. A rare book he tracked down because you mentioned it once, your favorite sweets neatly wrapped and waiting for you after a hard day, or an heirloom quill with a note that simply says, It reminded me of you.

It’s never about the price, though he pretends it is. He’ll roll his eyes and call it no big deal, but the way he watches your reaction gives him away every time. Because it isn’t just a gift—it’s his way of saying, I see you. I notice what makes you happy. I care.

But it’s not all material. Draco gives his time, his attention, his loyalty. He’s there when you need him, even if he doesn’t know what to say. He shows up with a coffee you didn’t ask for or slips a note into your bag that reads, Don’t forget how brilliant you are. It’s in the way he lends you his scarf when you’re cold or makes sure your favorite seat by the fire is saved.

Draco’s love is in the details, the way he always finds the perfect thing to remind you how much you mean to him. He doesn’t say I love you easily, but his gifts? They say it for him. Quietly, fiercely, and completely.

୨୧ — Cedric Diggory & Physical Touch.

Cedric’s love is quiet, steady, and impossibly warm, and it shows in the way he touches you. It’s never demanding, always gentle—a hand at the small of your back as you walk through the halls, his fingers brushing yours under the table, or the way his arm wraps around your shoulders without hesitation when you’re cold. With Cedric, touch isn’t just comfort; it’s a promise: I’m here, I’ve got you.

He’s affectionate in ways that feel effortless. He’ll press a kiss to your temple when no one’s looking, or pull you into a hug so tight it feels like he’s shielding you from the world. When you’re upset, his thumb traces slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you. And when words fail, it’s his touch that reassures you—light, familiar, unshakable.

But it’s the little moments that matter most. The way he reaches for you instinctively, his fingers intertwining with yours like they belong there. The way his forehead leans against yours in quiet moments, his breath mingling with yours in a silent exchange of you’re everything to me. Cedric doesn’t just touch you; he anchors you.

To him, love is closeness. It’s the warmth of his body against yours, the feel of his hand in yours, and the way he’s always, always pulling you closer—because with you, he’s home.

﹙@ 𝗹𝘂𝗺𝗼𝘀𝗼𝘂 ﹚

[expectodeer]

peaceful wakeups *ੈ✩‧₊˚

—amid the chaos of war, you and Harry find solace in the little moments

happy endings *ੈ✩‧₊˚

— peaceful wakeups II

The Lacerated Series | Wattpad

[expectodeer]

Peaceful Wakeups •

harry james potter x female! reader

Amid the chaos of war, you and Harry find solace in the little moments.

Consciousness stirred within you, gentle but insistent, as your mind swam toward wakefulness. You took a deep breath, feeling the crisp morning air fill your lungs.

Eyes still closed, you let the melody of chirping birds and the rhythmic splash of water against rocks wash over you. It was almost peaceful, almost enough to lull you back to sleep.

But then you caught it—an out-of-place sound. The faint, deliberate scratch of a quill gliding over parchment. Your brows furrowed instinctively, curiosity breaking through the haze of slumber.

Your eyelids fluttered open, revealing the soft golden hues of the sunrise seeping into the tent. The warm light wrapped around you, casting shadows that stretched and danced across the fabric walls. Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, your gaze shifted, scanning for the source of the noise.

It didn’t take long to find it.

Sitting on the ground beside your bed, legs crossed, was Harry. His head was bent low, dark hair falling in messy strands over his forehead as his quill moved swiftly over the open journal in his lap.

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it.

“What are you writing?” you asked, your voice soft but teasing.

Harry’s shoulders jolted ever so slightly before he chuckled under his breath. He glanced over his shoulder, and when his gaze met yours, you felt the unspoken warmth, the awe that lingered in his eyes as if seeing you for the first time all over again.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he said, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

“And you’re supposed to be up here,” you countered, patting the empty space beside you. “Why are you sitting on the ground?”

Harry closed the journal with a faint snap, sliding the quill inside. He tapped your hand playfully with it as he stood, earning a quiet laugh from you as you moved your fingers away.

Settling down next to you, his hand reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You looked so peaceful,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down to cup your cheek. His thumb moved in soft, deliberate circles, sending a pleasant warmth through your skin. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

A lovesick smile crept onto your face as you closed your eyes for a moment, basking in the gentleness of his touch. The sensation of his lips pressing against your forehead sent a flutter through your chest, and you chuckled quietly.

When your eyes opened, they fell to the notebook now resting on his lap. Your curiosity bubbled up again, and you glanced at him with a playful arch of your brow.

“What were you writing?” You asked again.

Harry shrugged, lifting the journal just enough to dismiss your question. “Nothing really,” he said casually, placing it on the small bedside stand. “Just some more Horcrux nonsense.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious but unwilling to press. He stretched with a soft groan before tugging the blanket aside and lying down beside you.

He opened his arms in invitation, and you didn’t hesitate. Nestling against his chest, you felt his hand settle at your waist while the other threaded gently through your hair.

A contented hum escaped your lips, and his soft laughter rumbled against you. He kissed your hairline, a tender, grounding gesture that made the world outside the tent seem so far away.

For a while, you stayed like that, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. Then you felt his nose brushing lightly against your ear, the warmth of his breath fanning over your skin. It sent a shiver racing down your spine, leaving your skin tingling in its wake.

His voice was a whisper, a vow, and a confession all at once. “I love you.”

Your cheeks burned as a wide grin spread across your face. Snuggling closer, you managed a muffled, “I love you more,” earning a quiet laugh from him.

“Not possible,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear before he placed a lingering kiss there. “Now go back to sleep.”

His fingers traced gentle patterns along your back, his touch soothing and rhythmic. Your eyelids grew heavier with every pass, and soon the soft pull of sleep reclaimed you.

Harry, however, stayed awake. His eyes lingered on your peaceful face, a small, almost bittersweet smile playing at his lips. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, letting it linger as if the action could etch itself into his soul.

His gaze flicked back to the journal resting on the stand. His chest tightened as he thought of the inked words inside.

A list.

Plans for the two of you after the war—dreams he was desperate to make real, no matter the odds. Through the slight gap between the pages, he could make out the first line, and his breath caught.

1. Propose

The rope in his stomach twisted tighter as he imagined what life could be. What it should be. He exhaled deeply, leaning back into the warmth of your embrace. For now, that was enough. It had to be.

[expectodeer]

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