olivia

21 fred isn’t dead #teamjasper

[lameass-olivia]

Boris: *casually snorting vicodin*

Theo: Uh...

Boris:

Theo:

Boris: OH! Did you want some?

[3000s]

[maeverrrb]

Resist - George Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

A/N: This one is such a sweet request and I was planning on making it longer but I kind of decided to cut it short, think it turned out cuter that way!! Anyways, thank you to this sweetheart for requesting!! Smooches <3

Warning(s): Fluff, George angst if you squint, Gryffindors being stereotypical to Slytherins, Reader is an absolute sweetheart and George is struggling.

Word count: 3.1k

Dividers by @strangergraphics!! ,

Hogwarts was filled with the usual hum of students scampering off to their morning classes—the chatter and easy breeze of the school at 9 am. George was in no hurry whatsoever, leaning against the wall outside the great hall with Fred. It was the usual easy conversation, mindlessly flowing between the twins. 

“Oh. Eugh.” Fred groaned, looking down the now emptier hall.  At first, George thought he was talking about Draco and his little posse of bullies cornering two Gryffindor first-year girls. It wasn’t surprising. Fred usually ignored it because it was never surprising. 

“Bloody prefects think they’re so perfect.” Fred continued, making George’s attention snap to the figure walking up the hallway. You. Uniform so perfect it looked like it was taken straight off a mannequin, Hair proper, prefect badge sharp and glimmering on your robes. 

Neither of the boys thought you’d do anything about the bullying. No Slytherin prefect ever did, not when it came to Draco and his little boyband. “Exhausting, isn’t it? The same people with them. Why do they even bother making Slytherin’s prefect?” George mumbled back to his brother.

But when you grabbed the back of Draco’s robes and yanked, both of them looked like they’d been electrocuted. 

“Malfoy! Merlin’s sake, really?! This again? Do I need to write to your mother about your severe lack of manners?” You hissed, glaring down at the startled boy. The rest of his group stilled, looking at eachother in pure bewilderment; no one really stopped them. Usually, they’d be disregarded by everyone because Draco was a Malfoy.

Draco gaped, “Hey– You can’t– Don’t touch me!” He hissed, cheeks flushing red in humiliation. The two Gryffindor girls stood there like deer in headlights, unsure of whether to run or stay. “Draconis Lucius Malfoy, I will go straight to Snape and write to your mother representing Slytherin House as head of the house—”

“Okay!” He huffed, completely red with humiliation now, his friends staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “What—whatever.” He sputtered, pulling away and storming off. George and Fred looked gobsmacked. No one stood up to Malfoy—barely any teachers either. It was clear the boy wasn’t used to it either, with the way he practically tripped over his own tail rushing out.

You leaned closer to the two girls, who immediately rushed over to cling to your robes and bury their faces in your belly. You smiled, heart fluttering in pure adoration, placing your hands on their hair. “You two okay? He’s all bark, I promise.” You mumbled, coaxing the girls into telling you their names.

George was practically choking on air, Fred still like he’d been turned to stone. It was a majorly confusing encounter. “It’s unnatural.” He breathed, making Fred nod quickly. “This may be a moment in Slytherin history. They’re learning compassion.” The other mumbled back, crossing his arms. “Probably some stupid ploy to get people’s guards down.”

George nodded, but his mind was slowly drifting away to the way you took each girl’s hands in your own, guiding them to their, letting them chat your ear off. It was odd—unusual for a Slytherin to be so.. nice. He didn’t really pay attention to Slytherins at all, really, but actually seeing one be nice felt like catching your brother having sex; it was seeing something he didn’t want to see cause it changed the way you thought about them.

“What’s the point of being a prefect if you don’t give me the password for the special bathroom?!” Gilderoy scoffed, scowling. He sat on the floor of your dorm as you cut his long hair into the boyish hairstyle he wanted. 

“For the last time, no. I’m not going to risk my position cause you want to take a bubblebath, Roy.” You grumbled, grabbing your wand to dispose of the scattered hair strands on your floor—gesturing for him to check out his new hairstyle. He grinned wider as he checked himself out, mumbling something about fake friends.

You sighed, getting up and nudging him on the back. “C’mon. Get dressed. I’ll go find Cedric to borrow a pair of his pants, leave your skirt on my bed.” You grumbled, slipping on your slippers. It was really early in the morning, all prefects were meant to get up early to give night round reports to the heads of their houses. 

The massive common room was cold and silent, the only sound was the distant rush of the black lake above the ceilings of the dungeons. The air got crisper upon leaving the dungeons and entering the main hallway network of the school, the newfound warmth highly welcome in the early morning. You kept walking till you hit the Hufflepuff kitchens, awkwardly standing infront of the entrance to the common room before knocking on the wooden door. “Diggory?” You called out, shoving your hands in your pockets as you waited for the guy who, barely five seconds later, swung open the door and shoved the pants in your hands. “Yeah, yeah, here–one sec. I have a situation with these two bloody fourth years–”

The door slammed in your face, you rolled your eyes.

The walk back to the dungeons was more peaceful, quieter. You took the long route; you had the time anyway. You decided to report to Snape early, moving to his office—there’s a chance he wouldn’t be there, but that just meant you could quickly jot down a written report and not have to go through the trouble of actually talking to the man.  

You passed his potions closet before stilling at a shuffle inside. You frowned. Turned. 

“Professor Snape?” You said softly, the shuffling ceased completely.

Okay. Not Snape.

You frowned, reaching for the handle. “If this is a student, I’d recommend exiting the closet before I start deducting points in the hundreds.”

An empty threat, you’d never really do that. You didn’t like getting people in trouble for small stuff like curfews or restricted areas; they were harmless offences. It wasn’t worth the trouble, put it was a good threat to whatever third or fourth year you thought snuck in there on a dare.

So when a tall, ginger bloke slipped out with the most sheepish grin on his face, wearing striped pyjamas, stood infront of you, you stilled for a second. Frowned. Tilted your head.

“George.” You said plainly, surprising him. 

“How come not Fred, hm?” He huffed, making you shrug. “Your nose. A bit crooked. Longer.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes, slipped a small jar into his pocket. “Well, go ahead. Strip me of my points.” He muttered dryly, already expecting her to remove a ridiculous amount of points from his house. All Slytherin prefects did—almost like they had a personal vendetta against the Gryffidnors. This snake is no different.

“I’ll give you a warning; if I catch you again, it’s fifty points off.” You sighed, narrowing your eyes at the boy. “Please return to Gryffindor Tower.”

George stilled, frowning down at her, before grinning. He got away scott-free?

“And give me what you just put in your pocket.”

Okay, that’s unfair.

“It’s–it’s guy stuff.”

“It’s Leech juice.”

“No it’s Fluxweed.”

“So you did take something.”

Fuck.

You grinned, hands on your hips now. “C’mon, Weasley, hand it over now. I won’t make a big deal of this.” You mused, and George deflated, his guard slowly lowering at your easy demeanour. “Yeah, whatever..”

You took the jar from him, stepping into Snape’s ingredient closet to put the Fluxweed back before stepping out. “Steal when no one will find you.” You teased, making him scoff and cross his arms. “No one was supposed to! It’s bloody five and a half in the morning, prefects aren’t to wake until six!”

“Memorizing the schedule’s dedication. There was an update. We have to wake an hour early now because they’ll be imposing morning rounds.” You said softly, smiling up at him. It was clear he didn’t expect it, frowning at you in return, squirmy. 

“Okay. I–I– Stop. Okay.” He muttered, looking away and scratching the back of his neck. You grinned wider, leaning forward. “You okay, Weasley? Your ears are going red.” He scowled, looking away before scoffing. “Oh, you wish, don’t you? Find it fun? Making me uneasy?” 

“Uneasy? I haven’t done anything.”

“You’re– You smiled!”

“My smile unsettled you? That’s just offensive, my smile’s lovely!”

“Oh, how humble, o mighty prefect.”

“Oh, nice one, are we not talking about how nice I was to not take away points even though I caught you stealing?!”

George huffed, pouted and leaned closer. “Borrowing! I’d replace it. I’m not evil, am I? Not like you and your unsettling smile.” You rolled your eyes, frowning. “Oh, is it? Is my smile unsettling? Scary? Spooky?”

You flashed him another smile purely out of spite, and he sputtered, covering his eyes. “God, it’s like staring at Medusa! You’ll turn me to stone, you gargoyle!” “Gar–Gargoyle?!” You huffed, eyes wide as you swatted his shoulder. “I am a lady!”

He stuck out his tongue, swatting you back. “Stony, lumpy gargoyle–” You gasped again, smacking him harder. “Well– Well, you’re a troll! A big, bad troll! Stupid, lousy troll!”

He gave you a light, playful push, a smile growing on his lips. “A troll, now? Not very prefect-like, is it? Insulting a student? I should report that y’know.” He mused, making you snicker softly, tilting your head up at him. “Oh, try me, ginger.”

He lazily saluted before turning away and throwing up a hand as if to bid you adieu. 

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, snakey.”

You could only giggle in response, waving despite the fact that he couldn’t see. “Bye, ginger!”

You didn’t think much about the interaction; you’re used to being nice to people, easily talking to people.

George, on the other hand, collapsed as soon as he turned the corner and practically began choking on his own spit as his face grew more and more red. It was all so unexpected. He was caught so off guard—that wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with you. He couldn’t let you make him like this, all flustered and unsteady. Slytherins were untrustworthy snakes. Sneaky, tricky, lying snakes. 

He trudged his way back to his tower before dropping himself on Fred to tell him everything. His twin offered no solace, just groaned and reinforced his worst worries: snakes aren’t to be trusted, she’s playing with you, she’s evil, don’t fall for it.

George knew, he knew. But it felt too natural with you—he didn’t even realise you and him were borderline flirting till he walked away. So easy. Why was it easy? He wasn’t the suave one. Girls rushed to Fred more than they rushed to him. Of course,  everyone usually felt the twins were interchangeable, and thus, it was the reason neither of them really dated. In fear of their girlfriend having a thing for their twin brother. 

He refused to let himself get hurt, agreeing with Fred before slipping back into bed to sleep until class really started.

Willing himself not to think of you.

Today has been a busy day. You weren’t mad about it, though.

You’d put all your effort upon becoming a prefect to become a safe person for everyone, older or younger. It worked a little bit too well.

Every free minute you had was taken from you. Fifth years rushing to you after procrastinating a potions assignment, fourth years asking for help in charms, third years asking about rumours and gossip, second year boys asking you to end arguments and second year girls running to you in hysterics when they get their periods, first years running to you in tears after feeling homesick.

It was fulfilling; you took pride in it. Always helping people, always being constant.

People noticed; you shocked everyone. It was so un-Slytherin of you, to help more than what was required of you as a prefect. More than what was required of even the Head girl or boy.  

George found it absolutely devastating—because just seeing you exist and act in a way that was seemingly normal made you plague his every thought. He couldn’t get you out of his head, his thoughts, his very being. He avoided you like the plague, but he still watched you from afar. It was like torturing himself, driving himself crazy.

It didn’t help that the entirety of Gryffindor House has an immense distaste for you; all the older kids brushed you off, regarding you as some Slytherin who finally learnt how to pretend to be likeable. George could only smile and mindlessly agree to a point. Then it became word vomit. A headache. Something he didn’t agree with to the point of physical recoil.

It didn’t help when you kept finding ways to bump into him. It wasn’t even intentional; you were just always everywhere. You were bound to spot him. Sweetheart that you were, you always tried to strike up a conversation as well. Always tried to talk to him.

Meanwhile, he’d be backing away like a feral animal with its leg caught in a trap. Not because he was worried people were right—but because they might be wrong. But they won’t accept that. George is smart enough to see through these things, to see stereotypes run deeper. They won;t accept that you’re a good person, not because they have proof otherwise, but because you’re a Slytherin. To them, it’s proof enough.

He didn’t want to go through the effort of having to hopelessly defend his totally not hopeless crush on you to everyone. It didn’t seem worth it, doing that over a girl he barely even knew. It begged the question: why did you enamour him so?

Maybe it was because you knew who he was from your very first interaction. Maybe it was because you didn’t bring up his twin whenever you two spoke—you spoke to him. Treated him like he’s his own person and not just someone’s twin. It seemed odd, feeling like the add-on twin, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t malice towards his brother; it was silent insecurity he refused to acknowledge. There were subtle differences in the twins that people subconsciously accepted. Fred was the name on everyone’s tongues. George was called Fred much more than Fred was called George. 

Maybe that’s why he liked you. You didn’t mistake him for Fred, nor did you try to bring up Fred in any way. Not like you were actively avoiding it, but more so that you didn’t see the point in bringing up his brother when talking to him. It was something he hadn’t come across often. Someone who spoke to him. Not the twin part of him, but the individual part.

The way it made him feel lingered, affected him enough that your face was the first he searched for in every room. 

So now, as he watched you crouch down and embrace some first-year Hufflepuff crying about missing his poodle back at home, his heart ached. Not for the boy, though it should, but because you felt like a dream he refused to let come true. Because that complicated things. 

He lingered at the end of the hall, watched your seraphic form wipe the child’s tears and assured him his poodle could indeed read the letters he sent home, before taking him by the hand and walking him to his common room. He shuddered when you disappeared from view, slumped against the wall and dragged a hand down his face.

He was screwed, he knew it. You plagued his mind like no other, and even after relentlessly watching you for days and maybe even weeks to try and prove his housemates right, that you were evil. That this was just some mask—he couldn’t. It was simply who you were. It drew him in effortlessly.

Maybe it was the definitive understanding that everyone was wrong about you that helped him grow a backbone, or maybe the thoughts of you have finally bled from his mind to his physical actions. You were sitting at the edge of the black lake, under a sweater and the dim, moody glow of the late evening. It was Saturday, one of the only days you really got to spend on your own. You savoured it.

His feet had brought him here, mainly on their own. Of course, he knew this was your Saturday spot to hang out; he’d seen you whenever he and Lee wandered about on their own. He approached you like he would a frightened animal, slowly—hesitant. 

You heard him before you saw him, turning your head before your lips curved into an easy, warm smile. “Ginger! Hi! Didn’t think you were the type to come out here.” You said with a soft tinge in your face, making his stomach flutter. He smiled, he couldn’t help but. “Hey, snakey. Mind if I sit?”

You quickly scooched to the side on your picnic basket, letting the taller boy move to your side, knees bumping into each other. You kept looking at him with that same sunshine-y grin, it nearly made him nauseous. 

You didn’t talk, didn’t try and start a conversation. Mainly because it seemed like you were trying to let him soak in the peace around you, let him feel it, enter his bones. He let it, heard the swoosh of the wind and the rush of air around them, let it ground him. Calm his erratically racing heart.

“So,” he finally began, voice breaking embarrassingly on the word. “You—You have a boyfriend?” 

You blinked at him, not expecting that question out of everything. “Uhm, no.” You murmured, making him nod his head quickly. You studied his face, looking intently enough to see the furrow of his brows and the slight downturn of his lips. 

“Would you.. Like to go to Hogsmeade with me some time—any time.” He said hastily, but you caught it anyway. The smile that grew on your lips was immediate; you leaned forward to get a better look at his face. “Are you.. Asking me on a date, George?”

He couldn’t look at you—couldn’t respond, currently in a life-or-death staring contest with the picnic blanket. His ears were completely red, and his cheeks were flushed. His hands gripped the blanket beneath him. You found it hopelessly endearing. 

Easily, you leaned over and placed a hand over his clenched one, and gave him a smile when he shot his head up in surprise. “When can we go out on that date, then?” You said softly, eliciting a small smile from him now. He scoffed, shaking his head.

This was probably a bad idea—his housemates, his own brother, his siblings and his friends. They’d all have something to say; bitter things. Defending you’d be exhausting repetition; he’d be so judged throughout it all. 

But right now? Looking at that impossibly soft look on your face that never really seemed to quite leave? He couldn’t care less if people stared.  All he could think about is that damn date, and there’s no way he’s giving up a chance to have you for himself.

© maeverrrb— don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

[voguesriot]

NOT A LOT / JUST FOREVER ✹ sebastian sallow

( summary ) when harry potter said he wanted a reason to skip potions, he didn’t expect to wind up developing a kinship with a portrait of a young witch by the kitchens, but how can he complain when her smile is just as welcoming as her stories?

( pairing ) sebastian sallow x female!reader (mc), platonic!harry potter x female!reader, small mention of ominis gaunt x anne sallow

( notes/warnings ) set during the philosophers stone and the end of the deathly hallows! part of the ‘the house of the rising sun’ universe! this was supposed to be a mostly seb/minorly harry fic but it kind of inverted because i love harry potter and want to wrap him in a warm blanket and keep him safe forever. also!!! this is the first proper fic i’ve written in over a year so pls be kind 🤍. angst but mostly fluff! reader assuming a motherly role with harry! low-key sebastian assuming a fatherly role with harry too! canon-compliant violence mentions! minimal usage of y/n! not proofread!

Harry Potter had known torment like no other. Stood little over 5 foot tall, he had felt blistering rage poured from callous hands and the bitter loneliness nipping at his guts. But none of it, not the broom cupboard, not the scar, would be worse that enduring another double potions class.

And so, the boy who lived took a left turn down a spiral staircase instead of carrying on to the dungeons and followed the candlelit corridors until he found himself facing a dead-end. It was, he thought, maybe the most peaceful part of the castle he’d seen in his two months of admittance. There was no cobwebbed ceiling corners, no scathing suits of armour, no ghastly ghosts taunting his every breath. The walls were barren except for a lone portrait frame displayed on the far wall. Harry walked closer.

It was an empty frame, holding only a background of red curtains and a plush sofa. He wondered who that frame was meant to home and worried his footsteps had frightened them off. He turned to walk away, to find a shadowy area by one of the far courtyards where he could waste the rest of his two hours. But just as he did so, back already to the wall, he heard a gentle voice.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?”

Harry’s head whipped to the frame once more with such speed he wouldn’t be shocked to feel a sharp pain in the morning. Sat on the sofa was now a witch who looked to be older than him, if only by a few years. She wore a white collared shirt with a red tie and a long grey skirt beneath dark brown overcoat. There was a scar on her left cheek that Harry believed he’d find intimidating on anyone else, but something in the way she smiled at him, the softness of her eyes, told him he’d struggle to find an off-putting thing about her.

He hadn’t even realised he’d been staring, lips parted, question ignored, until she let out a small laugh. Harry Potter had been laughed at before, he’d been laughed at before he’d even been born, he knew what it meant for two people to share a look and a giggle when you speak — or, more aptly, don’t speak. But the insult he was accustomed to never came. He felt no wave of shame, no cheeks reddened with embarrassment. In a strange act of fate, he found himself laughing with her.

“I’m Y/n Sallow. Pleased to make your acquaintance…” She paused and nodded for him to introduce himself.

“Harry. Harry Potter.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “I’ve heard many things about you. It’s good to put a face to the name. So, Harry, my question still remains; are you lost?”

“I have double potions.”

She laughed again and so did he. “I see. You know, I remember your professor when he was about your age. Terribly frightened boy, but wildly genius.”

“He hates me for something that isn’t my fault.”

“People tend to channel anger when their other feelings are too confusing. It’s easier for them. But I know how you feel, love. Believe me.”

“Nobody knows how I feel.” Harry didn’t like how self-effacing he sounded, but to him it was mere truth. Nobody else had lost in the same ways he had and been forced to live with its guilt, nobody else was thrust into the war of a world they didn’t understand.

“You only say that because you haven’t taken History of Magic yet.”

Harry looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Get comfortable.” The boy took off his robe and folded in the floor, sitting atop it and crossing his legs, elbows resting on his knees.

For the next three hours, Harry paid no need to the fact he had missed a charms lesson, as he found himself immersed in the stories she told. Of long-dormant repositories of ancient magic, of goblins, and poachers, and graphorns, and plight, the scale of what he faced seemed not dwarfed, but levelled by that of her own.

She told him of the fears she felt as she entered the Great Hall, how lonely she was on her first day, and Harry felt his heart swell at the fortune of meeting Ron as early as he did. When he said this, she smiled and said Ron reminded her of an old friend, a former Hufflepuff and renowned magiczoologist.

“She said she didn’t have many friends before I arrived, which caught me by such surprise, because I believed her to be one of the kindest witches I had ever met. One of the bravest too. In fact, she led me on one of the most remarkable adventures of my life…” She said, a melancholic smile on her face as she talked of Golden Snidgets and centaurs.

As their second hour drew to a close, she brought her storytelling to a sudden halt. “Enough of me. Darling, how has Hogwarts been for you?”

Harry paused, having barely reflected on the question himself. “It’s been good.” A moment of silence. “I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s just…” His breath caught in his throat, as millions of thoughts came to mind but to words followed suit. “I just feel so out of place. I found out about magic two months ago, and suddenly everyone has these big expectations of me because of what happened when I was a baby.” She nodded in understanding and felt her heart break in her chest.

When you looked at him, you saw him not as a prodigal son or a budding star, but as the child he was. His glasses slightly crooked, almost hanging off his nose, his cheeks red and rosy, his eyes downcast. He looked a mirror of you, and you hated it with a ferocity you hadn’t felt in years.

It was supposed to end with you, the torment of children, the horror of destiny. You still remembered the terror you felt when you first touched that portkey, when Fig told you more of those iron-clad knights would follow, when the fate of a world you knew naught about was thrust upon your fifteen-year-old shoulders.

When Ranrok was defeated and you were told you’d be safe, you were lied to. The poachers still came in droves, angrier, smarter, fit to kill with the taste of your blood in their mouths. More loyalists subscribed to Ranrok’s ideals and strived off the image of your head mounted on a wall. There was always new monsters to fight, new people in need, new reasons to run away and forge a new life.

But you never did, you never took the bait. You knew that if you left, if you abandoned your responsibilities that eventually they would fall onto another you. Another child born with your gift, and they too would know true loneliness and fear and you could not let that happen.

You graduated and became a freelance cursebreaker. If people felt unsafe, you were the first port of call. You risked your life with the sole mission of preventing another child from filling your shoes. You did all this, and it meant nothing. It meant nothing because now, over a century later, a young boy is being punished for actions he didn’t commit, tormented for events out of his control.

Harry Potter was cut from the same cloth as you, and so, you listened.

The bell tower tolled and sent a shock down Harry’s spine. Was it lunchtime already? He stood up and dusted off his cloak. “Do you ever get lonely?” He asked. “All the other portraits have others around them.”

“I rarely dwell in this frame, to be honest. I have a few others around, there’s one by the Magical Theory classroom on the fourth floor of the Astronomy wing. That’s where I spend most of my time, but I’ve got two in Hogsmeade, another in a run-down hamlet southwest of here, even have one in America.” You gave him a sweet smile. “The portrait of the old potions professor, Aesop Sharp, sends word for me whenever he sees someone come down this hall. Say hello to him when you pass, will you?”

He nodded his head, halfway down the corridor before he turned around and hoped you hadn’t gone yet. “Thank you for this. Is it—” he paused again and took a deep breath, “is it alright if I come here again? If I can talk to you again?”

His heart pounded in his throat, caught with a fear of you saying no. Of laughing at him for finding such comfort in a mere conversation. Harry Potter had long since accepted that he’d never truly know the feeling of being cared for, being heard. He had made his peace with such a thing. He was a child now, but he’d grow. He’d grow in his own and he’d grow to be a kind man who cared for others with kindness never afforded for him. He was okay with this, but now that he’d met you, he knew he couldn’t live that way anymore.

He’d never had enough material things to be selfish over, but he’d be selfish now if he needed to. He needed this again, this feeling of being truly seen and understood.

Ever since he came to the wizarding world, Harry had been told he had his mother’s eyes, her kindness and warmth. Looking at you now, he figured you were the closest to her he’d find. In the softness of your gaze, he shed the weight of his worries.

You smiled again and nodded. “Tell dear Aesop to send word whenever you need me, darling.”

His feet felt lighter as they travelled up the steps, eagerly searching for a portrait he hadn’t noticed before until he was outside the potions classroom and read the golden plaque. Aesop Sharp.

The man had a gruff face with rugged stubble and scars on his chin. His lips quirked up with a thin veil of remembrance. “I take it she arrived on time?”

“She said to say ‘hi’. And thank you.”

“She thanked me?”

“I’m thanking you.” Aesop only hummed and nodded.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, boy. Other than the fact that your potions professor will be kept uninformed of your detour.” Harry’s cheeks flushed a deep red and Aesop let out what could almost be considered a laugh. “It’s best you run along now. The rest—the first—of your classes will drag on an empty stomach.”

“I was wondering when you’d return.” Sebastian teased from the frame. “Almost four whole hours on my own with only Weasley for company.”

As you joined Sebastian in the portrait, settling comfortably on the sofa he’d been sprawled across, his arm found a comfortable place around your shoulders, holding you close.

Garreth, whose portrait was on the corner wall to the left of yours by his request, let out a hearty laugh at that. “You say that as though you weren’t the one recount all the old days, Sallow. No need to try impress the lady, you fooled her years ago.”

“Don’t be rude, Garreth. It’s sweet he cares so much after all these years.” Poppy chided from her frame beside his, appearing just as Natty did across from her.

“Where’s Ominis?” You asked, expecting a quip from your dear friend.

“He went to visit Feldcroft. Said he missed the place and wanted to see how ol’ Victoria is holding up.” You smiled as Sebastian mentioned Ominis and Anne’s great-great granddaughter.

“It’s is sweet that they stay in such close touch.” You smiled. “We must visit again soon. Adam is still in London, I think. His daughter is starting Hogwarts next year. Same with Sarah’s son.” Your heart swelled at the thought of the family of your own.

“It’ll be nice not to be the only one here with family visits in the castle.” Garreth said.

“My boy will be nothing like your Percy.” Sebastian defended.

“If he’s anything like you, he’ll be exactly like the twins, though.”

“I heard Imelda gave them an earful last week after they almost blew up her frame by the Trophy Room.” Natty laughed. “They’re definitely Weasley’s.”

“There’ll be more of them than there is Ravenclaw’s with the way things are going.” Poppy commented. “A young boy this year, and a girl next?”

“What can I say, we’re family people! I heard Ron’s befriended the Potter boy.” At this, your ears perked up.

“Harry?”

“Uh-oh.” Sebastian taunted, toying with a stand of your hair. “Something tells me you’ve taken someone under your wing again.”

You pinched his side as the others chuckled joked between themselves. “You say that as though it’s a bad thing. I thought you liked when I cared for people.”

“I do.” He smiled, putting his hand on the back of your head and pulling you close to press a kiss to your temple. “Just find it a bit funny is all.”

“I want all of you to keep an eye on him. I was talking him today and I could feel this— this— this loneliness hanging around him. He was talking to me and it felt like I was talking to myself at fifteen.”

A silence washed over the portraits. They’d seen you through it all. They saw you when Lodgok passed, when Fig passed, when everything worked against you and there was nothing they could do to help. Sebastian’s grip on you tightened, guilt stirring in the pits of his stomach.

It had been almost two centuries since everything with Anne’s curse had come to pass. He’d apologised countless times, kneeling before you with his head hung his shame and your hands held tightly in his, tears staining your skirts. You’d forgiven him just as many. You cradled his face and kissed his cheeks and told him that what happened then mattered no more than what you had for dinner the night prior. He was still your love, and you were the lone focus of his devotion, that was what mattered.

But time does not heal all wounds, and there would always be a part of you that remembered how he had to mean Crucio and how he didn’t write to you at all that summer, just as there would always be a part of him that yearned to go back and beat sense into the younger version of him who saw you as only a means of rescuing Anne.

They all knew how important the safety of the boy would grow to be to you, and made a silent pact to follow through with whatever you asked.

“I still remember when James and Lily were in first year.” Lamented Poppy. “She knew how to put a boy in his place. Could’ve learned a lot from her in our years.”

“She was so lovely, too. I always knew she’d become Head Girl. She reminded me of Amit. Always so smart but just as kind.” Natty sighed. “How’s Amit doing anyways, Y/n? You were the last to visit the library.”

“He’s well. Apparently a seventh year recognised him from his books the other day, he’s just as bashful as ever. Got red even recounting the story.” You grinned fondly.

“I remember how jealous Sebastian was on your first Astronomy lesson when Professor Shah volunteered Amit to share a telescope with you instead of him.” Garreth laughed, a deep laugh that came from the back of his throat.

“I was not jealous!”

“You were.” It seemed Ominis had a penchant for arriving just when Sebastian needed to be put in his place. “I couldn’t see it but I could sense it. You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“I couldn’t tell, if that makes you feel better.” You attempted to console.

“He professed his love to you for a year and you couldn’t tell. That’s no consolation.” It seemed he had a penchant for catching you out as well.

“Easy, Gaunt.” Sebastian warned. “Let’s not forget five years of pining for Anne. Makes our thing look like a breeze.”

Your friend halted and shook his head, a breathy laugh escaping him. “You have me there, Sebastian.”

“How’s Vic?”

“She’s good. Really good. Asking after the lot of you, Poppy especially.” The former magiczoologist furrowed her brows. “Said your research papers on mooncalves have been an invaluable asset to her work on rescuing and rehoming them.”

“I always knew she’d do brilliant things.” Poppy beamed. “It was a guarantee given who her family is.”

You settled further into Sebastian’s embrace as the conversation rolled on, head on his shoulder and relishing in his warmth. This was the kind of peace you so desperately longed for in your girlhood, this was the home you fought so hard to protect, safe in the arms of your love and the company of your family.

You could only pray Harry found the same someday.

It became routine for the boy to visit your portrait over the months that passed, so much so that Aesop no longer needed to send for you when Harry passed because you’d be there already, waiting.

You felt a kinship with him that you could only compare to the bond you had felt with your own children all those years ago. You loved your great-grandchildren dearly, but they had inherited your wanderlust and seemed nearly impossible to get a hold of, a feat made even more difficult given your inability to do… anything, really. But Harry was here, in need of guidance, a service you were more than willing to give.

When you heard he won quidditch matches, you’d leap from your sofa and nearly wept with pride, just as you did with every assignment result he relayed to you. Harry seemed to preen to your praise.

You quickly became his confidant. He told you of his years with the Dursleys, his troll encounter at Halloween (where you had laughed at another similarity between the pair of you), his fears of Voldemort, and, eventually, his plans to find the Philosopher’s Stone.

“You must promise me you’ll be careful, Harry.” You warned. “It’s no small feat you’re about to undertake, do not underestimate it by any means. Without a doubt, you’ll be trialled before you find the stone, you have to keep a clear head. Do not let yourself get distracted, if only for a moment.”

There was a taught crease between your brows and your shoulders were tensed with worry. The boy seemed almost apologetic as he nodded. “I swear it. Ron and Hermione will help me too. I won’t be alone.”

You remembered how happy he was when he spoke of his friends, so similar to how you did. He seemed to glow with the joy of being accepted not despite being know, but because of it instead. “You keep an eye out for them as well. I don’t want to hear any stories of a first year sent to the Hospital Wing.”

An authoritative edge laced your voice that set Harry’s spine straight, heart clenching at the protectiveness you showed over him and those he held close.

“Harry,” your words were gentler now, softer, “you’re a brilliant wizard, destined to do great things, but you do not have to do them now. Not if you’re not ready.”

“I am ready. I have to do this. If I don’t, who else will?”

In a humbling moment, you realised there was nothing you could say to the boy that wouldn’t be wholly hypocritical. “Just—” you sighed, “promise me that you’ll come visit when you’re done, let me know you’re safe, tell me of your adventure.”

“I promise.” He smiled.

Later that evening, when curfew had long been set, you found yourself visiting the Trophy Room for the first time in many months. You smiled at Imelda as you passed through the portrait across from her.

“Hello, old friend.” You grinned warmly, stepping into the portrait of Eleazer Fig, tucked away behind the Goblet of Fire.

The man seemed to melt in your presence, a bright smile taking over his face as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

“It’s been far too long, sweet girl.” He said in your ear, still holding you close.

“I fear an apology is in order.” You said almost feebly.

“What ever for?”

“I believe I now know the torment you felt in our year together.” A laugh escaped you. “I’ve developed a friendship with the young Potter boy.”

Fig nodded his head in understanding. “You worry for the child?”

“With every dawn. To know he’s in such danger and I am unable to help— it’s a cruel torture.”

“I know.” His hands found your own. “No child should have to face what he will — what you did. But if you stand by him whenever he calls, know that is the help he needs. The support of someone who has seen what he has and come out to lead a better life will give him the hope he needs to persevere.”

You hadn’t realised there were even tears in your eyes until they dropped onto your cheeks. It was one of Fig’s many talents to draw the rawest, most powerful emotions from within you.

Over the years, you’d gone to him when the slightest problems left you upset. You’d run to his portrait whenever you didn’t want to sit through History of Magic and sit on the floor and tell him everything there was to tell, from your breakfast that day to the deepest fears in year heart.

“Believe me, child. If he is in any way like you, he will shock you with abilities. I know you shocked me.” He moved to cradle your face softly, resting his forehead against your own.

“I feel so helpless. None of what he stands before is fair. He’s only a boy.” He knew the truth of your words, for they’d been said to him before Harry Potter had even been born. I am so helpless. None of this is fair. I’m only a girl.

“All you can do for him is let him know that you will always be there, never to judge, only to support. The boy needs comfort and normalcy, so that is what you must remain.”

“You’ve always known just what to say.” You smiled at him, face wrought with melancholia.

“It has always been easy to speak with you, friend. You were the closest I’d ever gotten to a child of my own.” His own eyes shone now. “Miriam truly would’ve adored you. The pair of you would’ve driven me mad.”

You let out a watery laugh and pulled him into another tight embrace, your chin tucked over his shoulder, anchoring you to him as you stayed that way for an indiscernible about of time before making your way down to your lone portrait to anxiously wait for Harry’s arrival.

The end of the school year drew close faster than any of the others had, you were sure of it, and soon Harry was sat before you, still shaking with the excitement of winning Gryffindor the House Cup, telling you of how happy the last year had made him.

“I’ll miss you, though.” He frowned. “Don’t suppose you have any portraits near Surrey?”

“I’m afraid not, sweet one. But I’ll be here when you return, eagerly awaiting your stories of summer. Maybe I’ll have some new ones myself too.”

A comfortable silence passed through you both, Harry pulling at him fingers and you looking down at him warmly. “I’m so proud of you, Harry.” He looked up at you quickly, a flicker of shock on his face.

“You’re so brave, so strong, so kind. You’ve dealt with more danger this past year than most wizards do in their lifetime, and you’re still here to tell the tale, still smiling while you do it. It’s a remarkable thing. I hope you know that.”

A tear caught the light trickling in from the corridor’s high windows as it dropped from his eyes, irises swimming with gratitude and remnants of pain he was not yet willing to divulge. He thanked you once more with an earnest sincerity that was so rare to see, and then left to pack his things, swearing to visit you again on September 1st.

As Harry sat staring out his window in The Leaky Cauldron at the dull night sky, knees pulled to his chest and hands clasped tightly together, he wondered how it was possible for him to feel more alone than ever, exiled from the house he grew up in, waiting anxiously for his thirteenth birthday to come.

He wanted to be back in Hogwarts. People cared for him in Hogwarts. You cared for him in Hogwarts. Here the bed creaked and the pipes clanged and the wind whistled as it came through the windows and his loneliness made him feel sick. So Harry did what he always did when he needed a distraction, he went for a walk.

The floorboards groaned beneath his weight, a small sound seeming so mammoth when laid before a silent hallway. If he listened hard enough, Harry could hear the quiet drone of conversation and drunken laughter from lingering patrons downstairs, but he carried on his path away until it was just him and his steady breaths.

“Are you lost?” A portrait asked making the boy jump from his skin. A masculine voice, deep and authoritative but complete with a soothing edge Harry likened vaguely to Arthur Weasley or Dumbledore.

Harry turned to face his frame. It was a simple model, nothing fancy enough to seem out of place in its dwelling, but polished enough to know it was revered. The man was beautiful, Harry thought. With freckled cheeks, big brown eyes, and a slightly flattened nose. He smiled at Harry’s hesitation, a small, kind thing, as though he were welcoming an old friend or coaxing a fawn from hiding.

Sebastian Sallow. Auror. 1875-1938. The golden plaque beneath him read. The last name made Harry’s breath hitch. Sallow.

You’d told him stories of your lover many times, of how you found each other just as you needed it most, how you stayed by him when no others would and how he returned the debt in kind. Harry had almost been able to fall in love with the man through your words alone.

“You’re Y/n’s husband.” He blurted without thinking, and Sebastian’s small smile grew to split his face, a deep laugh rumbling from his chest.

“It is one of my grander accomplishments.” A confident content that could almost be confused for smugness settled on his face. “And you’re Harry Potter. I’ve heard many things about you. Seems you’ve managed to quite entrance my wife.”

A dark red flooded Harry’s cheeks. “She’s very kind.”

“She is indeed. Though, she’d kill me if I didn’t ask what brings you here.”

Harry paused. “I couldn’t stay home any longer.”

Sebastian clicked his tongue, humming in acknowledgment. “I understand. Are you alright?”

It was a simple question, one he normally would’ve brushed off without second thought, but Sebastian seemed to share your ability of coaxing out Harry’s deepest truth. “I don’t know.”

A tense beat passed between them, neither knowing exactly what to say, both knowing you would if you were there, until Sebastian eventually broke the silence. “I remember when I felt like that.” Harry looked at him inquisitively.

“Christmas in our fifth year, I had… a falling out with my uncle and sister. The thought of going back home made me feel ill, so I didn’t. For the first time, I spent the holiday in the castle, just as she did.”

December 22nd, 1890.

A grey cloud seemed eternally settled above Sebastian’s head and the sight of your friend’s unspoken torment made your skin crawl. Ominis had just departed for Gaunt Manor, making hushed comment on the fact he’d likely be back within a week. You wished he hadn’t left at all.

Your worry for Sebastian had been gnawing away at you ever since the events surrounding Salazar’s Sciptorium. You feared for the path he threatened to follow, the darkness settling into the far corners of his mind. His nose was always stuck in the damned book you found in that room, reading, searching, and scouring for anything that would help Anne.

A small part of you knew he would give his own life to absolve her of that pain, a larger part feared he would give yours too.

“Have you eaten?” You asked him, taking a gentle approach with deliberate steps towards his hunched-over frame, careful not to startle him.

“Hm?” He hummed in half-acknowledgment.

“I said, ‘Have you eaten?’” There was a smile evident in your voice as you pulled out the chair beside him.

“Oh— Uhm, not yet.” He brushed off your concern. You thought Sebastian was clever, but if he truly was, he would’ve known you wouldn’t let up that easily.

You sighed, standing up again and patting his shoulders. “Up.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Up. You’ve been sat here every day this past week from dawn till dusk and I will not let it carry on any longer.” He hung his lead low and shook it slightly and you could tell he was fighting a smile. “If you won’t move for the sake of yourself, do it for the sake of chivalry. I intend to go to Hogsmeade and don’t wish to go alone. For safety.”

“You and I both know you’d best any opponents that cross us before I could even ready my wand.” He laughed, but he was slowly gathering his things and tucking them beneath his arm.

“Not if my opponent is loneliness. Come on, Sebastian. Entertain me.” You didn’t even attempt to hide your smugness as he stood by your side, holding his arm out for you to take. “How charming.” You commented, your hand resting on his elbow as he guided you from Hogwarts.

After spending almost every day of the past three months in your company, Sebastian had come to think nothing of mindless affection.

He noticed it first in your interactions with Natsai. How you pulled her into a tight embrace after she won a round of Crossed Wands, only letting go when it was your turn to duel.

Then it was with Poppy. How the pair of you always seemed to sit or stand close enough to each other to touch in some way. How she’d place her head on your shoulder and you’d rest yours on top of hers.

Even with Anne, who you had only just met, you placed your hands on her shoulders ever-so-softly as she told you of her strife. It seemed to natural for you to touch those you cared for.

He realised you were more hesitant to show affection to your male classmates. You’d hold Garreth’s arm as you laughed at a joke, but always retracted after a few seconds. But the Scriptorium changed everything.

In the moment, he supposed it was mere adrenaline, that the way you tightly squeezed Ominis after his parseltounge display was a mere product of high tensions. But when he cast Crucio, he saw Ominis react in a way he never had before. Ominis grabbed you and held you close as you cried and thrashed in his arms, hands shaking as he fought every urge in him to leave you alone and fend off him own haunting memories.

After that, you and Ominis became more freely affectionate than ever, sparking more than a few courtship rumours that made Sebastian’s heart race more than they should have. The blond boy would let you lead him through crowded areas where his wand might have failed him. You’d let him lean against you in History of Magic.

Your closeness with Sebastian was forged from a moment of weakness on his end.

A week prior to the Christmas break, the day Sebastian decided not to return to Feldcroft, you’d caught him sat on a bench by the greenhouses, watching the wildflowers billow in the moonlight. His hands were clasped before him, his knee kept bouncing, and his brows were furrowed into a deep line.

You approached him just as you had in the library, with a soft tenderness, inviting him to the Room of Requirement for some space to clear his mind.

He took his anger out of conjured training dummies and yelled so loud you had to move your diricawls to a different vivarium so they wouldn’t get scared until, eventually, he collapsed onto one of the sofas you had set up in the middle of the room. The last thing he remembered of that night was your fingers combing through his hair. And then he woke up, his head resting in your lap, your hands still in his tresses. He sat up quickly, instantly aware of how compromising such a position could be.

You were fast asleep, head tilted back on the sofa in a way that must’ve been most uncomfortable. His cheeks warmed at the thought of you sitting through that for his sake. He took off his robe and draped it over your frame, smiling as you subconsciously curled around it.

From that night on, it felt like a barrier had been broken between the two of you. Sebastian’s hand would seek yours beneath tables, his touch would linger on the small of your back in Hogsmeade.

“She always made me feel welcomed.” He said to Harry, eyes glazed over as he stayed half-distracted is his reminiscence. “She did that for everyone.” A laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “I remember all of our daughter’s friends wanted to come stay at our home just to see her. No matter how busy she was with work, she’d make them food and sweets and entertain whatever stories they had to tell her.”

Harry found himself laughing too, a sense of longing rooting him in his spot. He watched Sebastian, who he’d read about as a formidable curse-breaker unafraid of anything, turn to nothing more than a smitten schoolchild at the recollection of your younger memories and wondered what it would’ve been like to hear such stories from his own father.

“When she passed, it seemed as though the world itself stopped to grieve. Our Annie didn’t know what to do and I didn’t know how to help her. I mean, how can you tell a child her mother is dead?” Sebastian was vaguely aware that he was preaching to the wrong choir, but he so rarely got to wallow in the pain he felt all those years ago and found himself swept into its storm all over again.

The word ‘child’ caught Harry’s ears and made him look at Sebastian in confusion. “How could Anne be a child when Y/n passed? She said you had her at thirty.”

Sebastian’s mind cleared, shock melting to realisation on his face as the fact you’d kept your death from Harry dawned on him. “She was thirty-eight when it happened.”

“How?” Harry found himself asking without care for how insensitive it may have come across.

“It was supposed to be her final mission before retirement. She’d been worked to the bone for over twenty years, and if I carried on in my post, we’d have had more than enough money to carry on comfortably while she minded Anne. She was promised an easy case to finish it off, something about a loose canon in the south of France. She insisted to bring me along for ‘aid’ but I knew it was because the year prior I’d made comment about wanting to visit.”

“The case itself was fine, an old witch had written a barely legible spell book centuries before our time and passed it down from generation to generation as nothing more than mantle decoration, but it fell into the hands of a reckless wizard. Between the two of us, he was contained easily, but he had a wife who didn’t know the full story. She saw none of his wrongdoings and only us defeating and detaining him. She cast a killing curse on me whilst my back was turned and—” His breath caught in his throat.

“Her valiance had always been both my most and least favourite trait of hers. She pushed me out of the way before anyone could blink.”

A heavy silence settled over them both. A pit weighed in Harry’s stomach, stoking a fire of anger at the injustice of the Wizarding World.

His mother was a kind woman. His father was a kind man. You were kind. And what kindness was afforded to you in return? A cold death by an uncaring wand? Is that what truly came from devotion? Is that what would come to him?

“I’m sorry.” Was all he managed to say to Sebastian.

“There’s no need. I’m with her now.” The man smiled back. “It’s funny, when we were younger, I would be so annoyed every time an artist requested to commission a painting of her because it took away from the time I could spend with her. But once she passed, I couldn’t have been more grateful for them, because it gave me infinite chances to speak with her again.”

It wasn’t long before Harry felt the gentle temptations of sleep crawl to the forefronts of his mind and he bid Sebastian adieu after making the portrait promise to say hello on his behalf.

Decades had passed now since that first fateful day in the potions corridor. Harry had grown from a feeble and uncertain boy to a man weathered by grief but uplifted by the love he gave and received in turn.

He recalled you saying once how you wished for him the same family you made with Sebastian and he liked to believe that he now did. His eldest son radiated a nervous energy as he hovered by the front door of his girlfriend’s parents house, his other children stood behind him, giggling at their brother’s anxiety, Ginny stood by his side and smiled up at him with a knowing look.

It was the first time they were meeting the girl’s family, having met her once or twice in passing when they dropped James Sirius off at 9 3/4, and Harry couldn’t have been more excited if he tried. The way his son seemed to glow at the mention of the girl put him in mind of how he did with Ginny, how Rob did with Hermione, how Sebastian had that night in the Leaky Cauldron.

He wondered how the two of you fared in the years since he last spoke with you. It seemed as he travelled for auror work, he found less and less time to spend in the Three Broomsticks speaking with a painting over a few too many firewhiskeys. He hoped you were well and that you’d be proud of what he managed to accomplish, that he carried on the ‘chosen one’ lineage with a happy ending just as you had before.

Before he could wallow any longer, the door swung open to reveal a woman with a warm smile and brown eyes. “Hello!” She beamed.

“Amelia?!” Ginny exclaimed with a bright before introductions could be made. The woman’s jaw dropped in shock.

“Ginny Weasley?!” The redhead ushered her children inside to give the other woman a tight hug. “Merlin, you’ve changed since Hogwarts.” She let out a breathy laugh, holding Ginny by the shoulders.

“We were in the same year.” Ginny explained to her husband while Amelia told the children her daughter was just ahead in the front room.

“Lovely to meet you officially, Harry.” Amelia smiled and shook his hand. “My husband’s just popped down to the shop to get some wine and I’m finishing up the dinner, so make yourselves comfortable. Food should be ready in about ten minutes.”

Ginny went inside to greet the girl her son was so besotted by while Harry stayed back to hang her coat. As he walked toward the front room, he took his time in admiring the artwork lining their walls. They were all nice pieces, although nothing seemed to grab his attention until he saw the plaque on the last one before the door.

He could hear the fire crackling and his family laughing, but there was only one thing he could focus on. Y/n and Sebastian Sallow.

He dared not look up for fear he’d somehow misremembered the name of the woman who saved his school time sanity and raised his hopes for naught. He kept his eyes firmly in the plaque until he heard that same soft voice once again.

“Hello, sweetheart. I thought you’d gotten lost.”

©voguesriot 2025

taglist (comment or send an ask if you want to be added!): n/a

[blossomedsloth]

No but seriously imagine it:

You’re seeing fall out boy on a concert. Everyone is having a great time. Fall out boy seem a little excited. “We have a surprise for you guys.” Partick says. All of a sudden P!ATD come out and start singing “this is gospel.” When Brendon gets to the chorus, someone else starts singing… “When I was a young boy my father took me into the city to see a marching band.” Lights flash everywhere, and you see FOB singing “this is gospel” along with P!ATD, while MCR is singing “Black parade”. Everyone in the crowd is going wild and crying. Then if things couldn’t get any better, Dan and Phil walk onto stage and kiss, holding the gay flag.

[lameass-olivia]

Had to

[xwritingdixonx]

Masterlist

Updated as of: 03/04/2025

–––––––

Daryl Dixon Series

Till Death Do Us Part Series - Masterlist

- Daryl Dixon is reunited with his wife inside the safe walls of Alexandria. But after three years spent apart, new relationships, and a Saviour War, will there still be a Mrs. Dixon?

Daryl Dixon One Shots

Is It Better To Speak or To Die?

- After being rescued from Woodbury by Rick's group, you struggle with living a "normal" life in the walls of the prison. The trauma's inflicted on you at the hands of the Govenour drag you to the deepest depths. A certain archer is the onyl one who can drag you back out.

Me and The Devil. (sequel to ‘Is It Better To Speak or To Die?’ - in progress)

- The war against Negan begins, bringing more gruesome truths to light about your past in Woodbury. Refusing to lose Daryl, you sacrifice yourself for his freedom.

To Rot With You.

- Reader and Daryl take a stroll through the woods, contemplating what it truly means to die. And to do it together.

To Kiss or To Kill?

- You and Daryl's relationship did not start kind. It did not begin as a friendship that turned sour over a quarrel. It began with fists and insults and continued this way until the death of a friend leaves you grasping for any form of comfort. Even if that’s the comfort of your own torment.

The Lover and The Fool

- As the communities struggle with a cold winter and a post-war world, they embark on help from a community unknown. And as fate decides it, Y/n and Daryl’s paths cross after fourteen years; forcing them to confront the memories and unresolved feelings of what once was.

[orchidsgrowfromthesoul]

when y/n does something so outrageous but the fic uses second person pov

[effemimaniac]

platonically shooting my friendshot hoping I don't get acquaintance-zoned

[aurora-sadprose]

put down that c.ai thing and read y/n fics like god intended.

[lameass-olivia]

i understand the appeal but its actually such a bad app its not even worth it

[cowboylikemac]

MR.BRIGHTSIDE || F.W

pairing: fred weasley x reader

summary: A fiery rivalry with Fred Weasley turns into a secret romance filled with stolen kisses and hidden glances. When the truth comes out—first to Ron, then Molly—the fear fades, replaced by warmth, laughter, and the unexpected feeling of home.

warnings: none

word count: 5k

a/n: i am actually in love with this one bc i freaking love this song so why not romanticize it

The Gryffindor common room smelled of parchment, ink, and the faint char of someone’s failed spell. You leaned against the wall near the fireplace, arms crossed, your wand tucked into the sleeve of your robes. Fifth year was a pressure cooker—OWLs looming, Umbridge’s saccharine tyranny, and the constant buzz of Harry’s latest drama. But none of that was half as infuriating as Fred Weasley, who was currently sprawled across a couch, tossing a Fanged Frisbee in the air with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face.

“You’re going to take someone’s eye out, Weasley,” you snapped, dodging as the Frisbee whizzed past your head.

Fred caught it mid-air, his grin widening. “Only if they’re not paying attention, love. Which, clearly, you are. Always so… vigilant.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Love?” He sat up, all lean limbs and red hair catching the firelight. “Suits you. You’re so full of warm, fuzzy feelings.”

You scoffed, pushing off the wall to grab your Charms textbook from a nearby table. “Keep dreaming, Fred. I’d rather kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt than deal with you for longer than I have to.”

George, lounging nearby with a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, snorted. “Careful, Y/N. That’s practically a love letter coming from you.”

Ron, sitting at a table with a half-finished essay, groaned. “Can you two not start this again? I’m trying to focus.”

You shot Ron a sympathetic look. He was your closest friend in Gryffindor, the one who’d welcomed you into the fold back in first year when you’d been too stubborn to ask for help navigating the castle. You’d bonded over shared complaints about homework and his brothers’ endless pranks. But being Ron’s friend meant being in Fred’s orbit, and that was a problem.

Fred Weasley was chaos incarnate—brilliant, reckless, and infuriatingly charming when he wasn’t being a complete git. You’d been at each other’s throats since second year when he’d “accidentally” charmed your bag to spew chocolate syrup all over the Great Hall. He claimed it was meant for someone else. You didn’t buy it. Since then, it was a war of words, pranks, and glares across the common room.

“Focus on your essay, Ronald,” Fred said, tossing the Frisbee to George. “Y/N and I are just having a friendly chat.”

“Friendly?” you said, incredulous. “You charmed my quill to write backwards yesterday.”

“And you hexed my shoelaces to tie themselves together,” he shot back, eyes glinting. “Fair’s fair.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Hermione, sitting across from Ron, slammed her book shut. “Enough! If I have to hear one more argument about who hexed who, I’m going to charm both your mouths shut.”

Fred winked at her. “You’re no fun, Granger.”

You rolled your eyes and stormed upstairs to the girls’ dormitory, your heart pounding with the familiar mix of irritation and something you refused to name. Fred Weasley was not worth your energy.

—

The Gryffindor common room was alive with music and laughter, a rare moment of rebellion against Umbridge’s suffocating rules. Someone had smuggled Firewhisky, and Lee Jordan had rigged a charmed gramophone to blast music loud enough to drown out the portraits’ complaints. The room pulsed with energy, students dancing and shouting, the air thick with the scent of butterbeer and something sweeter—freedom.

You stood near the drinks table, nursing a goblet of pumpkin juice, your robes swapped for a black sweater and jeans. Ron was beside you, ranting about Quidditch tryouts, his face flushed from a sip of Firewhisky he’d “accidentally” tried.

“You’re telling me Angelina’s making us run laps?” he groaned. “I’m not built for that.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “You’ll survive. Just don’t trip over your own feet again.”

“Oi, that was one time!”

Your banter was interrupted by a loud whoop from the center of the room. Fred and George were demonstrating their latest invention—portable fireworks that spelled out rude words in midair. The crowd cheered as “UMBRIDGE IS A TOAD” fizzled out in sparks.

“Idiots,” you muttered, though a smile tugged at your lips.

Ron followed your gaze. “They’re mental, but you’ve got to admit, they’re clever.”

“Clever at causing trouble,” you said, but your eyes lingered on Fred. His hair was a mess, his sleeves rolled up, and the way he moved—confident, alive—made your stomach twist in a way you hated.

As if sensing your stare, Fred looked over, catching your eye. He smirked, raising his goblet in a mock toast. You scowled and turned back to Ron, who was now complaining about Snape.

But Fred wasn’t done with you. A few minutes later, he sauntered over, George trailing behind with a grin that promised mischief.

“Having fun, Y/N?” Fred asked, leaning against the table, too close for comfort.

“Was, until you showed up,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

George laughed. “You two are like a bad potions experiment—always exploding.”

“Only because she’s so volatile,” Fred said, his voice teasing but his eyes sharp, like he was studying you.

You bristled. “And you’re so insufferable.”

Ron groaned. “Merlin, just ignore each other for one night, yeah?”

Fred ignored him, stepping closer. “Come on, Y/N. Dance with me. Might loosen you up.”

You snorted. “I’d rather dance with a troll.”

“Harsh,” George said, clapping a hand to his chest. “Fred’s not that bad.”

But Fred’s grin didn’t falter. “One day, you’ll admit you like me.”

“In your dreams, Weasley,” you said, turning on your heel and heading toward the dance floor to escape him. The music shifted, a new song kicking in—a pulsing, electric beat that made your heart race. You didn’t know the name, but it felt like a storm, all jealousy and longing, the kind of song that made you want to scream and run and feel everything at once.

You danced with a few friends, letting the music drown out your thoughts. But Fred was never far, his laughter cutting through the crowd, his presence like a magnet you couldn’t shake. When you glanced back, he was dancing with Angelina, his hands on her waist, her head thrown back in laughter. Something hot and sharp twisted in your chest, and you hated it. Hated him. Hated yourself for caring.

—

Later, you found yourself back by the drinks table, catching your breath. The room was a blur of lights and bodies, the music still pounding. You were pouring yourself another drink when Fred appeared, alone this time, his face flushed from dancing.

“Still sulking?” he asked, grabbing a bottle of butterbeer.

“Still annoying?” you countered, not looking at him.

He chuckled, but there was an edge to it. “You’re jealous.”

You froze, your goblet halfway to your lips. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He stepped closer, his voice low, teasing but with something sharper underneath. “You were glaring daggers when I was dancing with Angelina.”

Your face burned. “You’re delusional. I don’t care who you dance with.”

“Right,” he said, smirking. “That’s why you’ve been watching me all night.”

You slammed your goblet down, turning to face him. “You’re so full of yourself. I wasn’t watching you—I was making sure you didn’t set the room on fire with one of your stupid pranks.”

He raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “Sure. And I’m Merlin’s long-lost cousin.”

You were inches apart now, the air between you crackling with tension. The music shifted again, that same stormy song from earlier, its beat sinking into your bones. I’m coming out of my cage, and I’ve been doing just fine… The lyrics weren’t clear, but the feeling was—raw, desperate, like something breaking open.

“You’re insufferable,” you said, your voice shaking with something you couldn’t name.

“And you’re impossible,” he shot back, but his eyes flicked to your lips, and your breath caught.

The argument spiraled, as it always did, a flurry of insults and jabs. But then he said something that stopped you cold.

“You act like you’ve got it all figured out, Y/N, but you’re all talk. Bet you’ve never even—” He cut himself off, his eyes narrowing as if he’d just realized something. “Wait. Have you never been kissed before?”

Your face went scarlet. You had been kissed—once, in third year, a clumsy, awkward thing that left you embarrassed and the boy in question avoiding you for weeks. It wasn’t something you advertised, but it wasn’t nothing. Still, Fred’s words hit a nerve, and you hated how exposed you felt.

“That’s none of your business,” you snapped, turning to leave.

But he grabbed your wrist, gently, pulling you back. “Hang on. I didn’t mean—Merlin, Y/N, I was just taking the piss. But… really?”

You yanked your wrist free, glaring. “I’ve been kissed, Weasley. Not that you’d know what a good one feels like.”

His smirk returned, but there was something softer in his eyes. “Is that a challenge?”

Your heart stuttered. The music pulsed, the crowd a distant blur. He was too close, his voice too low, his gaze too intense. “You wouldn’t dare,” you said, but it came out weaker than you meant.

“Wouldn’t I?” he murmured, stepping closer. And then, before you could process it, his hand was on your cheek, his lips brushing yours—soft at first, tentative, then deeper, like he was pouring every unspoken word into it. It wasn’t your first kiss, but it was the first that mattered. The first that felt like fire, like magic, like him.

When he pulled back, you were breathless, your mind a mess. The song was still playing, its jealous edge mirroring the chaos in your chest. Fred looked as stunned as you felt, his eyes wide, his usual bravado gone.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “That was…”

“Don’t,” you said, stepping back, your voice shaky. “This doesn’t change anything.”

But it did. And you both knew it.

—

The next week was torture. You avoided Fred, but every time you saw him—across the Great Hall, in the common room, joking with George—your heart did that stupid flip. He didn’t push, didn’t tease, just watched you with a look that made your skin burn.

One night, after a particularly brutal DADA lesson with Umbridge, you found him in an empty corridor, testing a new prank product. He looked up, and before you could bolt, he said, “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Bullshit.” He stepped closer, his voice low. “You felt it too. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

You wanted to deny it, to throw it back in his face, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you kissed him again, hard and desperate, and he kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it his whole life.

It was a secret after that—stolen moments in empty classrooms, hushed arguments that turned into kisses, your heart a tangle of fear and want. You didn’t tell Ron, couldn’t bear the thought of him finding out. He’d never understand why you, of all people, fell for his brother.

But secrets don’t stay hidden at Hogwarts. One night, Ron caught you and Fred in the common room, too close, too obvious. His face went from confusion to betrayal in seconds.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded, his voice shaking.

You froze, Fred’s hand still on your arm. “Ron, I—”

“You’re with him?” Ron’s eyes darted to Fred, then back to you. “After all the crap you’ve said about him?”

Fred stepped forward. “Mate, listen—”

“Don’t,” Ron snapped, storming out.

You stood there, heart pounding, the music from that night echoing in your mind. Fred squeezed your hand. “We’ll figure it out,” he said softly.

But as you watched Ron disappear, you weren’t so sure.

—

The Gryffindor common room was quiet, save for the crackle of the dying fire and the distant howl of wind against the castle walls. It was late—too late for anyone to be up, but you couldn’t sleep. Not after Ron had seen you and Fred, his face twisting from confusion to something raw and betrayed. You sat on the edge of a worn armchair, staring at the embers, your heart a tangled knot of guilt and defiance.

Fred was beside you, uncharacteristically still, his usual swagger replaced by a tense silence. He’d tried to follow Ron after the outburst, but you’d stopped him. This was your mess to fix—Ron was your friend, and you owed him an explanation. But what could you say? That the one person you swore you hated had somehow become the one you couldn’t stop thinking about? That every argument, every glare, had been hiding something you were too stubborn to admit?

The portrait hole swung open, and Ron stormed in, his face still flushed, his eyes blazing. He stopped short when he saw you and Fred, his gaze flicking between you like he was trying to solve a puzzle that made no sense.

“Ron,” you started, standing up, but he cut you off.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice low but sharp enough to cut. “Just… don’t. How long has this been going on?” His eyes locked on yours, and the hurt in them made your chest ache.

You opened your mouth, but the words stuck. Fred stepped forward, his hand brushing yours as if to steady you. “A few weeks,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “It wasn’t planned, mate. It just… happened.”

Ron laughed, a bitter sound that didn’t suit him. “Happened? You’re my brother, Fred, and you—” He turned to you, his expression softening just a fraction, but the anger was still there. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. You hated him. You told me a hundred times how much you couldn’t stand him. And now you’re—what? Sneaking around behind my back?”

Your face burned, the weight of his words sinking in. You were stubborn, independent, the girl who didn’t need anyone’s approval—but Ron’s disappointment hit harder than you expected. “I didn’t mean to lie,” you said, your voice quieter than you wanted. “I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t even know what this was until it was too late.”

Ron ran a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps. “Too late? Merlin, Y/N, you could’ve told me. Instead, I find out by walking in on you two—” He gestured vaguely, his face twisting like he couldn’t even say it. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

Fred’s jaw tightened. “Ron, listen. I know you’re pissed, but this isn’t about you. It’s about us.” He glanced at you, and for a moment, the firelight caught the softness in his eyes, the kind he only showed when no one else was looking.

Ron stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s you, Fred. You’re my brother, and you’re… you. You prank people, you break rules, you leave a trail of chaos everywhere you go. And she—” He pointed at you, his voice breaking. “She’s too good for that. She deserves better.”

The words stung, not because they were true, but because they echoed the doubts you’d been fighting since that night at the party. Fred was chaos, a wildfire you couldn’t control. But he was also the only one who saw through your walls, who matched your stubbornness with his own, who made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t before.

Fred’s hand clenched into a fist, but his voice stayed steady. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t spent every day wondering why the hell she’d even look at me?” He stepped closer to Ron, his height making him seem older, more serious. “But I’m not playing her, Ron. This isn’t a game.”

Ron stared at him, then at you, his eyes searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or proof that this wasn’t a mistake. You wanted to give it to him, but your own heart was a mess of fear and want, and all you could do was stand there, caught between the two brothers.

“I need time,” Ron said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t… I can’t deal with this right now.” He turned and headed for the boys’ dormitory, the portrait hole swinging shut behind him.

You sank back into the armchair, your hands covering your face. Fred sat on the armrest, close but not touching, like he wasn’t sure if you wanted him to. “He’ll come around,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

You looked up at him, your throat tight. “What if he doesn’t? He’s my best friend, Fred. I can’t lose him.”

Fred’s eyes softened, and he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You won’t. Ron’s stubborn, but he’s not stupid. He just needs to get over the shock of his best mate snogging his brother.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound shaky. “You’re awful.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” he said, his grin returning, though it was softer, almost hesitant. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

You met his gaze, the memory of that first kiss flooding back—the music, the heat, the way it felt like the world had tilted. “I haven’t,” you said, and the words felt like a confession.

He leaned down, kissing you softly, and for a moment, the world was just the two of you, the fire’s warmth, and the quiet promise of something real.

—

The next few weeks were a tightrope. Ron barely spoke to you, his silences heavy with unspoken hurt. You threw yourself into DA meetings, channeling your frustration into spells and strategy, but every time you saw Ron across the room, wand raised, his jaw set, guilt twisted in your gut. Fred, meanwhile, was a constant—slipping you notes in the common room, stealing kisses in the shadows of the library, his presence a reminder that you’d chosen this, chosen him.

The breaking point came during a DA meeting in the Room of Requirement. Umbridge’s decrees had tightened, and the group was practicing defensive spells, the air thick with tension and the unspoken fear of what was coming. You were paired with Ron, casting Protego against his Stunning Spells, but his aim was sloppy, his focus elsewhere.

“Ron, come on,” you said, lowering your wand. “You’re not even trying.”

He glared at you, his wand still raised. “Maybe I don’t feel like helping you and Fred play happy couple.”

The room went quiet, heads turning. Harry, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow but stayed out of it. You felt Fred’s presence across the room, his eyes on you, but you kept your focus on Ron. Fred gave everyone in the room a look reminding them to mind their own business.

“That’s not fair,” you said, your voice low but firm. “You’re mad, I get it. But shutting me out isn’t going to fix anything.”

Ron’s face reddened. “You lied to me, Y/N. You and Fred, sneaking around like I’m some idiot who wouldn’t notice. How am I supposed to trust you?”

Your temper flared, but you forced it down. “I didn’t lie. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t even know what I felt until it was too much to ignore.” You stepped closer, your voice softening. “You’re my best friend, Ron. I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

He looked away, his jaw tight, but you could see the fight draining out of him. “It’s just… weird. You and Fred. He’s my brother, and you’re… you. I thought you hated him.”

“I did,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Or I thought I did. Turns out, he’s not so awful.”

Fred, who’d been pretending not to listen, snorted from across the room. “High praise, love.”

You shot him a glare, but there was no heat in it. Ron looked between you, his expression softening, though he still looked like he’d swallowed a sour Bertie Bott’s bean.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said finally, his voice low. “Fred’s… Fred. He’s not exactly known for being serious.”

Fred walked over, his usual grin replaced by something steadier. “I’m serious about her,” he said, his eyes on Ron. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Ron studied him, then you, and something shifted in his gaze-acceptance, maybe, or at least the start of it. “Fine,” he said, exhaling sharply. “But if you break her heart, I’ll hex you into next week. Brother or not.”

Fred’s grin returned, full force. “Deal.”

—

The resolution wasn’t instant. Ron was awkward for days, his conversations with you stilted, but he stopped avoiding you. You caught him watching you and Fred sometimes, his expression a mix of curiosity and resignation, but he didn’t pull away again.

The real turning point came during a chaotic night in the Great Hall. Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad had raided a DA meeting, and you, Fred, and Ron ended up in detention together, scrubbing cauldrons under Filch’s gleeful supervision. Fred, predictably, turned it into a game, flicking soap suds at you when Filch wasn’t looking. You retaliated, splashing him with water, and soon you were both laughing, your hands brushing as you reached for the same sponge.

Ron groaned, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “You two are disgusting.”

You froze, expecting another argument, but Fred just grinned. “Jealous, Ronniekins?”

Ron rolled his eyes, but he flicked a sud at Fred, and for the first time in weeks, the three of you were laughing together, the tension melting into something warmer, something familiar.

Later, as you walked back to the common room, Fred’s hand in yours, Ron fell into step beside you. “You’re still a git,” he said to Fred, but his tone was lighter.

“And you’re still a prat,” Fred shot back, but he squeezed your hand, his eyes warm.

Ron glanced at you, his expression softening. “You’re happy, yeah?”

You nodded, your throat tight. “Yeah. Really happy.”

He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Then I guess I’ll live with it.”

—

The Burrow was a riot of warmth and chaos, its crooked walls humming with the energy of summer. The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and lavender, the garden buzzed with gnomes scurrying through the overgrown grass, and every room seemed to creak with the weight of Weasley family life. You’d been invited to spend two weeks here before sixth year, a gesture from Ron to mend the lingering awkwardness between you after he’d caught you and Fred together. But now, standing in the cluttered living room with your trunk at your feet, you realized this was going to be harder than you thought.

Keeping your relationship with Fred a secret from Molly Weasley was like trying to hide a Firework from Filch. She had a sixth sense for mischief, and you and Fred were walking a dangerous line. The plan was simple: act normal, no touching, no lingering looks, and definitely no sneaking off. Ron had made it clear he wasn’t going to cover for you if his mum got suspicious. “I’m not lying to her,” he’d muttered on the train ride home. “She’ll have my head.”

You glanced at Fred across the room, where he was helping George levitate a stack of old Quidditch Weekly magazines to clear space. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair a mess of red catching the sunlight streaming through the window, and when he caught your eye, he winked. Your stomach flipped, and you quickly looked away, your cheeks burning. Merlin, this is going to be impossible.

Molly bustled in, her apron dusted with flour, her wand tucked behind her ear. “Y/N, dear, you’re in Ginny’s room with Hermione,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “Boys, you’re all upstairs. No funny business, mind you.” Her eyes lingered on Fred and George, who both put on their most innocent expressions.

“No funny business here, Mum,” Fred said, his grin too wide to be trusted.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, grabbing your trunk and heading for the stairs. Ron followed, carrying Hermione’s bag, his ears red as he avoided your gaze. “This is a terrible idea,” he muttered under his breath.

“Relax,” you whispered back, though your heart was racing. “We’ve got this.”

But you didn’t. Not really.

—

The first few days were a masterclass in restraint. You and Fred were careful—too careful. You sat at opposite ends of the dinner table, where Molly piled plates high with roast potatoes and shepherd’s pie. You avoided brushing shoulders in the narrow hallways. When Fred passed you the butterbeer during a game of Exploding Snap in the garden, his fingers lingered a fraction too long, and you yanked your hand back like you’d been burned. Ron noticed, rolling his eyes, but Molly was too busy scolding George for charming the cutlery to dance to see.

At night, though, the Burrow’s creaky floors and thin walls made secrecy a nightmare. You’d lie awake in Ginny’s room, Hermione’s soft snores beside you, and hear Fred’s laugh from upstairs, low and warm, carrying through the house. It was torture, knowing he was so close but untouchable. The memory of that party kiss—the heat of his lips—kept you restless, your heart a mix of longing and fear. What if Molly found out? Would she send you home? Lock Fred in his room until school started back?

On the fourth night, you couldn’t take it anymore. You slipped out of bed, tiptoeing down the hall to the kitchen for a glass of water—or so you told yourself. The house was dark, the only light coming from the moon spilling through the windows. You froze when you heard a floorboard creak behind you.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Fred’s voice was low, teasing, but there was something softer in it, like he’d been waiting for this.

You turned, your breath catching. He was leaning against the doorway, wearing a faded Weird Sisters T-shirt and pajama bottoms, his hair sticking up at odd angles. The moonlight made his eyes glint, and for a moment, you forgot how to speak.

“Keep your voice down,” you hissed, but your heart wasn’t in it. “If your mum catches us—”

“She’s snoring loud enough to wake a dragon,” he said, stepping closer. “We’re safe.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Safe? You’re about as safe as a Blast-Ended Skrewt.”

He grinned, closing the distance between you. “And yet, here you are.”

Before you could retort, he kissed you—soft at first, then deeper, his hands finding your waist. It was reckless, standing in the middle of the Weasley kitchen where anyone could walk in, but you melted into him, the world narrowing to his warmth, his heartbeat, the faint taste of peppermint on his lips.

A loud creak from upstairs made you both jump apart, your heart pounding. You held your breath, listening, but no one came. Fred chuckled softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Close call.”

“You’re going to get us caught,” you whispered, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

“Worth it,” he murmured, stealing one more quick kiss before stepping back. “Go to bed, love. Before I do something really stupid.”

You rolled your eyes but headed back to Ginny’s room, your pulse still racing. The Burrow felt alive with secrets, and you were starting to think you’d never survive two weeks.

—

It happened on the seventh day, during a chaotic Weasley family Quidditch match in the orchard. The sky was a brilliant blue, the air thick with summer heat and the shouts of Ron, Ginny, and George as they zoomed around on brooms. You were on the ground, ostensibly keeping score with Hermione, but mostly watching Fred. He was a blur of red hair and laughter, dodging Bludgers with effortless grace, his grin infectious as he taunted Ron mid-air.

“Nice dive, Ronniekins!” he shouted as Ron fumbled a catch. “Maybe try using your hands next time!”

You laughed, and Fred’s eyes flicked to you, his smile softening for just a second. It was a mistake. Molly, who’d been setting up a picnic table nearby, caught the look. You saw her pause, her hands stilling on the tablecloth, her eyes narrowing as they darted between you and Fred.

Your stomach dropped. “Hermione,” you whispered, nudging her. “She’s onto us.”

Hermione glanced over, her expression a mix of sympathy and alarm. “Oh no. Just… act normal.”

But normal was impossible when Fred landed a few minutes later, sweaty and grinning, and tossed you a water bottle. “Stay hydrated, love,” he said, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

Molly’s head snapped up like a hawk spotting prey. “Fred Gideon Weasley,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “What did you just call her?”

The orchard went quiet. Ron, still hovering on his broom, looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. George snorted, clearly enjoying the chaos. You felt your face heat up, your stubborn streak urging you to stand your ground, but your heart was pounding.

Fred, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “I called her love,” he said, meeting his mother’s gaze. “Because that’s what she is.”

You wanted to throttle him for being so bold, but your heart did a stupid flip at his words. Molly’s eyes widened, then flicked to you, her expression a mix of shock and something softer—concern, maybe, or realization.

“Y/N, dear,” she said, her voice softening but still firm. “Is this true?”

You swallowed, your independence warring with the urge to hide. But Fred’s hand brushed yours, a quiet anchor, and you found your voice. “Yeah,” you said, lifting your chin. “It’s true.”

Ron landed with a thud, muttering, “Here we go.”

Molly’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked at Fred, then you, then back at Fred, her hands on her hips. “And you thought you could keep this from me? In my own house?”

“We weren’t sure how you’d take it,” you said, your voice steady despite the nerves. “Didn’t want to make things weird.”

“Weird?” Molly’s voice rose, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re sneaking around under my roof, and you think that’s not weird?” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Merlin’s beard, you two. I raised seven children—I know when something’s going on.”

Fred grinned, undeterred. “So you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad,” Molly said, pointing a finger at him. “Mad you didn’t tell me! And you—” She turned to you, her expression softening. “Y/N, you’re practically family already, but you’re still a guest in my home. I expect honesty. And no sneaking off to the broom shed, understand?”

Your face burned, but you nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Weasley.”

She huffed, then pulled you into a sudden, bone-crushing hug. “Oh, come here. If you’re going to be with my Fred, you’d better get used to this.”

Fred laughed, but there was relief in his eyes as he met yours over his mother’s shoulder. Ron, still hovering nearby, groaned. “Can we go back to Quidditch now? This is too much.”

George zoomed down, clapping Fred on the back. “Told you she’d figure it out. Mum’s got eyes like a Niffler.”

The rest of the day was a blur of Molly’s overbearing warmth—she insisted on setting an extra place for you at the table, as if you were officially part of the family now—and Fred’s teasing, his hand finding yours under the table when no one was looking. The Burrow’s chaos wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and as you sat in the garden that night, Fred’s arm around you, Ron bickering with George, and Molly’s laughter drifting from the kitchen, you realized you’d found something you hadn’t known you were looking for.

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[babyouran]

Honey's Three Bitter Days! - when an unexpected toothache occurs in the one obsessed with the sugary treats, it turns the whole club upside down. will the members be able to deal with the new honey?

Pairing - fem!reader x host club

A part of - ouran add in

"Now you've done it!" Tamaki exclaimed.

"It's done, all right?" Hikaru spoke, the three boys looking at the spilt teacups and massive tea stain all over the dear Usa-chan plushie. The tea was quickly seeping into the material of the plush, a new scent covering the item. 

"But it wasn't our fault," Kaoru added.

"What? You idiots! You're the ones who bumped into it, right?" Tamaki stared at the precious stuffie, worry evident on his face.

"Only because Y/n was running away," Hikaru commented.

"We were trying to catch her because we wanted to have fun and dress her up in cosplay," Kaoru explained.

"I just wanted to read the new book I got," she whined, the arms of the twins stopping her from running. "Haruhi, help." She looked over towards her friend helplessly. 

"I can't right now; I have to finish this assignment," Haruhi muttered, not even looking up from the project, fingers working to place pieces in their desired areas as she zoned in as if a robot. 

"So what? We cosplay all the time," Tamaki reminded them.

"We weren't going with usual Host Club costumes," Hikaru told him.

"We would like to see Y/n in a bunny cosplay, with her mask down," Kaoru finished, both looking proudly at Tamaki with their plans. 

"That would never happen," Y/n sighed, shaking a little bit in their arms to try and loosen such a grip. “It is a death wish for everyone involved.”

"You'd like to see it too, wouldn't you?" The twins asked Tamaki.

Tamaki turned away from the group, his face now bright red from the image that popped up in his head, imagining what she would look like. He could not help the image filled with a skin-tight suit adorned by cute ears and fishnet stockings. 

"There's no time for stuff like that right now!" He muttered to himself. "I know what you're up to. You're trying to distract me from the mess you've made! Get away from Y/n, you punks!"

"No way!" They hugged her tighter, Y/n squirming in their grips.

Kyoya looked up from his laptop, seeing the girl being smothered by the boys. He did a slight push-up of his glasses and a small kick of Mori’s shin from underneath the table to garner his attention, pointing the confused man’s eyes to what was going on. Quickly enough, Mori stood up, sauntering over to the twins with his bigger nature and almost seamlessly plucking Y/n from their grips, guiding her back over to the table to a pushed-out chair (thanks to Kyoya’s foot). She took a seat, happily grabbing the newly published novel in front of her and skimming through to the desired page. Tamaki took this time to try and ream into the twins, gripping the upper fabric of their coats to pull them in close and shake them, shouting in annoyance. 

"Excuse me, we don't have guests at the moment so I don't mind if you make a racket but please be careful. You don't want to wake Honey-senpai," Kyoya warned them, which stopped the three dead in their tracks to peer at the peaceful older member. 

"We will have to tell him about the bunny," Y/n reminded the boys, flipping a page. Haruhi stood up, stretching, peering down at her successful and finished presentation to walk over near the third year. 

"You’ll already have to do it at some point; let's just wake him up and apologize," she suggested, moving closer towards him.

"No, wait! Don't get any closer to Honey-senpai," Tamaki and the brothers whisper-yelled.

"Come back, it's safe over here," Tamaki waved her over from behind a couch.

"What are you talking about?" Haruhi inquired, now standing by them. She lifted her glance over to where Y/n was, almost signaling her to join in this. 

"Honey-senpai wakes up in a very bad mood after napping," Tamaki informed her. Y/n got up from her position, choosing to join Haruhi and hear more about this.

"Well, don't we all?" Y/n shrugged and Tamaki pulled her closer, letting her now sit on the couch with the rest of them before he placed a hand to cup over his mouth.

"This may be just a rumor, but the Haninozuka family once visited the U.S. military base to give combat training. Supposedly, Honey-senpai slept through most of it because of his jet lag. Then a soldier came and carelessly tried to wake him up since he had been sleeping for so long. On that day, he wiped out two entire platoons of soldiers, and not just any soldiers—Green Berets! And I’ve heard we’ve had diplomatic issues with America ever since that day."

“How terrifying,” the twins whimpered from beside him. 

"What?" Y/n looked at him dumbfounded, trying to then stifle a laugh at the absurd rumor.

"It's not funny," he whined. "And now we've got a big problem. Usa-chan was handmade for Honey-senpai by his deceased grandmother. You've seen the way he carries it around. That little bunny is his most prized possession. I can't imagine how he's going to react when he wakes up and finds that his precious Usa-chan is ruined!"

"He's going to do to us what he did to those Green Berets!" The three boys yelled.

"You’re exaggerating. It’s impossible for that story to be true. I mean, come on," Haruhi sighed.

"It is, and there's other evidence that Honey-senpai has an evil side to him. Listen to this. His blood type is AB. How do you like that?" Tamaki whispered to the girls.

"What's wrong with that?" Y/n questioned.

"But Y/n, that means he's the same blood type as Kyoya!" The five all slowly turned to look at the said man, the one who was just typing away at his screen.

"What's the matter?" He asked, not fully paying attention. "Do you guys have a problem with my blood type?” Honey started to turn in his makeshift bed, causing concern to multiple of the members.

"This is bad; we have to do something quick before he wakes up," Tamaki muttered, his breath trembling as he tried to calm his nerves. The five were still huddled up behind a couch. "Hikaru, Kaoru," he snapped his fingers.

"Sir!" They rushed over, hand in salute position, standing straight and alert.

"Go get your folks' Cessna. Fly to Osorezan and bring back a medium," Tamaki commanded. "We'll channel his grandmother and she can guide us through it. We can make a new Usa-chan for Honey-senpai!" He pulled out a map, one that was not very detailed with locations but rather images. A pond covered by a large duck, train, apple, and other odd symbols were what took up the space of the page "Take this map of Amoru prefecture with you, and don't forget to bring back apple juice, apple jam, and Nebuta souvenir dolls!"

"But we don't have that much time," Hikaru reminded him.

"We are used to your crazy ideas but couldn't you come up with something more practical?" Kaoru wondered.

"Alright, how about this... We'll send Usa-chan to the cleaners, Y/n!" Tamaki called out, causing a skeptical Y/n to peek up from behind the couch, next to Haruhi. "You're going to have to wear the bunny suit." Tamaki held up a large costume that looked like Usa-chan, shoving it more towards Y/n’s figure.

"Yeah! Good idea, boss!" The twins spoke, now fully engaged in the plan.

"What now? that won't wo-"

"Yes, it will; he will be just waking up from a nap and won't know the difference," Tamaki tried to combat her worries, moving to pull one of Y/n’s arms towards him while the other was being pulled by Haruhi to get her away. 

"Why don't you just wear it, senpai?" Y/n’s voice let out a tinge of a whine, getting frustrated with the current circumstance. 

"It does not work the same and since we can't get another bunny, you're just going to have to step in. Besides, if the twins weren't chasing you, none of this would've happened!" Yet Tamaki’s yelling, and the tugging of both him and Haruhi stopped as they slowly watched Honey sit up, rubbing his eyes. "He's awake! We'll have to use a substitute! We've got no choice!"

The room went silent as Honey rubbed softly at his eyes and peered downwards to see the brown bear that was swapped out for his beloved plush. With no words he grabbed one of the bear's paws and threw it to the ground with such force that it bounced back up on the tile.

"No! Not my teddy bear!" Tamaki screamed with a petrified expression.

"He's gonna’ come after us next!"

"He just spotted his bunny!" The twins each commented, huddled in closely with Tamaki, staring in fear that if they looked away from the boy, they would be attacked.

Honey dragged his blanket over to the table where the drenched bunny was. Softly, he picked up the soaked toy, staring down at his ruined form.

"Who's responsible for this? Who got Usa-chan dirty?" Honey turned towards the group, staring down specifically at the three boys as he uttered such questions devoid of emotion.

"Um, Kyoya, you needed something," Y/n mentioned, and although he never called on her, she grabbed Haruhi's hand and scurried over to the empty chairs, taking a seat at the table where the other two were watching intently as well. 

"Someone help! Mori-senpai! Don't let him hurt us!" Tamaki begged with tears streaming in fear, the twins hiding behind him to be prepared to sacrifice their leader if need be.

Mori got up slowly from his seat, walking over behind the boys to provide some assistance. "He wanted tea, so Usa-chan decided to have a drink," Mori told Honey. 

"I see. So that's why his face is all dirty, isn't it?" Honey smiled, his normal, bubbly personality returning. "Hey, Y/n!" The girl walked over in response to her name. "Do you think he wants some cake too?"

"He liked the tea, so perhaps," Y/n shared, softly nodding in agreement. Honey happily grabbed her hand and led her over to a table with treats present. Behind them, the three boys fell to the ground on their knees, thanking whichever god that they didn't die, causing a little laugh to leave the lips of Haruhi, who watched their dramatic forms.

"Honey, how do you like to have chocolate?" Marika, a common visitor to the bubbly boy, wondered, sitting across from him in Music Room 3. "Mousse? Bonbons? Wait, I bet chocolate cake is your favorite, huh?"

"Um. Let's see. Well. I like 'em all!" Honey beamed. "I love anything chocolate, Usa-chan, and all of you ladies!"

"Aw! He's so cute!" The three young women crowded around had exclaimed while a blush adorned their cheeks.

"Haninozuka Mitsukuni, otherwise known as Honey-senpai, age seventeen. Ouran Academy third year, Class A, and member of the Host Club. Favorite things include cake, chocolate, and bunnies. He's famous for his enchanting boy-Lolita characteristics," Renge informed no one in particular.

"We got lucky," Y/n lightly chuckled, standing near Tamaki as the two looked out to the other hosts entertaining their guests. "Thank goodness for Mori-senpai.”

"No kidding! I'm glad we settled that Usa-chan issue without any violence," Tamaki added, thankful. 

"Honey-senpai's catchphrases include 'I love candy' and 'I love cute things.'" And while some find these charming, I'm not quite sold on his cutesy loli boy image. It's not exciting enough. It feels like something's missing in his character arc!" Renge announced in her microphone, now appearing beside the duo.

"Hello, would you ladies like some tea?" Y/n questioned, holding a tray with a few cups. The girls nodded, still staring at Honey, who was clutching Usa-chan tightly. "Be careful, Honey-senpai, don't eat too much," Y/n lightly warned, setting down the cups.

"I'll be okay!" He beamed, munching on another piece of soft, sugary dessert.

"I hope you don't get a cavity; they aren't too fun." Y/n reminisced on her younger days. As a child her butler would sometimes find her climbed up onto the tall counters and her face dirtied with chocolate. It was not long after when this habit had to end due to a cavity appearing at her next appointment.

"Oh, don't worry. I always brush my teeth." He smiled at her, taking another chomp. But this time the fork didn't come out too quickly, and his facial expression changed to a bitter one.

The rest of the Host Club found themselves looking at the Lolita-type boy, knowing something was wrong. Y/n bent down a bit to try and take a look at the cheek he was holding. "Are you alright, Honey-senpai?"

"It's nothing, 'kay?" He held his cheek still, looking downward. Y/n backed away a little, allowing some of the other club members to get a closer look.

"Let me take a look at your mouth," Haruhi muttered, while the twins tried to hold him down, working to move his hands away from his cheeks. In response, Honey squirmed, kicking his feet and whining loudly, attracting attention from the whole room. 

"Honey-senpai, hold still." Hikaru tried to keep him down to open his mouth.

"There's nothing wrong! Quit messing with me!" He whined, still holding the pained cheek. Honey got up, tears forming in his eyes, walking away to try and get away from the prying hands. "Leave me alone!" At this loud cry, Mori walked right over, alarmed at Honey’s pain, and grabbed one of Honey's hands as they fell back onto the couch. Mori's open hand reached towards Honey's jaw, opening it to get a good look at the tooth. Instead of recognizing it as an act done out of pure concern, the girls started to scream, chalking it up as an adorable act.

"Yes! That's it! That's it! That's what was missing!" Renge popped up.

"I think we should give them some space," Y/n mentioned, seeing an embarrassed blush fall upon Honey's face. "Why don't you ladies go get some tea and cake over there and we will regroup in a couple of minutes?" Y/n offered, leading most of them to another area so they could chit-chat and the Host Club could talk amongst themselves.

"No, no, this is perfect. It's Moe!" Renge yelled, while Y/n rolled her eyes at the oblivious girl.

"So is it a cavity?" Tamaki questioned, walking over to Mori, who was inspecting the mouth of a struggling boy.

"Yeah.”

"It's all right, I'll be okay," Honey spoke with tears in his eyes.

"Tamaki."

"Yes, you're right, I'll take care of this," Tamaki answered, walking away with an understanding idea shared between the two by the mere way Mori had said his name. He made it back to where Y/n was trying to distract some of the very curious members to no avail. It was a difficult mission to do due to the continuous fangirling that Renge was doing, only getting the crowd more antsy and excited. "Until Honey-senpai gets over his cavity. I'm afraid he can't have sweets. Therefore, we'll be supportive and ask that you kindly refrain from eating snacks in the clubroom until this ordeal is over," he announced calmly, catching the attention of all.

"No, no, don't, Takashi. Please don't take my snacks away. You can't. Don't do it. What'll I do without them?!" Honey sadly begged the man just to watch Mori stand up and take a piece of cake away. "I can handle it! Please don't take away my cake!"

"No more cake," Mori calmly shared, turning back to remind him of the new deal before walking away once again.

"And that's how it all began. One little cavity, and suddenly Honey-senpai's life became a living hell," Renge told no one in particular while Honey whined about his food disappearing.

As the school day continued, Honey walked the halls with a much more reserved and quiet manner. Encasing his head was a type of scarf securing the ice pack to his sore jaw. The new image of someone who was totally different than the normal boy caught eyes from fellow classmates. 

"Poor Honey-senpai looks so miserable," A girl noticed, standing beside her friend and watching the usually cheerful boy not be so cheerful. "It's a shame the Host Club banned snacks."

"It must be really difficult for him," her friend added. "I hope this doesn't seem insensitive. I know he's in pain, but... he's so cute!" They continued to watch him with adoring eyes, whispering about how the way the face wrap was tied at the top made him resemble a bunny. 

"Mitsukuni, bag," Mori stopped the boy, while his fellow classmate held his cheek sadly.

"I can carry it," Honey responded.

"Yes, you can. Hand it over." Mori took the bag and dumped its contents, the comically large amount of candy, onto the ground.

"I was just looking. I wasn't going to eat them," Honey tried to explain.

"Really? If you're just looking, then try this." Mori held up a sheet that had images of sweet treats on it. "I'll keep the real stuff."

"Aw man, that was rough," the twins commented, standing behind a pillar with Haruhi and Y/n.

"Poor Honey-senpai," Y/n's tone saddened, knowing how much it hurt the boy.

"You know, I had no idea that Mori-senpai could be so brutal," Hikaru voiced.

"You wouldn't expect it," Kaoru added. "I thought his principles kept him from doing anything to upset Honey-senpai."

"And to think he could get the boss to go along with him," Hikaru shrugged.

"Mori-senpai is doing what he must. He's just helping Honey-senpai; it can't be easy for him either," Y/n muttered, walking behind the twins with Haruhi.

Soon the school day was over and everyone was back in Music Room 3, taking their seats and meeting guests.

"It's too bad Tamaki, I wanted to give you some of the chocolates specially made by our new pâtissier. My family just hired him from France." A girl explained, "But I can't share them with you because you're not eating sweets." She sighed dramatically.

"Do not fret, my princess. For the present, I must abstain for poor Honey-senpai's sake, but eventually we'll be able to share chocolate together again," Tamaki reassured her.

"Aw! The friendship you have with the boys is absolutely beautiful," she grinned. 

Tamaki swiftly took one of her hands in his. "I believe things will work out, for the better this way, my dear," He looked deeply into her eyes. "I'm sure it's delicious but no chocolate could ever be able to withstand the heat wave of my love, so it would all melt and go to waste," Tamaki confessed, garnering a very lovestruck expression from the girl across. 

After Tamaki was finished with that guest, he was on his way to go converse with Y/n until the “devil twins” stopped him. 

"Impressive, boss," Hikaru praised. "That was quite an act."

"Missing sweets, aren't you?" Kaoru added.

"Buzz off," Tamaki scoffed. "The club's number one priority is our guests. All that matters is their happiness."

"You better watch yourselves out there," Kyoya mentioned beside a pillar, writing down numbers. "Don't give any sweets to Honey-senpai, no matter what tricks he resorts to. Oh, and incidentally, those instructions come from Mori-senpai," he grinned, walking over to where Y/n was talking with a guest.

"So is it just me, or does he seem to be enjoying this?" Hikaru wondered, watching him walk away with a smile.

Y/n spent some time entertaining her guests while balancing little moments with the other members on the side so that when she was due for her break, she was really looking forward to the peace and quiet. The room had been bubbling with the new circumstances of Honey bringing about more energy that required her as well to put more in. Though, her peace did not come as Haruhi came rushing in to tell Y/n what she witnessed, interrupting her moment to skim through some pages of her newest novel. 

"-and then Mori-senpai rejected her,” Haruhi revealed, explaining the scene she had witnessed moments before of a girl bearing her feelings to him. “I'm not sure why. She was very kind to him, but he was silent the whole time," Haruhi explained, sitting across from Y/n.

"Hm," she hummed, swirling a spoon in her tea. "I wonder what's up with him?"

"Look, Takashi! My cavity is all better now!" Honey came running in with a large grin. "The swelling has even gone down!"

"Has it?" Mori questioned, over at a table reading one of the books Y/n had recommended. 

"So, do you think I can have a piece of cake? Just one? Please?" Honey asked, jumping up and down beside Mori. As the boy cheerfully kept up his begging, Mori snuck a freezing popsicle into his mouth, revealing that the boy’s cheek was still not fully recovered, tears forming in Honey’s eyes.

"You're not fully recovered yet." Mori walked away, holding the popsicle that was once in Honey's mouth.

Honey now had a new plan up his sleeve; walking over near a table where two girls were indulging in tea, he started to put it into place.

"What are you ladies drinking?" Honey inquired.

"Um, Darjeeling tea, it's really good," one girl with a headband spoke.

"Yeah? What are you going to have to eat?"

"Well, I was going to have a sandwich," the other girl told him nervously.

"Oh? Know what you need? Some sweets! That tea would go well with something sweet. Like maybe some cake! Come on! What do you say?" Honey smiled largely, trying to encourage them.

"Well, it would be good with cake," one of them confessed shyly, weighing her options about possibly going against the new rules.

"It sure would," The other agreed quietly, but soon enough they were both rushing out the door, sadly denying the boy and offering apologies for not indulging his wants.

At another idea ending in failure, the older boy decided that he would try and gain some from his fellow members. Haruhi was not too far so he made his way over, lightly clutching the sleeve of her jacket to garner her attention. 

"Haru-chan, am I a bad person?" He asked, looking down sadly, and when he finally made eye contact, a new sad, puppy dog expression was what encased his features. "I just don't understand why God hates me. What have I done?"

"Okay, fine. But only this once, got it?" Haruhi looked around, taking out something from her pocket.

"Is it a snack?" he immediately lit up. 

"Yeah," She smiled at him, he opened his palm and she put a small box filled with kelp in his palm. "It's the same color as chocolate; try it!"

"N/n-chan! N/n-chan!" Honey called out, looking for the girl while discarding the box. Once he set his eyes on her, he rushed over. "There you are!"

"Hi Honey-senpai, We are just having some tea. Would you like to join us?"

"Yes! But N/n-chan, can I tell you something?" He muttered, looking down and posing as if he was nervous.

"Oh, sure!" Y/n exclaimed, sitting up and patting the seat next to her. "Are you alright?"

"It's been so hard lately; everyone has been ignoring me. I can handle not having cake. Sure, I miss it, but it's okay. Cake was just always there for me when other people weren't, sweets in general. I guess it just would be nice to have a little at the moment," he 'confessed,' laying his head on Y/n’s lap and staring up with dazzling eyes of hope. The fellow guests that she was entertaining from across the room, lit up at the interaction, whispering different words of adoration to one another. 

"Honey-senpai," Y/n looked at him sadly and patted his forehead lightly. "I'm here for you; you don't need that silly cake," she lightly chuckled, reaching for something beside her as the boy lit up, working to sit back up. “I have this kelp Haruhi-chan gave me earlier! You can have some.”

He deflated, lying back down as another one of his plans failed. Yet this time he was gaining something else that was offering a similar comforting feeling like eating his cake did, which was being so close to Y/n. Honey took this time to break from his plan, enjoying the softness of her touch and the warmth spreading across from being so close. She continued trying to get conversation from the group yet the guests were preoccupied with their closeness and Honey was too in the moment while also conspiring about who would be next. 

As three days passed since Honey was able to get his teeth on a sugary treat, the group had become more and more concerned about what might happen next. Honey had soon begun just pacing back and forth in front of a door leading to the beloved candy stash, clearly on edge and about to burst. 

The group watched him at a table, some looking sadly, annoyed, and even nervously at him.

"He's going to crack," Tamaki commented.

"Would somebody please talk to him? He's scaring me," Hikaru expressed, staring down the boy who then slammed the door open.

"He's headed for the candy!" Kaoru yelled.

"No need to worry. We emptied out all the sweets," Kyoya reassured the group.

"Kyoya-senpai, you seem really chipper today," Haruhi noticed.

Honey looked sadly at the empty drawers, the one he opened not holding what he was craving but rather Tamaki’s teddy bear. In a fit of disappointment, Honey took the bear and slammed it—once again—to the ground.

"He keeps doing that to my teddy bear," Tamaki screamed, his hands in his hair as he watched his plush get abused. Honey ignored his cry, wobbling out of the room as if dehydrated from candy and falling to the ground, garnering a saddened look from Y/n.

"Well, there he goes," Kaoru commented.

"Oh, Honey-senpai," Y/n mumbled to no one in particular, now truly feeling bad for the male. She was about to walk over when long fingers wrapped over her wrist. Turning her head, she noticed it was the male by her side, Kyoya, stopping her from getting up. 

"Don't. He's in a foul mood right now; it would be best if we weren't the ones to make it worse. Just stay by me so I can make sure you're safe." He mumbled the last part, a soft pink growing on his cheeks. Y/n’s eyes widened a bit, taken aback by his kind gesture and concern. He soon noticed his fingers lingering on her skin and moved them back onto his keyboard to type away, his eyes removing them from hers in a nervous fashion, something very unlike Kyoya.

"Three days and he gives up," Hikaru mentioned, the boy still just lying on the ground, stuffed bunny gripped by one hand.

"Um, Honey-senpai?" Tamaki walked over, tapping his shoulder. Scarily, Honey removed his face from the floor to shine an evil expression towards Tamaki before biting the hand that was near his face. "Somebody help me! He's eating my arm off!" Tamaki yelled, shaking around with Honey connected.

In response, Mori stood up, walking over by Honey and Tamaki. "Mitsukuni, don't take this out on other people," he spoke sternly, causing Honey to stop the rabid action.

"You saved me. I thought I was a goner," Tamaki sighed. Honey quickly turned around at Mori with an agitated face.

"It's disgraceful.”

"Takashi, you idiot!" Honey grabbed him, flipping the larger male over his shoulder so he landed on his back, bouncing across the floor. The whole group could not help but watch, most letting out gasps of horror. "A little bit isn't going to hurt me! You're so mean! You're such a hardhead! That's it. I hate you! I hate you, Takashi!" Honey screamed with tears in his eyes.

Mori just stared at the ground while Honey ran off. Haruhi and Y/n exchanged a look in decision as Haruhi went after Honey with Tamaki and Y/n walked over towards Mori.

"Hey, Mori-senpai," Hikaru began.

"That was harsh," Kaoru finished. "Will you be alright?" Yet he did not respond, just getting up only to walk a few uneven steps before leaning onto a table that just fell with the weight. 

Y/n quickly rushed over, eyes running over his figure before placing her hand on his shoulder, interrupting his thinking.

"Mori-senpai, why did you do that?" Y/n asked, kneeling down beside his frame while his eyes caught onto hers.

"To help his teeth?" The twins questioned, confused on why Y/n asked that.

"No, why did you want to get him upset at you?"

"Why would he do that?"

"It makes no sense,” the twins shared, thoroughly thrown off at the line of thinking Y/n was sharing. 

"Mori-senpai, it isn't your fault," Y/n softly spoke, gently taking one of his hands into hers to pull him up with her and stand. "You can't put this blame on yourself; you do so much for him.”

"This was my fault. Mitsukuni has a cavity because I'm careless. Twice before his naptime, I forgot to make him brush his teeth," Mori confessed, still letting her hand rest in his and staring down at it. 

"But that's not really your responsibility," the twins expressed.

"But if Mitsukuni has to get false teeth, it'll be my fault.”

"That won't happen," Y/n lightly chuckled, using her other hand to rub at his arm before disconnecting her other one from his.

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself right now if he hadn't thrown me down."

"Because he felt at fault, Mori-senpai wanted some sort of punishment from Honey-senpai to make up for his failure,” Kyoya cleared up, Y/n and Mori walking back over towards the group.

"While that makes for a nice story and everything…" Hikaru started.

"It was just a little cavity, right?" Kaoru pondered as the doors opened, revealing Honey, Tamaki, and Haruhi, who were listening to the whole conversation.

"Well, there you have it, Honey-senpai. What will you do now?" Tamaki asked him, looking down at the older boy with his angered expression now changed into something kinder. Y/n moved away, back by Kyoya, while Mori stood there not noticing the return of the members.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Takashi! I promise! I won't forget to brush my teeth again," Honey cried, dashing over to give Mori a large hug. "I won't forget!”

A few days later the older male's cavity finally got cleared up, allowing the Host Club to decide to welcome sweets back into the club. At this return, Honey was, of course, very satisfied and back to his vivacious personality. Though, not everyone was having the same excited nature at the return. Kyoya was now crouched over a desk, looking at the receipts that were gained from buying all the sweets.

"What's wrong with Kyoya-senpai?" Haruhi asked, staring at the agitated man. “He looks depressed at something.”

"Cause Honey-senpai's back to eating snacks again," Hikaru reminded her.

"All those sweets get expensive," Kaoru commented.

"Oh look, it looks like we have a new guest," Tamaki mentioned beside the three, their eyes wandering over to the girl who stood at the front nervously.

Yet over at one of the couches, Y/n was chatting to Mori, both unknowing of the new visitor at the entrance. "Mori-senpai, I'm so happy you read that one,” she pointed down to the one lying on the coffee table before scrambling to find another in her bag. “You will love this one!" She triumphantly pulled it out, shoving the book in his hands. In response he nodded to her, taking the book in one hand and patting the top of her head with his other.

"Thank you, Y/n," He smiled lightly at her, the compliment harboring more than just thankfulness about the book behind it. 

"No worries," she leaned over him to push the pages to a certain page in order to explain it. In curiosity, Honey made his way over to join the conversation. At his appearance, Mori looked up and also noticed the girl from the confession standing not too far away. He took the moment to get up and go over now with his own curiosity. 

"N/n-chan, can you feed me some cake?" Honey asked hopefully, mouth already wide open in expectation.

 Y/n, now noticing that Mori had left, nodded and took the fork. "Okay," she giggled, taking a piece and moving it towards his mouth.

"Well, Mori, I understand now. I know who you feel so strongly about, and it's okay,” the girl sighed, staring down at her shoes while speaking to the man. “To think they are so special to you,” her eyes now looked over to the area where Mori was just at seconds ago. “I just find it surprising that it's Honey, but it's so cute!" She exclaimed, putting her hands on her face with a faint blush. Haruhi watched the girl eagerly accept the idea that it was Honey, astonishment on her features. Mori decided against correcting her statement, allowing the assumption to be about the wrong member at that table.

"Congratulations! You've just taken your first big step into a brand-new world!" Renge congratulated her, popping up excitedly by the girl.

"Y/n, you should have some too." Mori walked back over as Y/n was working to feed another piece to Honey. Mori swiftly reached for a discarded fork on the table, swiping some up and feeding it to Y/n as Honey chomped on his portion being fed by Y/n. The fellow guests squealed watching the scene happen between the three.

“That’s right, ladies, it is not only Moe now!” Renge shared, jumping along happily with the girls. 

“I do not think everyone would be happy with this type of ending,” Haruhi stated, watching the crowd get larger as the three interacted.

"No, no, no! Y/n, you shall always be a daddy's girl!" Tamaki declared, making his way over to them before being trampled by the group of girls rushing to catch a closer look. 

“Oh, good grief.”

former chapter - Big Brother is a Prince! >> next chapter - A Mysterious New Guest!

an - the next chapter is one that i wrote totally new, it clears up some things about y/n background and mask. is that something that people would be interested in since the haruhi in wonderland is a bit out of place with this series ...

[fairycosmos]

god forbid a woman is boring and a low achiever and likes to drink

[lameass-olivia]

im so fucking picky when it comes to ready fanfics but sometimes i genuinely wonder who enjoys some of the things that are out there. like for one ill never understand wanting to read about my fictional crush being with someones OC, i have never and probably will never read a character x OC fic. i also dont understand how people could want to read a story about a character AFTER they died? like girl im reading this shit cuz i wanna forget that they die later, not actively mourn them

[lameass-olivia]

me: *looks up fred weasley x reader*

tumblr/wattpad/ao3: “here you go!”

[lameass-olivia]

its separate the art from the artist till its harry potter.

[lameass-olivia]

omg i havent posted in four years

[dankmemeuniversity]