blurb: pt. 2 to jealou$y. lingering feelings of jealousy bubble up into desire inside logan. it certainly doesn’t help that you look so good in your costume.
warnings: fem!reader, smut, established relationship, alcohol (not under the influence), CONSENT KING JOHN LOGAN, oral (f!receiving), john logan tits guy CONFIRMED, fingering, riding, lots of praise because it’s john logan i don’t make the rules
You stopped having drinks after that incident. If you were getting lucky tonight, you needed to be sober and ready to pounce on Logan in the right state of mind.
Logan seemed to have the same idea, for you noticed he switched out his bottles of beer for cans of Sprite for the remainder of the night. Neither of you addressed it.
“Bro, don’t be so fucking boring!” Dean clapped him on the back and tried to hand him a suspicious-looking green concoction.
“Not boring, just responsible,” Logan replied, but his eyes were on you when he said it.
He also kept a heavy hand on the small of your back any moment his hand was free. You put on a good act, pretending it didn’t get to you every time his fingers drew small shapes over your top, or whenever his digits slipped beneath the fabric when the boys were too busy laughing, leaving you with a hitched breath and a warm feeling between your legs.
When the other half to your dynamic duo, Kendall, stepped between the two of you and grabbed your hand, spluttering something about dancing to her favorite song, Logan’s grip tightened on you for a moment before he loosened up and plastered a pursed smile on his face.
“As long as you bring her back to me,” he said. Kendall laughed at his joke as she dragged you away. But one look between you and Logan and you knew he wasn’t trying to be funny.
“He’s so down bad for you, it’s hilarious,” Kendall giggled to you with a roll of her eyes. “He needs to lighten up.”
The pair of you danced to an ABBA song, laughing and belting out the lyrics. You closed your eyes and let loose, submitting to the tingle of whatever alcohol remained in your system.
John watched like a hawk. The irony wasn’t lost on him considering his bird costume. You looked so good. He wanted to hold you from behind and make you feel how heavy his—
“Any more staring and she’ll burst into flames.”
Logan snapped out of it and turned to Garrett, who wore a knowing smirk and offered him another can of Sprite.
“Thanks, man,” Logan said gratefully, taking the refill.
Garrett looked at your dancing figure. “Freshmen on the team were asking about her.”
“Yeah? What’d they say?” Logan replied almost absentmindedly, sipping his drink and staring at you.
Garrett sighed. “Rather not say. I’m supposed to be Hannah’s ‘boyfriend’ and all.”
Logan peered at him from the corner of his eyes, feeling his protective instincts start to wake. Garrett noticed and gently bumped their shoulders together.
“Not like that. Wasn’t bad. Just…” Garrett hummed into his red solo cup. “Horny.” He settled on that word.
That was enough.
Logan chugged down whatever was left in the can of soda before making his way over to you. He crossed the room in quick strides, ignoring Kendall’s amused voice when she cooed, “Uh oh, return to sender already?”
Logan took your hand and pulled you away; away from the dance floor, away from the party, and most importantly—away from the lingering gazes so many guys sent your way.
“Logan?” You queried as he brought you up the stairs.
He didn’t respond, just kept tugging you along.
“Logan.”
Nothing.
“Baby—”
He finally stopped and turned to look at you. His stature towered over you and you suddenly felt small with the way he was staring down at your face.
He exhaled a heavy breath. “Fuck, baby, I’m trying really hard to be respectful.”
You cupped his cheek. His skin was hot to the touch. He subconsciously burrowed closer into the palm of your hand.
“You don’t have to be,” you murmured.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “How many drinks have you had?”
“A can and a half of beer,” you answered.
He opened his eyes to make sure you were being honest. You stood unwavering.
“You’re sober?” He asked.
“Mhm.”
“You’re sure?”
“100%. Are you?”
He sighed, turning away. “Yeah. Yeah, I made sure not to…” his words trailed off.
You smiled. “You made sure not to drink too much so we could fuck?”
He looked at you again. “Don’t say it like that.”
You giggled, pushing away a strand of fallen hair from his forehead. “I’m saying it as it is.”
“I made sure not to drink too much to be responsible,” he corrected.
You nodded along, “Oh, yeah. Responsible. My responsible and respectful boyfriend.” You teased. He did not appreciate that.
“Okay,” he let out an amused sound as if he were faced with a challenge. He leaned in and whispered, “Let’s see who’s laughing when I stop respecting you and start doing all the things I plan to do to you.”
You gulped.
+
He led you to the nearest vacant bedroom in the Maxwell family home before pushing you inside and locking the door behind him. You thought he’d pin you against the door and makeout with you.
Instead, he said, “Sit on the bed,” in that husky voice you rarely hear so you knew you had to listen.
You sat down. The covers were soft and cool. You watched and waited for his next words, but Logan was too busy pacing in front of the door and running his hands through his hair. He looked so yummy.
“Take your clothes off. Let me see you.”
You blinked. You weren’t used to Logan being like this. He usually did all the work. But this new side of him was hot, so very hot.
You slowly unzipped your boots and kicked them off along with your socks. Next, your headpiece with the sprinkles. Then, your tube top, revealing your bare breasts, and lastly, your skirt, leaving you in nothing but underwear.
You felt exposed, just sitting there on the bed as Logan stared at you without a word. His eyes were nearly black from how blown out his pupils were, his bottom lip chewed and slightly pink from how much he dragged it beneath his teeth.
“Pretty,” he finally commented. “That’s new.”
You glanced down to where he gestured, looking at the lace thong you wore. He was right; it was new. You and Kendall bought matching ones for the costumes, but you didn’t need to tell him that bit right now.
“Yeah,” you confirmed.
“Was it expensive?” He asked.
“Not…really…”
“Good,” he nodded to himself. He pushed off the wings he wore for his costume and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.
He knelt down in front of you and spread your legs apart. “So I can ruin it, right?”
That shot up your spine. Your thighs wanted to rub against one another at his remark, but he held your knees firmly. “Answer.”
You nodded without thinking. “Yes.”
He smiled at your obedience and nodded. “Yeah, we’ll get to that. But for now…” his words died down as his lips attached to yours.
It was all tongue and messy. Logan pinned your wrists to the mattress as he kissed you. He grunted against your lips every time you bit his lip teasingly. Eventually, his kisses trailed downwards. To your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. He made sure to give all your sensitive spots an abundance of attention.
Then? His favorite bit. Your tits. John Logan was a tits guy, through and through. Doesn’t matter what size or shape, he was enamored with them.
“Missed my girls,” he murmured before he took one of your breasts into his mouth, swirling his tongue over your pebbled nipple and sucking softly, then switching to the other boob and giving it the same treatment.
Your head tilted back and let out soft sighs. The comfort of him mouthing at your breasts left you aching and squirming on the bed. “Oh, baby…”
He pulled away at your voice and left a sloppy kiss between your tits. He peppered a few more kisses on your abdomen—nipping an especially ticklish spot below your rib—before diving in and licking you over the fabric of your lace thong. You gasped, your hand flying to his hair like second instinct.
He groaned against you, the sound muffled but the vibrations sending sparks to your core. “Already so wet for me. I hardly did anything.”
“Logan, please…”
He kept licking up your slit through your panties. He could feel your juices seep through the delicate material. The friction was doing wonders for your pleasure, but you grew impatient. “Logan…”
He finally pulled your thong to the side and resumed his ministrations with extra fervor. The direct contact had you jumping in your seat, but Logan’s strong arms held your hips down.
He groaned again, pulling away just to mutter, “Fuck, gorgeous, maybe he was right to call you cupcake. You taste so fucking sweet.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before his words fully registered in your head. “James?” You asked, breathlessly.
He pulled away and looked at you with a deadpan expression. He crawled up your body until he was face-to-face with you and said, “Please don’t ever say another man’s name when my tongue is inside you.”
That had your hole clenching around nothing.
“Got that?” He asked.
You nodded right away, “Mhm.”
“Words,” he demanded.
“Yes. Got it.” You responded quietly.
“Good,” he murmured before smoothing your hair down and admiring you for a moment. Then, his head was back between your thighs.
“Ah, Logan!” You breathed out, digging your nails into his scalp.
He raised up two fingers to your lips without stopping. You blinked back bleary eyed at that. “Open,” he said.
Immediately, you parted your lips. He shoved his ring and middle fingers inside your mouth and you sucked on them diligently, running your tongue over his calluses earned from hockey and various handyman jobs. Once they were appropriately wet, he pulled his fingers out and into your pussy.
You keeled over with a loud cry, “John!”
He raised his head up, letting his fingers do all the work now. “You like that? Yeah?”
You bobbed your head up and down, unable to find any words left in you from how nicely Logan scissored his fingers inside you, all whilst keeping his thumb on your clit in steady motions.
“Look at you. So pretty and whiny for me,” he murmured, voice smooth as honey. “Letting me wreck you like this and I haven’t even used my cock yet.”
You whimpered, hand gripping onto his bicep. You were sure you’d see nail marks on his skin even tomorrow morning.
“Oh, you like that?” He asked, tilting his head. “You want me to fuck you stupid with my cock?” The pace of his fingers increased.
Your eyes screwed shut. “Yes! Please, I want that.” You tugged him closer so you could bury your face in his neck, feeling so overwhelmed by pleasure.
He let out an airy chuckle. “Such a good girl. Just for that? I’ll reward you.”
He made you cum on his fingers. The heel of his hand applied pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves until you seized and melted against him with a moan.
“Shhh, that’s it. Come down from it, you’re okay,” he kissed the top of your head.
You mumbled incoherent sentences into his neck and he merely smiled and rubbed your back.
After a minute of breathing, he pulled back slightly to look at your face. “You okay?” He asked, pushing a lock of hair away from your face.
You nodded, still buzzing from what had happened. “Yeah,” you exhaled.
He nodded, watching you carefully in the vulnerable afterglow. Your hands trailed down to his jeans, tugging at his belt, silently asking for it to come off.
Logan chuckled softly before helping you remove his belt and jeans. He reached into the pocket then chucked them on the floor and you instantly started palming his eager boner through his boxers.
He hissed, tossing his head back. “Fuck, baby.”
“Please tell me you have a condom,” you said.
He held the small foil up in his fingers.
At that, you rid him of his boxers and watched in tense awe as he teared the packet open with his teeth and rolled the condom on. You settled back against the bed pillows as you waited in hot anticipation.
“Uh uh,” he wagged his finger before curling it in a come hither gesture.
You sat up, letting out a surprised squeal when he lifted you by your thighs and settled on the bed before placing you above him. Your hands scrambled until they settled on his abs.
He looked up at you with hooded eyes, “Look good for me, gorgeous. I want a show.”
You leaned down and peppered kisses over his face. He let out a relaxed sigh and rubbed up and down your sides lazily. You nibbled on a spot right below his ear, earning you a delicious whimper from him.
“Tease,” he muttered and you grinned.
“Thought you wanted a show,” you remarked.
He hummed, “Mm, yeah. But just for me. No one else.”
You looked down at him, realizing he’s still a bit hung up from the incident earlier that night. Your finger slid sensually from his adam’s apple to his naval. “No one else. Only you.”
“Yeah?” His voice got deeper. “Show me.”
Sir, yes, sir. You held his dick from the base and slowly sank down on him. Logan groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. The stretch of him filling you up was deliriously good. You bit your lip as you took him in, inch by inch.
Finally, you both let out a sigh in unison. You planted your palms flat on his abdomen and started rocking back and forth.
The room succumbed to the sounds of soft moans and the subtle creak from the bed. The party downstairs was long forgotten. Here, it was just you and Logan.
“Just like that, baby, hah,” he breathed out, moving you back and forth. Even if he put you on top, Logan would always end up doing the work for you. You were his pampered princess.
You threw your head back, feeling the pleasure build up in your tummy once again. You took one of Logan’s hands and guided him through rubbing circles on your clit.
“Do you like that, sweetheart?” He asked.
You nodded fervently. “Yes. Fuck, yes, Logan. Keep doing that, baby, I’m so close.”
He held you firmly and started bucking up into you. You cried out, slumping against his chest as he thrusted in and out of you, reaching so deep inside, hitting that spongy part that left you seeing stars.
“Cum for me, baby. I know you can do it,” he said.
The coil snapped and you released, letting out a long moan. Your body shook, the pleasure and adrenaline rushing through you like a live wire meeting water. You collapsed against him, your bones feeling like putty.
He took your chin in his hand and tilted your head up to meet his face. He was still rocking into you. “Need to see you, baby. Need to see your pretty face when I cum.”
You were so out of it, barely processing his words. You simply nodded and chewed on your bottom lip. He looked so hot all sweaty and breathing heavily.
His eyes squeezed shut when he came, letting out a guttural groan. You felt his hips falter as he bucked up into you, rhythm sloppy and erratic. He let out a shuddering breath and dropped his head back onto the pillow.
The room was quiet now. The hum of electrical circuits and the distant noise of the party below filling up the space. You traced shapes onto his ribs, your touch barely skimming his skin. His hands caressed your back slowly, giving a small squeeze every now and then.
“Not jealous anymore?” You murmured, looking at him with an amused smirk.
He scoffed. “I wasn’t jealous.”
You hummed, “Ohhh, okay. Not jealous. Just possessive.”
He rolled his eyes fondly, a smile threatening to tear his lips wide. “Just…want you to be mine. All the time.”
You smiled, “I am.”
“I know you are.”
mr. i get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guy fr
can you write something with angst and fluff on john logan as we all are loving him being a yearner it would be fun to read
Warnings: Fluff, angst, sexual themes but not smut, cursing, alcohol
Pairing: John Logan X Reader
Summary: John Logan has been smitten with you from day one. But in your mind, guys like him don't really exist. This has to be a joke. So he yearns.
Prompts: None
Authors Note: First Off Campus post, I'm ecstatic as a lover of the books and show. Not fully proof read so..ignore any mistakes. Okay thanks!
@themarvelousbox wrote this partly for you because you're my bestie and obsessed with Logan. 💕
Dancing was not normally my thing but I have enough alcohol flowing through my veins that I forgot to care as my hips sway to the loud music. Which in itself is funny as I rarley drink. I guess that is what happens when you find your dynamic duo making out with the guy you've been crazy about for months. Dynamic duo, my ass. Friends don't make out with other friends crushes.
I try to tell myself it's not that deep as I make my way back to the crowded kitchen for more alcohol, pushing past the alarming amount of shirtless guys. Mostly everyone is some sort of drunk and common sense is starting to disapear all together. I barley make it out of the way of a couple attacking each others face and feel a body bump into mine.
"Wow you good?" Probably one of the sexiest voices I have ever heard says calmly. Turning, I see who I collided with.
John Logan.
"Y-yeah..sorry..was trying not to become that couples third."
A warm chuckle comes from him as he moved aside, providing me space to lean on the counter next to him. God, he was hot. "I don't think they would notice if you did."
A small smile grazes my lips. "No? Guess it wouldn't be that exciting then. I'll just stick to alcohol."
An amused smile grazes's his lips as he reaches into the ice next to him and grabs me a can "Here. Can is safer."
My chest tightens at that thoughtful gesture. "Thank you"
"Yeah, of course. I don't mean to pry but you look sad. Did something happen?"
I take a drink of the can IPA he gave me and think before I speak. "It's going to sound stupid."
"Tell me anyway." He said in a soft voice, moving closer, our bodies close to touching again as more people crowd the space.
"My friend and I came here together..she's my dynamic duo..and I walked in on her making out with this guy I've had a crush on for months. She knows about it too. I mean technically she did nothing wrong. We aren't dating-"
"Nope. Fuck that. That's not stupid. You don't have to be dating the guy for that to sting."
My shoulders move up in a quick shrug and I can feel Logans eyes trailing over my face as I take another drink. "Come with me."
"What? Where?"
"It's a surprise but I decided you aren't going to be sad the rest of the night over a guy who probably didn't deserve you anyways and a shitty friend." He says while giving me a charming smile.
I get butterflies in my stomach as I nod. "Fine just no killing me. This is stranger danger."
John chuckles as he takes my hand, guiding me out. "This is not stranger danger. We know each others first names from lit class."
"Everyone knows your name."
"Well that's even more reason not to kill you. If I did everyone would say you left with John Logan and I'd be fucked. I'm not a very good liar."
The laugh that comes out of me feels so natural, I barley remember I was upset five minutes ago. Logan leads me outside and down the road to an empty park. Then he leads me to a swing set, the swings moving slightly in the breeze.
"I thought maybe you could use some quiet and this is far enough that we shouldn't be able to hear the music or obnoxious drunk college students." He flashed a grin as he sat on one of the swings.
"Darn." I say as I sit in the swing next to him. "Seeing people barf in yards is a hobby of mine actually."
It's peaceful and comfortable. Banter is easy with him.
"Babe..I hate to break it to you but your hobbies are fucked up." He flashes me that damn grin again followed by his chuckle. "So..what's your biggest secret?" Logan asks out of the blue.
"You want to know my secrets now Logan?" I smile softly, looking at him.
"I want to know everything about you actually, just thought that was a good ice breaker." He grins "How about we start with your favorite color?"
I answer him and the night continued with random questions being answered, laughing at ridiculous jokes, me ranting about books I love and him telling me all about his hockey dreams.
Maybe I was drunk, maybe I was tired, but I could have sworn he was looking at me like I was important. Like no guy has ever looked at me before..
Yeah...definitely tired.
"You disappeared at the party." My friend Piper says as we sip our coffees on a campus bench.
"Yeah, I was having a bad night so Logan took me to a park for some quiet." I say nonchalantly as I scroll on my phone.
"Logan..John Logan? As in Briar hockey player.."
"Yes. I bumped into him when I went to get another drink and he could tell I was upset."
A sarcastic laugh sounds next to me and I look up at Piper.
"Yeah..right. And I fucked Dean Di Laurentis."
"I think he'd fuck anyone so I'm not sure why that would be a crazy thing." I turn to look at her "Do you not believe me?"
"It's just weird. I say you vanished and now you magically were with one of the most popular guys in school."
"So because you didn't see me..it's not real? You didn't even ask why I was upset."
"You can tell me why, just don't lie about who you were with."
I scoff. "You're unbelievable. I was upset because I saw you making out with Jack who you knew I had a thing for, now you're saying I'm a liar."
"You were never going to talk to Jack anyways. I mean I'm sorry if it upset you but you don't need to make up hanging out with a hock-"
"There you are." A deep voice interrupts Piper, who's eyes go wide upon hearing it.
I turn to see, of course, John Logan standing there with his killer grin. "Hi." I squeak out.
"I've been looking for you all day. You're surprisingly hard to find." He sits and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. "So who is this?" He looks a Piper. "Let me guess, the "Friend" who was making out with the guy you liked."
"I-I-it was just a misunderstanding." Piper goes pale.
"Them being upset wasn't a misunderstanding."
"Well I just.."
"And I heard you saying you don't believe them."
I know I'm failing horribly at hiding my smile at this point. The reaction of Piper as Logan calls her out instantly perked my mood up.
"It was just-"
"Hard to believe that I'd spend time with them let alone be into them? Well I am." He squeezes my shoulder.
I look up at Logan in surprise until it clicks. He's just saying this to defend me against Piper because he's a good guy. That's all this is.
"I'm going to go." Piper stands and collects her things then walks away quickly. I never even glance at her.
Logan turns his attention back to me. "Sorry about that, she was just pissing me off."
I can't help but laugh at that. This man just showed up out of nowhere when I needed him, defended me against a mean girl, pretended to show interest in me and is now apologizing. "Are you serious?"
"What?" He furrows his brows.
"Logan you just saved my reputation and you're saying sorry?"
"......Maybe?"
A laugh leaves me again and I shake my head. After a few moments, Logan laughs with me.
"This isn't what I ordered." A voice says, the sharpness of it snapping me out of my own head.
"I'm sorry?" I say, looking down at the plate of food I just dropped off.
"This isn't what I ordered. I clearly said I wanted extra ketchup on the side and it's not there."
I look down at the grumpy, bald man sitting with a french fry gripped in his fist. "I'm so sorry sir, we'll get that fixe-"
"How damn hard is it to do ask I asked the first time?!" He raised his voice, not fully yelling but loud enough to get attention from other tables.
"Hey!" A voice I have come to know to well called out. Turning, I see Logan standing up from his chair, his friends looking at him both with confused and amused expressions. "They said they would fix it. What else do you want? Chill out."
I turn and give a small smile over my shoulder, mouthing a quick thank you before I turn back to the man in front of me. "Hockey players..am I right? I'm so sorry about this, it's our mistake, I'll get it fixed and get you a slice of pie on the house. How's that sound?"
"Well..I guess that's fair." The bald man nodded.
"Happy to do it." I flash him my customer service smile and go to get the missing ketchup and pie.
"You're so fucked." I hear the unmistakable voice of the one and only Dean Di Laurentis say as I pass the boys table. I pretend like I'm not paying attention as I get what needed for my customer, but my eyes keep drifting to Logan..
"What are you talking about? I was just being a good person..that guy was an ass. I'd defend anyone..."
"You probably would but this was different." Garrett added in a teasing tone.
"You guys are reading into things. Come on..back me up Tuck."
"Oh no. I definitely agree with them. You're whipped."
A smile grazes my lips as Logan lets out a loud sigh and glances my way. I pretend not to notice but my heart is racing, surely they are just kidding. Logan would never like me like that. Besides there has to be some flaw I haven't seen yet.
No guy is that..perfect.
I walk past the boys table and to my customer, trying to pretend I hadn't heard anything said between the friends. That part, I realized was easy, pretending not to feel Logans eyes burning into my back wasn't. I didn't feel tense, I didn't feel uncomfortable. I felt wanted and that scared me.
"You're crying." Logans gentle voice snaps my attention away from my phone and up to his worried expression. "What happened?"
"It's not what you think." A small embarrassed chuckle leaves me as I wipe my eyes quickly.
Logan tilts his head like a lost puppy, the concern showing more. "Did someone hurt you?"
"What? No. Logan." A small giggle leaves me
"Because I will fuck them up Y/N. I swear to god. Whoever made you cry-"
"Logan!" I laugh again.
Logan turns his head back to me, brows furrowed in confusion. "Then what is it?"
"Those were happy tears from a tiktotk I watched."
The look on Logans face is almost enough to send me into histarics. His brows rise so high I swear they are about to touch his hairline. "A tiktok. A tiktok made you cry?"
"Yes. Because humans can be sweet and cute when they want to be and when I get reminded of that, I get emotional. Sue me."
"Bab-" Logan clears his throat and pulls his eye contact away from me, shifting to my phone instead. "There is nothing wrong with being emotional over these things. I just thought someone upset you."
I can't help but blush softly at his words. I wipe the last stray tear clinging to my lash line and look over at him. "Would you actually care that much if someone did?"
"Of course I would." He looks at me, clear confusion on his face.
"No, I mean. I know you care because you're a good person and would care if anyone was crying but I just mean..you say it like you care about me personally. That I am crying." I ramble, looking down at my hands as I do.
"I do care because it's you." He almost whispers, his hand reaching for mine.
I lift my eyes to meet his that are already waiting for me. There is something unreadable about them. Something full of warmth and longing.
"You don't have to just say that."
"I'm not just saying it." He assures gently.
Our eyes search each others for a moment before my nerves get the better of me and I look away. Butterflies swirl around my stomach and I'm suddenly aware of how close we are. "Do you want to see the tiktok?"
Logan blinks back into himself and I can see the disappointment of the moment I ruined. He smiles anyways. "Of course. Show me the tiktok."
Panic takes over my breathing as I pace my dorm room. I'm trying to calm myself down, honestly. But everything in me is screaming something is wrong, I'm wrong. I don't know why I am the way that I am. I take things too seriously, get hurt over meaningless things and people find me annoying. I try desperately to tell myself it's not true but my brain says otherwise.
A knock breaks me from my internal breakdown and I open the door to see Logan standing there, almost looking shy. "Hey." he gives me a weak smile and leans in the door way.
"How...how did you find my dorm?"
"I saw one of your friends on campus and asked which building your dorm was in then I knocked on every door until I found yours." He's silent for a minute. "Okay that sounds way more creepy than I thought."
I can't stop the small giggle the leaves my lips. I already feel lighter and he just got here.
"I'm not creepy, I swear. It's just you weren't answering my texts and I wanted to see you. I felt like something was wrong." He looks at me, really looks me. "Hey, what's wrong?"
The gentleness in his voice makes me tear up again. "It's stupid."
"No, don't do that baby. I've got you just talk to me." He reaches up and gently wipes away a tear that escaped my lash line.
"It's just a bad day. I feel like I'm wrong. Like I'm too much or something. I can't really explain it."
Logan takes both my hands in his and kisses them. "It's okay to have a bad day. But I need you to listen to me." He loweres himself to look in my eyes. "You are not too much. You are not broken. You are not annoying or whatever else your brain is saying to you. You are perfect, there isn't a thing I would change about you. I admire, adore everything I have come to learn about you and I want to know more."
I look over his face, taking in ever detail on emotion. I know he is genuine but when I see the look in his eyes, I know he means every word.
"Are you tearing up again? Fuck no. Did I say something wrong?"
"No you silly man, you said exactly the right thing." A tearful laugh escapes me.
"Then why are you crying again sweetheart?"
"Because I have never had anyone to be here through this, to tell me what I need to hear...and mean it." A small laugh leaves my lips. "You knocked on every door until you found mine. How are you real?"
"I just missed you." He blushes a bit, squeezing my hands.
"Thank you."
"Thank you for what?" Logan looks over my face again.
"Everything. For make me feel better that night of the party, sticking up for me when that customer yelled at me, caring when you found me crying on campus and now. You've just always been there from me since we met."
"It's easy..I can't get you off my mind." He breathed out. He lets go of my hand and slowly reaches to my cheek. His palm cups it and his soft but calloused skin warms it. "You don't have to thank me, for anything."
"Well too bad. I want to." I lean into his touch. "So what can I do to pay you back."
A smirk grazes his lips and I instantly think maybe I should be scared. "You really want to know?"
"Oh god..on second thought..."
Logan chuckles softly. It's breathy and warm, all my nerves from before are instantly gone. "Come to my game on Friday and wear my jersey."
"That's it?"
"That's it baby." He presses a soft kiss to my head.
"Fine then. It's a Deal."
As promised I showed up to the game in Logans spare jersey. I felt a sense of pride knowing his last name was in big white letters on my back. Like I was his, he was mine and now we were telling the world.
I take my seat, an open one next to Hannah that is suspiciously close to the ice. I guess Logan arranged that too when he told me to sit by Wellsy.
"Y/N hi!" Hannah grins and moved her bag out of my chair. "I was so excited when Logan said you'd be coming."
"Hi." I smile. "Yeah he practically forced me." I tease as I sit.
"I wouldn't be surprised. He's been talking about you for almost a month now."
"What?" I blink and look at her.
"Oh..oh..I just mean that he." Hannah sighs and looks at me. "You know he likes you. Right? I mean really likes you."
"He's my friend, of course he likes me." I blush at her words.
"No, no. Don't do that. He like likes you."
"He's never said anything."
"Maybe he hasn't said it, but he's shown it hasn't he?"
I start replaying all our past interactions in my head after Hannah says that. It's true. He has. Every time I needed him, he showed up. Even if he got it wrong and I wasn't really sad, he tried to comfort me. He defended me against my shitty friend without hesitation, stood up for me when I had a rude customer, went to every dorm room trying to find mine. Even that very first night, he put my comfort first. He always puts me first.. "Holy shit" I breath.
"You see it now?" Hannah tilted her head with a glowing smile.
"Yeah. I think I've been blind, and an idiot. A blind idiot." I let out a shaky laugh. "He's been right in front of me this whole time and I pushed it away."
"Well, good news is you have tonight to fix that. You're here for him and that's already something."
"You're precious Hannah."
She grins widely. "So I've been told." With that she turns to the ice and waves at Garrett as he passes. Logan, who's not far behind him stops to give me a smile through the plexiglass.
Feeling brave, I blow him a kiss. Logan grins widely and pretends to catch it before skating after Garrett again.
"Oh you're so down bad." Hannah nudges my shoulder playfully.
We watch the game intently after it starts, I'm cheering so loud I'm sure my voice will be gone tomorrow. Just when I think I can't get any louder. Logan scores the game winning goal. I'm on my feet before I even think about, clapping and yelling Logans name proudly.
"Hell yeah, John Logan wins for the hawks. You can see the excitement." Jules says from the other side of me as they pan their camera to me. "Anything to say about it Y/N?"
"John Logan is a bad ass and I'm so proud of him!" I grin and turn to show off the back of my jersey, his name loud and proud. I'm grinning so wide and I want everyone to know..Logan is my person.
"You were amazing!" I yell as I ran towards Logan. He had just finished up in the locker room and met us outside. Garrett went to Hannah and from the corner of my eye I could see them embracing but I really just cared about getting to Logan.
He embraced me the moment we met, I could feel his joy radiating off of him. "I'm serious Logan. You were so so amazing. I'm so proud." I pull my face back so I could look up at him. He was already looking at me, with the softest eyes I've ever seen. Like none if this mattered if I wasn't there. Before I could think about it. I kissed him.
He melts into it quickly, his lips moving with mine. It's soft and gently but full of want. I spent so long talking myself out of this, saying he was just being nice, that he couldn't want me like this. Deprecating my value and worth because I was insecure.
But Logan..god Logan. Not once did he give up on me, not once did he make me feel like I was worth less. He's been steady, waiting for me to see how he wanted me.
Now I wanted to return the favor.
Logan moved a hand into my hair as he kisses me slightly deeper. I can feel his smile against my lips as we move together. Time seems to slow and all I focus on is him. I bring my hand up and play with the hair at the nape of his next, taking my time in the kiss. Nothing rushed. Everything perfect. It's minutes before we finally part, foreheads rested on each other.
Logan grins at me, his hand moving to cup my cheek. "Do you know how long I have waited for that?"
"Yeah..I think I just figured it out." I breath.
"I want you, all of you. I want to proudly say your mine and I'm yours."
"Do I get to keep wearing the jerseys?"
Logan lets out a warm chuckle. "You can have whatever you want baby, so long as I get to have you."
"I'm yours. Finally."
"Thank god." Logan breaths against my lips then kisses me again.
His lips against mine and I wonder why did I wait so long?
Summary: James Moriarty x fe!Reader -> When you first meet James Moriarty, you're not a fan. Until Sherlock goes missing and things begin to simmer between you both.
Disclaimer: dislike to lovers, slight canon divergence from the show, reader works for the Holmes family, platonic!Sherlock, discussions of marriage, wounds, blood. Hurt/comfort, found family, flirting, language of flowers, probably a lot of historical inaccuracy, light swearing, kinda a long fic.
It was quite clear to anyone who had functioning eyesight, as well as hearing, that you did not like Sherlock Holmes’ new friend; James Moriarty.
You didn’t know why. Whenever Sherlock asked, you would simply shrug and say, “I have my reasons.”
Neither one of you would point out that you didn’t have anything concrete. Only just a feeling.
But that didn’t stop you from seeing the good he brought into Sherlock’s life.
He challenged him. Pushed him. And, held him back when necessary.
Things you were thankful for.
You just wished it wasn’t him.
“Now,” you recognised his Irish drawl. “What did that loaf of bread ever do to you?”
You’d been standing in the kitchen of the Holmes’ residence for just over three hours. Sherlock was on a case until six hours previous when you received word from his brother that Sherlock was, in fact, missing.
Unable to do anything to find him, you turned to the one thing you knew always seemed to calm you when almost nothing else worked; you baked.
Cakes, scones, cookies, bread; anything to help you with your frustration and fear.
When you didn’t answer, James spoke again.
“You’re beating the thing as if it owes you money.”
“Why are you here?” You asked, without looking up.
Not that you had to, to know how he was standing. Leaning against the frame of the open door, one foot crossed over the other with his hands crossed in front of him.
James paused for a slight second. “I was hungry and smelled a fresh loaf in the oven. Came to see if there was any available.”
You sighed. “By the counter.”
He nodded his head, pushing himself from the doorframe. “Thanking you kindly.”
You were that tense and wired, you couldn’t feel his eyes fixed on you as he walked across the kitchen. Nor could you see the way he was studying you – analysing you. The way you stood, the way you moved, the fact you weren’t yelling at him was his biggest worry.
Instead, you just kept kneading the bread over, and over, and over again.
Crossing the room once more, James stood beside you and laid a hand on your arm. You hesitated, but you stopped working the bread for a moment.
And a moment was all he needed.
“He’ll be okay.”
“How?” You asked, not tearing your eyes from the wooden counter top. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Because I know him.”
You sighed, closing your eyes.
“Knowing Sherlock,” James said. “He’s probably halfway to the docks to ask some poor, unsuspecting stranger a random question. Without context. And get him caught in a two hour lecture about…bees.”
That got a chuckle out of you, but rather than it being coarse and dry – like the usual sound of your laughter when you ‘laughed’ at something he said. Your laugh was…wet. Held together by the tears you were too stubborn to shred.
“He’ll be okay.”
“You should be out looking for him.” You said, your voice unarmed for the first time in his presence. “What if he’s hurt?”
“There’s nothing I haven’t taught him, that I already know. He’s prepared.” James nodded, before adding. “I just hope he listened.”
You nodded, trying to believe it yourself. But from the way you’d gone from pummelling the unbaked bread, to using whatever energy you had left to try and kneed, told James more than he needed to know.
For a second, he hesitated. “I-I’m gonna do something, now, but I need your word that you won’t try and stab with your bread knife.”
Swiping your hand across your cheek, quickly, you tried to steady your voice. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to hug you.”
Looking at James, the memory of your first meeting flipped through your mind as quickly as it took a few seconds to pass.
It had been around the time when Sherlock had thought of the bright idea to help his mother escape her asylum. Although you didn’t like her being in there in the first place, you would have thought he might have written to you to tell you before he came barreling into his home, sounding alarm bells in your head.
As Sherlock and James had searched a couple of the rooms, James had entered the one you were standing in. Rather than announce himself, however, he opted to lay a hand on your shoulder and proceeded to get flipped over you, his arm twisted and a bruise in his shoulder that was an identical match to the bottom of your heel.
Rather than flip him in the kitchen, you accepted the hug.
And when Sherlock came strolling in through the back door, the next afternoon, and found you and James Moriarty not only alone together in a room, but that room was also standing; it was safe to say he was more than shocked.
“Sherlock!”
Laying the hot try down on the counter, you ran over and hugged him as tight as you could.
“I see you’re alive,” James said, taking in the muddy image of his best friend.
“I can see you are, too.” Sherlock replied. “You bake?”
“My mother taught me,” James smiled, leaning on a tea towel and crossing one boot over the other. “Not to say Y/n hasn’t taught me a thing or two in the last day or so.”
Standing back from the hug, you hit Sherlock as hard as you could in the arm. “Where the hell were you?! What the fuck did you think you were doing?!”
He rubbed his arm, a little offended that it hurt him so much. “Ow!”
“I’d answer her if I were you, Sherlock.” James chimed in.
In the last twenty four hours alone, Sherlock had been kidnapped, made friends with his kidnappers, helped them solve their case, cash in on their favour for him, solved the majority of his current case and picked up a new one.
And out of it all, seeing you and James be…friendly? Was that really the best term? It was the strangest thing to happen to him.
“Forgive me,” Sherlock said, leaning across the table hours after his explanation of his day. “But…are you two friends? I go missing for several hours and you two decide to-”
“Decide to…move on quite quickly and find a new best friend?” James asked before nodding proudly. “Yes, I believe so.”
Then you hit his shoulder, hard.
“Ow.” Mostly, he laughed.
“We’re civil,” you corrected, before laying a tray of biscuits in front of Sherlock. “Eat up. There’s plenty more.”
Looking across the kitchen, Sherlock made a mental tally of the baked goods. More than likely, you’d be wrapping them up and handing them out to the people in the village.
“I’m sorry I worried you so much,” Sherlock said, sincerely. He wasn’t always the best at apologies, but looking around, he had no choice but to give you one.
You nodded. “Next time, send a telegram. Better yet, take James with you.”
Sherlock and James looked at each other with slightly knowing smiles. “I’ll be sure to do that,” Sherlock said just as James said, “He can survive without me.”
You didn’t notice, but a look crossed between the boys as you turned away. Sherlock knew what it meant and James wasn’t one bit embarrassed to be caught in his crush.
*~*~*~*~*
“Tell me something,” Sherlock said, keeping his voice quiet.
You’d fallen asleep on the sofa just over an hour into the whiskey filled conversation between the boys. James was sitting beside you, letting your feet rest against his thigh, whilst his hand absentmindedly fell to your ankle and traced against the soft skin.
“Do you like her because she’s the first woman to not flirt back? Or because you actually…like her?”
James looked at his friend, a tired smile on his face. “Can’t be giving away all my secrets, now.”
Sherlock’s face didn’t change. “She’s my friend, James. I won’t see her get hurt.”
“I think she can take care of herself, don’t you?”
“The sentiment still stands.”
James watched Sherlock for a quiet moment, but Sherlock was unwavering as usual.
“A bit of both,” James answered, honestly. “She’s beautiful, and smart. She can keep me on my toes, that’s for sure. I suppose she intrigued me…when she didn’t flirt back.”
“You mean when she told you to fuck off?”
James chuckled. “Yeah. That.”
During your first meeting, after asking who he was, he’d tried flirting with you a little just before Sherlock walked in and properly introduced you both. With his arm still twisted, you’d rolled your eyes at the fact the guy you were physically standing on still had the gall to try and flirt.
That had been when you’d told him to fuck off.
“But, truthfully, I can’t deny that having her argue with me…well,” James smiled. “It’s certainly a highlight of my day.”
Sherlock smiled, briefly, too. But watched as James’ eyes fell onto your sleeping frame. His friend didn’t have to ask his question out loud.
Sitting forward in his chair and laying down his empty glass, Sherlock let out a small breath. “It’ll take time. But- and this is only if you’re serious about your feelings for her. I suspect that somewhere behind all those walls that I’ve seen her build…she’s willing to lower them. For the right person.”
Sherlock bid his friend goodnight before leaving you in James’ hands, which became the physical embodiment of the truth.
After downing the rest of this drink, James stood and gently pulled the blanket from your frame.
“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s get you to bed.”
It took him a try or two, to try and get his arms around and under you without jostling you too much and waking you up. But he succeeded and lifted you from the sofa, before carrying you up the main staircase and towards the general servants area of the house.
Mostly, it was out-of-date guest bedrooms that Cordelia had told you to stay in when she returned with Sherlock since she didn’t like the idea of the cold and dreary room you’d been sleeping in since she’d hired your parents to work in the kitchens and on the grounds.
“Sleep tight,” James told you, though he suspected you couldn’t hear him since you were lost in a dream.
Either way, once he’d closed your door with a soft click, he couldn’t help but hope that his friend was right. Would you be willing to lower your emotional barricades? Would you be willing to lower them for him?
It took six months, eight days and fourteen hours for James Moriarty to get his answer.
All because some stuffy, upper class gentleman who had been a long-time friend of the family’s decided to stick his nose into business where he wasn’t wanted.
He’d arrived one afternoon with Mycroft.
Considering he had nothing else to do that afternoon, a simple carriage ride out with his friend to see the people he cared for sounded like a lovely idea.
“Michael,” you had smiled, almost friendly, before accepting his hug.
“Oh, him you’ll hug,” James said, quietly, as you stood back again and stood just in front of him a little.
“Shush.”
As Mycroft introduced James to Michael, he got an uneasy feeling. Though he couldn’t be too sure it wasn’t because you’d hugged him, rather than flipped him and nearly broken his arm.
“Mrs Holmes,” Michael smiled, gracing the lady of the house.
She blushed, just a little. “Michael, darling. How are you? When Mycroft told me you were coming I was almost certain it was a practical joke! I thought you’d forgotten all about us.”
“Oh, I couldn’t forget about you Mrs Holmes.”
“Cordelia, please.”
He nodded, politely. “Cordelia.”
Raising your chin just a little, you cleared your throat. “Tea, Mrs Holmes?”
“That sounds delightful,” she smiled, warmly at you, before she took Michael by the arm.
“You will be joining us, won’t you, Y/n?” Michael asked.
Cordelia jumped in quickly, nodding her head. “Oh, yes, darling do!”
You smiled and nodded your head. “I’ll be right out.”
“Fantastic.”
Meanwhile, as you went to fetch the tea tray, Michael was led outside by Cordelia. But, rather than follow them, James followed you.
“Oh, Michael,” he said, mimicking your accent. “Michael, how much I have missed you.”
“Shut up,” you told him, hitting him in his diaphragm.
James just laughed. “Is he seriously the kind you’re mooning over? I thought you didn’t like the guy?”
You didn’t look at him. “What gave you that impression?”
“Uh, I don’t know.” James pretended to think. “The tight lipped smile you gave Cordelia when she told you he was coming, the way you stand back in the hallway rather than beside Sherlock like usual. Or how about-”
“Yes,” you said, clipped. “James. I think I get it.”
“So?” James asked, leaning against the counter in front of you.
“So…what?”
“Is it that sort you like?”
You looked at him longer than you usually did before tearing your gaze away and picking up the tray. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
James watched you as you walked away and for the first time…something didn’t make sense to him.
Outside in the garden, Sherlock could practically feel the heat radiating from his friend as he sat down beside him. And it all made sense once he started listening to the rather boring conversation that was taking place between his brother, mother, friend and Michael.
It was the most words, in a calm tone, that either Sherlock or James had heard you utter. And then came the inevitable question of romantic relationships.
Cordelia pressed Michael, against Mycroft’s wishes. Apparently he was yet to find a suitable woman whom he could love. But he was certainly on the market.
James watched as, within a split second, all the attention around the garden table turned to you.
And you hated it.
Surprisingly, you managed to sit incredibly still. James (and even Sherlock) were expecting you to at least fidget with your hands as you spoke. Well, rambled.
“Well, I–”
That was the second surprising thing. You were lost for words.
The third and final surprising thing was where you looked. Rather, who you looked at.
It was just a split second. Nothing more than that. But James saw the look in your eyes. And Sherlock saw the exchange.
“Darling, I was just speaking to your mother,” Cordelia smiled. “She was saying you’d only just spoken to her about this?”
If your eyebrows could have hit the sunshade above you, they would have. Awkwardly, you barked out a laugh. “Oh, um, well, yes!”
God, you wanted to die.
“You’re looking for a husband?” Michael asked, leaning forward in his chair.
Sherlock and James looked at one another rather quickly. They both knew how you felt about getting married so young.
“I’m not against it.”
“You’re just not for it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Is it marrying me? Is that the idea you’re not fond of?”
You groaned. “For the last time, we’re not getting married! And–” You groaned. “Neither of you would understand what being married actually means! It means giving up the very little part of me that isn’t owned by anyone else! Marriage, for centuries, has been nothing more than a business contract between families. Men have the ability to do as they see fit, even in marriage. But not women.”
“But I’m not asking you to give that up.” Sherlock clarified. “I’m just asking you to pose as a couple getting married. You don’t actually have to go through with it.”
The context of the conversation was something different, but even after Sherlock's case of The Missing Wedding Dresses, he’d asked you to expand on your views on marriage.
“Uh, well-”
“Well, I’m certain you are,” Michael announced. “Isn’t it what every young lady dreams of?”
“Not always, Michael,” Cordelia jumped in. “But it can be a rather big adventure. With the right person.”
With the right person.
As James cleared his throat, rubbing his temple and you stood up quickly. “How about some fresh tea?”
James watched your every movement. The lack of eye contact, the speed at which you cleared away the cups and saucers.
And the slight tremble in your hand as you did so.
Plastering on a fake smile, you excused yourself and started making your way back over towards the house.
Finally able to place the tray down and start a fresh pot of tea, James came carefully bounding through the backdoor.
“Are you alright?”
You nodded. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t stop them when-”
You looked at him for the slightest moment, before looking away again. “You didn’t have to.”
“I should have. We both know you hate the spotlight being on you.”
“It’s fine, James.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Slamming down the teapot in the sink, you closed your eyes. “Please just-” You took a breath. “I’m fine. You should get back out there.”
Only, he didn’t.
Instead, he remained fixed in place between the table and the door, his gaze doing nothing but analysing you.
“Would you stop that?” You asked, noticing him. “What? What is it?”
“Women have confused me…for a long time,” he said. “But you…you are…”
“I am what?”
You continued moving around the kitchen. Pulling biscuits out of the oven, boiling the water, setting the tray back up – all of it done within a fraction of the time it normally took you.
“Utterly confounding.”
“Why, thank you,” you replied, dryly.
“I can’t tell if you like the fella, or if you want to see him dead.” James said. “All I know is that you’re holding something back. And since you didn’t know your mother spoke with Cordelia…there’s something else you’re not telling me.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
James nodded, moving around the kitchen towards you. “Fair point, you don’t. But I can read you.”
For the first time, you stopped moving and turned to look at him, placing one fist on your hip as you gripped the tea towel in your hand.
“You can read me?” You almost rolled your eyes. “Now I know you’ve been spending too much time with Sherlock.”
James nodded. “Probably, but it’s true. And I’m trying to work out if that’s because I’ve known you longer than I expected to. Longer than you expected to, I imagine.”
You nodded without feeling guilty.
“Or if it’s because…”
“Because of what?”
James, again, studied you before standing tall and keeping his hands in his pockets. “Or because you want me to. See, I’ve known you for, what? Almost a year? And in all of that time, you haven’t shown anything to anyone you haven’t wanted to. You don’t talk about things, and you’re hyper-aware of your actions.”
You nodded, just a little. “Well, I grew up with Sherlock. He could be quite the taddle-tale, if you weren’t careful with your secrets.”
“How come I know yours then?”
For a brief moment, you paused. You could admit the truth that had been growing inside of you – developing over the last few months you’d gotten to know James Moriarty. But you still weren’t convinced your answer to that question was correct.
Not yet at least.
So, rather than tell him (and probably satisfy his ego), you shook your head just a little.
“I don’t know.”
From the look in your eyes, James saw your truth; it wasn’t ready yet. You were still working it out. But something was clear.
You didn’t know. Not really.
“Darling, it’s starting to rain,” Cordelia said as she entered, followed by Mycroft who was carrying the sunshade. “So we’re going to take tea in the living room. Is there anything I can bring in to help?”
Before you could answer and tell her you had it handled, James turned around with his cheeky but charismatic smile. “It’s alright, Mrs Holmes. She’s already ordering me about.”
On instinct, you hit the back of your hand into James’ diaphragm. But he surprised you and caught it. And once the others had left and passed through the kitchen to the other door, he turned to you.
Lifting your hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to your palm.
“When you figure it out,” he said. “Tell me.”
You had a feeling by the time you figured it out, he’d already know.
Another few months passed and before you knew it, Sherlock was raising a toast to the year anniversary he and James had met and become friends.
Meanwhile, you were helping Cordelia set up a charity centre that would help children in and around Oxford and London an education, the ability to find apprenticeships easier, and hone their crafts.
“Knock, knock.” You heard the Irish tone say before the English followed.
“We’ve come to make sure you haven’t died.”
“I am very much alive,” you called out with a tired smile before seeing the pair open the door and walk inside. “I was just going over your mother’s diary. She’s got a busy week ahead of her.”
“Of that, I have no doubt.” Sherlock nodded before he took a tour around your office. “Mycroft told me you had been granted your own office.”
“Your point?”
“He wants to know how his brother knew before he did.”
“Ah,” you nodded, peeling your eyes from James to Sherlock. “Well, if you’d answered the telegraph your mother had sent you, you would have seen whose office it came from.”
Sherlock turned to you. “You know I never check my mail.”
“You should at least check it from your mother, Sherlock.” James told him.
He just hummed, continuing to pace and take in every inch of your new office. Meanwhile, James took a seat on your desk and started rifling through your notes.
“What are you doing?”
“Just checking.”
“What?”
James hummed. “Secret love notes, cipher keys to your beloved. The usual.”
“Ah, and who would this beloved be?”
“Well, I was hoping it would be me.”
You hummed, narrowing your gaze at him playfully, letting him continue. “But since I hear you’re such an independent woman these days– ah ha!”
“Ah ha?” Sherlock asked.
“There is a lover!”
Despite wanting to throttle the pair of them for prying, you couldn’t help but laugh as James took a turn around the room, reading out the supposed love letter.
James feigned a gasp. “Y/n, this is practically a scandal sheet! Oh- he wants to do what?”
“Who is this man? I must defend your honour!” Sherlock played along.
James turned around, laying a hand on his chest and shaking his head. “Not with your fighting skills, dear.”
“Ah, I suppose you're right. How about you, then?”
James shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
You chuckled. “Are you two quite finished?”
“We must make a plan.”
“Yes, a plan!”
Groaning a little, but hiding your laughter, you held your head in your hands but continued to watch the Shakespeare worthy performance in front of you.
As the pair discussed their ‘plan’ to send a fake letter to your lover, then move under the cover of darkness-
“How well does he know the court yard?”
“At the university?”
They both nodded.
“Like the back of his hand.”
“Drats.”
“Change of plan?”
“Perhaps we can blindfold him.”
When they’d finally finished their plan, you had tidied up your desk, put your coat on (with James’ help as he continued to plan with Sherlock), managed to get both of the boys out of the building and locked the building up behind you all.
“There’s just one solution left,” Sherlock said.
“We must take you away.”
“Away?”
They both nodded, letting you loop your arms around theirs as you walked between them both. “Somewhere far away. Far enough to help you and this Barnabus character forget all about each other.”
“Barnabus?”
Sherlock nodded. “We’ve renamed him.”
“Rather fitting, don’t you think?”
“If you think so,” you chuckled.
The story continued all the way back to Cordelia’s London home where it was recounted to Mrs Holmes in full detail over a warm meal and some tea.
“Come on, sleepyhead. I’m practically falling asleep watching you,” James said before he scooped you up in his arms.
You called his name but he barely flinched.
“Put me down! Where the hell are you taking me?”
He paused in the doorway, still holding you in a bridal carry. “To bed.”
From the grin on his face, his words landed exactly how he wanted them to. So, rolling your eyes, you hit his shoulder.
“You’re pathetic.”
“Only for you, dear.” Then he started walking again.
“I can walk by myself, you know.”
“And let you twist your ankle on the stairs? Or fall from being unable to lift your weary limbs.”
By the time he was finished listing the amount of unlikely accidents to happen, he dropped you down on your bed and bid you goodnight in a less gentle manner than he had done the first time he’d carried you to bed.
“Well, here we are.” Then he hummed. “I suppose you're right.”
“That’s a first, coming from you.”
And, despite the laughter from behind the door that had you rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but feel the faint burn against your palm.
A sensation that only seemed to happen when you were around James Moriarty.
*~*~*~*~*
“Do you ever plan on staying still?!”
Through the darkness of the discontinued factory, you looked at James as he finally joined you behind one of the barrels.
“They were shooting at us! What the hell did you want me to do?”
“Sherlock told me to look after you!”
“I don’t need looking after!”
Another bang from a gun sounded somewhere behind you both before a forgotten barrel on a shelf exploded.
“At least they’re a shit shot.”
“Doesn’t matter how bad they are if they’re close enough!”
Running again, James groaned and ran after you. No doubt Sherlock would scold him if he didn’t – not that he planned on leaving you behind. If he was being honest, he was rather hurt Sherlock thought he had to remind him.
Until he told him the reason why.
You both ran as quickly as your legs could carry you, through the building and out of the back, narrowly missing the flying bullets. But, aside from your lives remaining intact, all that mattered was that you were holding the evidence to prove a boss’ misdeeds against his employees who, no doubt, were probably in the same pickle with Sherlock.
They were just in the town square rather than by the docks.
Taking as many back streets as you both could, eventually you both made it to a street with a carriage. Hailing it down, you handed over the address and made sure the curtains were closed as the horses began trotting in the same direction you’d both ran from.
The men with the guns ran past the carriage, none the wiser.
Meanwhile, inside the carriage, you were still trying to catch your breath.
“Are you alright?”
You nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m…I’m-”
“You can’t breathe.”
“I just need a minute.”
In that moment, James fully understood what Sherlock had meant when he said it scared him.
In recent weeks, you’d begun to suffer with breathing difficulties. Mostly, they stemmed from anxiety or panic attacks.
Only, rather than fall down and back yourself into a corner, you worked through them. Rather, rammed through them. It was bad enough not having your own body know what it was going through; but the thought to have to sit with that feeling?
It churned your stomach.
“C’mere.”
A little panicked at where James was reaching, you stopped him. “What are you-”
“You need to breathe. That corset can’t be helping any.”
You were still struggling to catch your breath and, although you knew he was right, something in the back of your mind was panicking for a whole other reason.
You trusted him. You didn’t think he’d take advantage of you, or use your vulnerable moment against you.
But it was still a vulnerable moment.
“Turn around,” he told you, his voice calm.
You found yourself complying whilst he fiddled with the hooks on the back of your skirt, pulled up your blouse from the back and started pulling at the strings holding your corset together.
“Always thought these things were like torture chambers.”
You hummed. “They’re usually not so bad.”
“Better?”
For the first time, you managed to let out a full breath. “Yes. Thank you.”
You could feel his hand gently pressing against your back. “Just try and take some deep breaths, yeah?”
You nodded, bracing your hands against the frame of the carriage as it rattled over the potholes in the street. Meanwhile, you tried to focus on James’ calming voice as he focused on keeping your breathing.
“How long have you been like this?”
“A while,” you admitted as you finally caught your breath and he helped tie everything back up again, though not as tight. “I don’t know what started them.”
“Stress of the job?”
You shook your head. “It’s the only time I can feel like I can breathe. I don’t know what they are. They just…come out of nowhere.”
“Have you consulted a doctor?”
You laughed. “What? Just so they can tell me I’m being hysterical?”
“Fair point. Maybe you are.”
You hit him in his diaphragm.
“Joking. Joking. I’m just messing with you.”
“Better be.”
James nodded before continuing to hypothesise what could be causing your sudden inability to breathe at random moments. Though neither of you had much longer to talk since the carriage was coming to a stop.
“Not a word about this to anyone. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
And, to his credit, he didn’t. He didn’t tell anyone…who didn’t already know.
“How was she?” Sherlock asked as you headed to bed on Sherlock’s orders.
“Exactly as you said,” James replied. “Breathless. Constricted.”
“Constricted? I never said constricted.”
Rather than panic, he remained calm.
“What do you mean constricted?”
James let out a controlled breath. “She needed help. I helped her.”
“I’m aware you care for her, James. But you really need to be careful-”
“Sherlock, nothing untoward happened. You have my word on that.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.” James nodded, his voice firm. “Have I really given you a reason to doubt me now?”
Sherlock studied him for a long time. “No. I suppose not.”
James nodded with a little thanks. “I’m gonna go check on her.”
“No, let her be.”
“Why?”
“She needs rest.” Sherlock said. “She’s been swept off her feet since coming to London. I highly doubt she’s had the same rest to balance it out.”
James sighed, pausing by the door. And, for the first time, Sherlock truly saw his friend in a vulnerable state. “I’m worried about her.”
“I know,” Sherlock laid a hand on his shoulder. “So am I. But she’ll only get agitated if we hover.”
James knew his friend was right. He didn’t like that he was right. But he was right nonetheless.
Though it didn’t stop him from worrying about you.
Or checking on you when he woke up in need of a glass of water.
Your bedroom door was wide open, but you weren’t inside.
James found you sitting in front of the fireplace in the living room, wrapped in a blanket, and far away in your own head.
“Are you alri-”
You nearly jumped out of your own skin. “James.”
He held up his hands as he stood by the door. “Sorry. How long have you been awake?”
“Oh,” your gaze narrowed on the mantle clock. “I don’t actually know.”
James looked around. “Want some company?”
“Aren’t you tired?”
Walking inside and taking a seat on the other end of the sofa, he shook his head.
“Too much excitement from the day.”
You let out a small chuckle. “I suppose you’re right.”
For a while, James and yourself talked. He tried to keep the conversation away from the case or anything that would get your brain fully tuning in and working.
And, after a solid hour, it worked.
“Rest now,” he said, softly, running his hand through your hair as you laid your head down against his thigh.
And somewhere between the feeling of his hands running through your hair and the soft hum of his voice, you fell into the first deep sleep you’d had in weeks.
James woke up to a gentle hand shaking his shoulder. “James, darling.”
“Mrs Holmes,” he said, a little shocked. “Is everything-”
“Oh, yes, yes. Everything’s fine. A telegram has come for you, from Sherlock.” Cordelia held it out to him, keeping his voice in a hushed whisper. “It seems rather important.”
“Thank you, Mrs Holmes.”
“Would you like me to wake her?”
James almost forgot what she was talking about until he looked down and saw you still fast asleep, his hand on your arm.
“Oh,” he shook his head. “No. Let her sleep.”
Cordelia smiled. “I thought that would be the answer. I just wanted to make sure. You go ahead. I’ll stay with her.”
James nodded, carefully moving you without waking you. And, just as Cordelia took his place, she turned to him as he stood at the door.
“James, dear.”
“Yes, Mrs Holmes?”
“Thank you for helping her sleep,” she said, her tone soft. “I knew she hadn't been resting as much, so this was a delightful sight to see.”
Laying a hand over his heart, he bowed a little. “It was my pleasure.”
You woke up a little over an hour later. At first, you were a little embarrassed. And then worried. But the reassuring smile and hug from Cordelia calmed you.
Your job wasn’t in jeopardy, and neither was your standing within her home.
By the time the boys returned, with Mycroft in tow, they were bleeding.
“Jesus,” you breathed, standing quickly from your place at the kitchen dining table. “What happened?”
“Sherlock! Oh, my- James!” Cordelia called out as she took in the sight of them both.
Mycroft was the only one unharmed.
As you were gathering spare, clean rags and some warm water, Mycroft and his mother helped the boys into their seats.
Apparently one of their suspects didn’t like the idea of getting followed. But, at the very least, they knew they were on the right track.
“Look at me,” you instructed as you turned James’ head to look at you. Not that you needed to force him all that much.
“You look well rested,” he told you.
You nodded, quickly. “And you look like you’ve just lost your first fight.”
“I’ll have you know, I won this one, actually.”
Sherlock nodded, trying to escape his brother’s attempts at cleaning his wounds. “He actually did. Saved my bacon, too.”
“Thank you, James.” Cordelia said, reaching over and squeezing his hand, briefly.
“At least someone has thanked me.”
“I had it under control.”
From the back of his head, Sherlock felt you hit him.
“Ow.”
“Thank him. God only knows you’re terrible at fighting.”
Sherlock sighed, “I suppose I do owe you thanks, James. So…thank you.”
“That’ll do.”
Holding Sherlock still, you placed a separate cloth against his wounds before handing him back to his brother. Meanwhile, you returned to James.
And you tried to ignore the way he was gently holding his hand against your thigh.
“And you should know,” James told you. “I lost my first fight ages ago.”
You hummed. “Really? When?”
“Against you.” He smiled. “Don’t you remember?”
“I just remember you being an arse.”
“Seems the only time I’ve actually lost a fight has been against you. Sadly, multiple times.”
“You don’t sound so beat up over that,” you said, because he didn’t.
He seemed happy. Amused, even.
Then you finally looked him in his eyes, and not at his wounds. And he was practically beaming.
“No,” he said. “I guess I’m not.”
Thankfully, Mycroft broke the tension that was growing quicker than usual between both yourself and James Moriarty.
“Would you stay still?”
With a heavy sigh, you rounded behind James and shoved Sherlock back into his seat.
“It hurts!”
“James?” You asked, looking at him.
He just nodded, placing both of his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders, anchoring him into his seat. “Stay still.”
“I regret ever going missing now,” Sherlock announced. “If I hadn’t, you two wouldn’t have become friends.”
“Don’t feel too bad, Sherlock. I’m sure I’d still be holding you down to help her if we weren’t friends.”
“Did anyone ever tell you- Ow!”
You smiled, briefly, holding up the shard of glass that had lodged itself in Sherlock’s arm. “It’s out.”
“Now I’m bleeding.”
James leaned down. “You were already bleeding.”
“But, now, I’m bleeding more.”
“Stop complaining,” you told him.
James smiled. “Listen to the woman, Sherlock.”
“Are you well, James?”
“I’m less beat up than you – I’d say so. Why?”
Sherlock lifted his head to look at his friend. “Because you never agree with Y/n.”
You didn’t look at either of them as you cleaned out the bleeding wound. “He’s open to learning, unlike some people I know.”
“If you mean me, I am open to learning.”
James leaned down, again. “Ah, but do you listen? You might find you learn more, that way.”
“If us being friends bothers you so much, Sherlock,” you sighed. “Maybe you should have sent a wire to tell us where you were.”
“You still haven’t forgiven me about that?”
James stood tall, crossing one boot over the other. “Didn’t you know her grudges have an excellent shelf-life?”
“All done,” you announced.
James smiled, lifting his hands from his friends shoulders. “See! It wasn't so bad.”
“Ah, I believe it’s your turn, James.”
Sherlock stood, with a proud smile. Though James didn’t need any help being held down to stay still. He was rather pleased that, despite the pain, he got to stay within your vicinity – even if you did take to scolding him every once in a while.
“Don’t they give you a headache, mother?” Mycroft asked, leaning over.
“No more than you boys did growing up,” Cordelia smiled. “Besides, it reminds me of being at home. There’s never a quiet moment. I can’t stand the quiet anymore.”
Mycroft gave her a reassuring smile, taking her hand in his.
In the meantime, Sherlock ran over everything that had happened whilst working the case and you cleaned the cuts across James’ face, arms and hands.
That case was cleared up within the week.
Though it wasn’t long before Sherlock was sticking his nose in somebody else's business and dragging James with him. And, by proxy, yourself and eventually Mycroft.
*~*~*~*~*
“I’m home, dear!”
Without looking up, you continued writing out your letters that would be sent to every wealthy friend who couldn’t say ‘no’ to Cordelia Holmes.
“Is there a reason you’re bothering me in the middle of the day?”
“I thought I might check in on you,” James said, looking around your office, though his eyesight always landed back on you without fail. “Make sure you aren't overworking yourself.”
“As you can see I am perfectly fine,” you smiled, still not looking up. “But still rather busy.”
“Do you ever actually leave your office?”
“Yes,” you told him. “In fact, I’m due to meet Mrs Holmes at the Charity House. We have another shipment of sheets and general medical equipment coming in.”
You could hear the smile in his voice. “A baker, a maid, a secretary and now…a nurse?”
You chuckled. “Sherlock and yourself aren’t my only patients.”
“Don’t you have to be medically trained to help?”
“That’s why Mrs Holmes has hired a resident doctor,” you said. “We all help out where we can. Anything major gets an appointment at the hospital. You might think about volunteering at some point.”
“Oh, I might?”
You nodded, looking at him. “You might. It would keep you and Sherlock out of trouble.”
“Do you really think you can keep me and Sherlock out of trouble?” He asked, leaning forward against your desk.
You hummed. “Probably not. I figure by now it’s soaked into your bones.”
James hummed, too. “Souls, you might say.”
“That would figure you were born into it, would it not?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
You kept your gaze fixed on his. And whilst his eyes searched yours, a smirk started to develop on his face.
His voice dropped a little lower. “D’you know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you like me,” James said, rather confidently, though quietly. “And I also think you want to see more of me.”
“Is that so?”
He nodded. “Yes, I believe it is.”
“So…going ahead with your theory…if I asked you to come with me to the House and help out…what would you say?”
He smiled, his eyes landing on the small vase of flowers by your desk. A small vase of cornflowers and baby’s breath.
Hope in Love. Purity and Innocence.
“I’d say…” James leaned over, plucking a single stem of baby’s breath and a simple bloom of cornflower, before leaning closer to you and tucking the small bunch behind your ear. “Anything for you, my dear.”
In the two afternoons a week he spent volunteering at the Charity House with you, helping entertain the children with stories, and helping hold patients steady as the doctor helped clean their wounds; you got to see his vulnerable moments.
And he got to see yours.
Whilst he simply collected visual evidence of something he already knew, you caught passing glimpses of his softer side.
“You’re good at this,” you smiled as yourself and James walked down the street and towards the carriage.
“Good at what?” He asked.
“Entertaining,” you clarified. “Teaching. Keeping people calm.”
“Ah,” he chuckled, lowering his gaze to his feet. “The art of distraction.”
“Call it what you want,” you said. “It works. Do you have siblings? I’ve never heard you mention any but the way you are with the kids…you’ve got a natural talent.”
James scratched the back of his head. “Just a brother. But my ma tended to a couple of the local families in the village. Believe me, I’ve cleaned more scraped knees and stopped fights than you could count.”
“And I suppose, taught them how to properly defend themselves, too?”
James chuckled. “I suppose. But if my mother ever asks, you don’t know that.”
You nodded. “Duly noted.”
Helping you into the carriage, quickly followed by Cordelia who had finally said goodnight to the doctor, James sat beside you.
And when the carriage shook from the pothole in the road, and James held out his arm to steady you, you weren’t quick to throw him away from your reach.
*~*~*~*~*
Later that evening, as Sherlock balanced the needle of the gramophone to his mother’s favourite song collection, James held his hand out to Mrs Holmes before leading her to the make-shift dance floor in the middle of the living room.
Somewhere between the laughter and slightly out of time dancing, as Sherlock tried his best to avoid stepping on your toes, Mrs Holmes whispered something to her own dance partner.
“I believe someone’s feet are in need of saving.”
It didn’t take much for James to catch on to what Cordelia was telling him. Stepping across, Cordelia pulled her son away and into her arms, laughing about how he used to dance as a boy.
Meanwhile, James held out his hand and, despite the pull you felt in your gut – that awkward, yet excited feeling that usually would have had you pulling your hand away and politely saying no – you went with it.
Taking his hand in yours, over the next thirty seconds, you came to realise just how much James Moriarty had been keeping from you.
Because he was rather an excellent dancer, despite the context. He didn’t step on your feet, led you rather than you leading him; all whilst being light on his own feet.
And you had never known.
But it was a relatively nice surprise.
“I shall bid you goodnight, my darlings,” Cordelia's soft voice smiled before she kissed each of you on the top of your heads.
The dancing had long been put to rest, but the conversation had followed far into the evening.
“Don’t stay up too late,” she told you. “And do try to stay out of trouble.”
“Of course, mother.”
Sherlock soon followed his mother, James saying he wouldn’t be long behind him. But, finally being left in silence together, yourself and James cleared away the glasses and half empty decanters.
“I have a question I’d like to ask you.” James said, breaking the silence.
“Should I be worried?” You asked, looking over your shoulder to him, finding him already looking at you.
“Maybe,” he answered with a grin. “Probably.”
“Then I await your question in trepidation.”
James chuckled, feeling the warmth of the dying fire. “There’s actually a few questions I’d like to ask you, but I’ll stick to one for now.”
You looked at him, and nodded. “Okay then.”
“Have you been sleeping? Well, I mean.”
Taking the short stroll from the window to the mantel, you nodded again, placing your hands behind you. “I have, if you must know.”
“Good.”
“I believe the reason for that is…down to you.”
“Down to me?”
You nodded. Again, you felt that pull inside of you. But rather than excusing yourself and locking yourself in your room for the rest of the evening, you decided to follow it.
“Whenever I can’t sleep…I think of you.”
“Oh…right.”
“Not in that way.”
James chuckled, a little nervous. “Right. No, I suppose not.”
“But certainly the memory of you,” you told him. “That night…in here…it was the first time I felt…” You took a breath, unable to break your gaze away from his. “Safe. At ease.”
James took a small step closer towards you. “That’s a lot…coming from you.”
“I suppose so.”
“What was it that you called me, when we first met?” James looked away and down at your waist before looking back to your eyes once more.
“A half-wit?”
“No.”
“A reckless one?”
“Closer.”
James took another small step towards you.
Then it hit you. “Ah, a reckless idiot?”
James nodded. “Actually, I think your specific words were ‘reckless, untrustworthy, idiot’. Have to say – you were pretty spot on with that insult.”
You bobbed your head. “Well, you did think the best course of action was to sneak up on a woman.”
“Well, I did learn my lesson.”
You chuckled. “You did.”
“What…what I’m trying to ask you…” Never in his life had he been this nervous to talk to a woman.
“Do you still believe that?”
“That you’re reckless? Or untrustworthy? Or an idiot?” You asked, quickly, with a confident tilt of your head. “Because I have a different answer for each.”
The feeling of James’ heart sinking in his chest when you asked him the specifics of his question, came to a grounding halt when you finished your sentence.
This time, you took a step closer towards him. Instinctively, his hand came to your waist, trying not to hold onto you for dear life but also trying to keep you tethered to him so he had at least one memory of holding you close; in case everything blew up in his face.
“I do think that you’re still reckless,” you told him. “But only when you have to be. I still do worry about you and Sherlock from time to time. Sometimes I wonder if one morning I’ll find your names printed in bold in the paper.”
Your hands pressed gently against his waistcoat and the sleeve of his shirt.
“In terms of you being an idiot, well, for as long as I live both you and Sherlock will both be idiots to me. Stupid? No. Well, unless we’re counting the time you two thought it was wise to pose as policemen to break into a jail.”
James chuckled a little. “Even I have to admit, it wasn’t exactly our brightest moment.”
You smiled gently, before making sure he looked you in the eye for what you were about to tell him.
“But if you’re asking if I think you’re untrustworthy?” You took a breath and shook your head. “No. I don’t think you’re untrustworthy. Not anymore. I’ve seen you with your friends, and with the people closest to you. I’ve seen how you’ve treated strangers in their lowest moments, and in their highest.”
Gently resting your palm against his cheek, you continued talking.
“But most of all…I have seen how you’ve treated the moments I’ve shared with you. I don’t trust easily, James. But rather than judge me for that…you listened. And you learned. And you…you made a safe space for me to be…me. Without judgement and without fear.”
“There have been plenty of times where you could have used something against me,” you continued. “Sadly, I’ve known people who would have. But you didn’t.”
“I’d never. Not for anyone I care for. Especially you.”
With his hands anchored at your hips, he pulled you closer to him before he lowered his head against yours.
“I know,” you smiled. “I know. And that is why I trust you, James.”
Closing his eyes, James breathed you in, solidifying a memory of you both that in his darkest moments, he would use as a lantern to guide him home.
You could feel his straining resistance as he tried not to ruin the moment. One of his hands anchored themselves at the base of your skull, under your hair; either to pull you in and kiss you, or to keep you away from him in case the reality of kissing you was more than his existence could handle.
But you trusted him.
Gently, you swiped your thumb back and forth against his cheek.
“I trust you, James,” you said, your voice soft and calm. “I trust you.”
Looking at you, his gaze flickered over yours, searching for a physical answer. So, you nodded a little and repeated yourself.
“I trust you.”
Finally, he kissed you.
He kissed you like it was the last thing he would ever be able to do in life. As if he was begging with God Almighty to let him live just a moment longer, just so he could kiss you.
Your hand circled to the back of his neck, in order to pull him down closer to you.
By the time morning rolled around, neither of you spoke about what had occurred the night before. You knew you would, eventually, when the room was safe from prying eyes and ears.
Ultimately, when the time did come for people to find out, the only one who didn’t seem surprised was Cordelia.
After all, she knew what it looked like when two people who had grown to love and care for each other. Even if you didn’t have the most conventional start with one another.
When you, a famous Piltover socialite, are seen spending more time mingling at academy parties with the inventors of Hextech, many speculate that you’re being bedded by the suave Jayce Talis. No one knows the reality; that you’re actually painfully in love with his partner. Viktor is oblivious to this, assuming he’s just a novelty to you. Inspired by the FKA Twigs song of the same name :D
🚫 I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫
It didn’t take long for news to spread when you arrived at a party. You were never on time, but your lateness was tasteful. It could give one the image of a graceful woman, unrushed as she applied her lipstick perfectly in the mirror, swiping her makeup on in fluid motions.
The guests who arrived within the first hour were often found theorising about what dress you’d wear, designed by whom, the colour, the cut. At the last academy party, you’d worn a stunning royal blue gown, the bodice diamond shaped and tailored to perfection, clinging to your body like a second skin. Crystals had been woven into your hair, and they glinted in the moody lighting, drawing any eyes that had somehow missed the volume of your dress.
Tonight, Viktor could hear a group of upper-class women bickering about the colour you’d don to this less formal event.
“We haven’t seen her in red yet. That would be such a bold choice. A nice burgundy would match her skin tone perfectly.”
“But emerald green would make more sense for the theming of this party.”
“No one ever dresses for the theme anymore, Estelle, that’s so out of style.”
“Shh. Keep your eye on the door, she’s bound to get here any moment.”
Somehow resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he went to find Jayce. He rarely attended parties, the noise and crowds causing him discomfort at best and anxiety at worst. But tonight, Jayce had mentioned something about you being eager to see him, so he’d put on his usual suit and said he’d make an appearance.
While he wasn’t swayed by your every whim, not like the other partygoers, he did enjoy the conversations you had when you were very, very drunk. Sober (Y/n) was self-righteous and unbearable, but drunk (Y/n) could keep up with him as he talked through his complex theories and made insights that were genuinely insightful.
Viktor did consider you a friend, but your friendship was something he was constantly having to put himself in the deep-end for. It wasn’t sustainable when the only version of you that made him comfortable was the one you hid most of the time.
Jayce, however, could stand to be around you all the time. Apart from Viktor, you were his closest friend, and he found a mountain of humour in the whisperings that claimed you were the hottest couple in Piltover. He liked to put on a show, kissing your hand in greeting at every party, you playing along by tittering like a lovesick teenager.
Tonight was no different as you entered the party on Jayce’s arm, wearing a dress that was notably champagne pink. A yellow diamond hung from your beautiful neck, emphasising the exposed flesh above a sleeveless bodice. Apart from that, you’d opted for a simpler design with a classic silhouette.
Your eyes scanned the room, waving hello here and there to people you knew. Jayce spotted Viktor first, pointing him out, and his heart skipped a beat when your gaze landed on him. You stepped onto your tiptoes, whispering something in Jayce’s ear. His friend chuckled, then began walking you over to him.
He hated the way his heart hammered. You were objectively attractive, that was all. It was hormones and other useless chemicals letting his brain know that his body liked you. It meant nothing.
He opened his mouth to greet you as you approached, but you beat him to it.
“You look beautiful tonight, Viktor.”
You’d left Jayce’s side and had placed your hand atop Viktor’s, on his cane. You were already tipsy. That was new. You normally paced yourself as to not let yourself get sloppy until the night was over.
Viktor shot Jayce a questioning look, but his friend shrugged unhelpfully.
“This is what I wear every night,” he replied, and you grinned.
“I want some wine. Do you want wine?”
Before he could tell you yes or no you’d left his side, your hand slipping away from his. The ache of your absence was undeniable as heads turned to watch you stalk over to where the waiters were serving drinks on silver platters. You grabbed two glasses, heading back to Viktor with an assuring smile, but got stopped by someone on the way back.
Viktor and Jayce spoke about their latest experiment as they waited for you to return, but as the minutes stretched on, they realised they’d lost you to the crowd.
“It is getting late,” Viktor said, despite the fact that it was barely ten o’clock, “I’m going to take my leave.”
Jayce placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from running away.
“(Y/n)’s got something to say to you,” he stressed, and Viktor stayed to listen, “I promised her I wouldn’t let you escape before you two got a chance to talk.”
Viktor dug his nails into his cane. Why did you have Jayce wrapped around your finger, too? Obeying your every command like a lapdog, like the crowd of admirers that beckoned at your slightest whim. At least Jayce had no romantic interest in you, and as far as Viktor knew, he hadn’t pursued any sort of sexual encounter with you. Not that Viktor cared, he didn’t care at all, he told himself, despite the way his heart twisted at the thought of Jayce’s hands on you in the dark.
“I’ll find her before I leave,” he relented, and left Jayce along with his unwanted thoughts.
It took twenty minutes of painstakingly scouring the crowd to find you, sitting pretty, surrounded by a crowd of admirers. By the animated way you spoke, emphatic hands causing your wine to swish dangerously in your glass, he could tell you were more than a little tipsy now.
He felt self-conscious as he broke into the circle, like he was an unwanted drifter encroaching on the safe space of luxury and arrogance. “Jayce said you had something to tell me?”
Your smile faltered, but only for a split second. “He must be mistaken.”
Viktor sighed, already fed up with your unnecessary mysteries. “Fine. I’m going to bed.”
You caught his hand, pulling it to your chest, fingers on your collarbone and his thumb resting in the notch at the bottom of your throat. He felt your irregular pulse against his thumb, the edge of your sincerity beneath his touch, just out of reach.
Then you pulled away, reclining on the chaise lounge. “Oh, good, some food.”
Viktor turned to see the waiter approaching with a platter full of fruit. He plucked a bunch of rich, purple grapes, recalling you’d said they were your favourite. When he turned back to you, he caught your delight.
“You know me better than anyone else, Viktor,” you lifted a delicate hand, hooking your finger into a beltloop on his pants, beckoning him closer.
He hated that. He despised the flirty look you gave him as he lifted the grapes, meeting your dreamy expression with a scowl on his own. He hated that so many others had seen you open your mouth like this for them, and that he was no different, replaceable. Like he didn’t consistently open his mind to you and let you peek inside.
You bit down on the ripe, purple fruit, a drunken giggle in your throat as you pulled back, juice dripping down your mouth. Your so-called friends laughed and bathed you in compliments,
“How do you make everything look so good?”
“(Y/n), you’re naughty.”
“Save some for us.”
Viktor felt his insides twisting at the sight of you, disgusted in the way you transformed him into a creature of desire. Ashamed that your spell worked on him just as well as the others. His hand was rough as it took hold of your face, his thumb wiping the stain from your lips.
“You look ridiculous right now,” he whispered harshly, squeezing your cheeks in a reproachful hold before letting go.
“Where’re you going?” You whined. “Viktor?”
You knew you were making a fool of him, you had to know. It had to be a purposeful play to let him know his place. That no matter how many intimate moments you shared, you would never be his, and he was a fool for even considering it. But the edge of desperation in your voice made him pause.
He made the difficult choice to put himself on the line once more. “I need help getting back to my room.” He felt so vulnerable with all these people around, watching this encounter casually. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking when you clumsily got to your feet. Would you use this last opportunity to crucify him in front of your audience? Or would you relent?
But you just wordlessly took his free arm, the one not clinging to his cane. You slipped your heels off right there, and looked up at him.
“Are you growing too old to enjoy late nights?” You asked softly, so that no one else might hear the joke you shared.
Viktor’s chest felt heavy at your words. “I would have liked to have time to grow into this fatigue.”
You were followed out by coos and clucks about how much of a kind soul you were, “helping the crippled man to his room”. Viktor watched the flash of hurt cross your face as you heard, then the mask slid back over when you noticed him looking, the most convincing smile lighting up your face. You were a brilliant actress, he was beginning to realise. And that made him reassess every unpleasant encounter he’d ever shared with you.
He wondered what it meant, that you were leaving the party with him. He received his answer as soon as you’d reached a quiet hallway, and, looking left and right, you dragged him into an alcove, opening a small door that led to a private balcony. The air was slightly chilled, with a gentle breeze. Piltover shined brightly below, the stars above dancing with airships.
“Why are we-?” His question got lost in your mouth as you kissed him, a blinding thrill shocking him into submission. He groaned, wanting to pull away, not wanting you to win that easily, but his body wouldn’t obey him as your hands pulled him closer. His body trapped yours against to stone railing, hands falling to the rough surface to gather purchase and keep himself from toppling to the ground.
Viktor was dizzy when you finally allowed him air, your mouth moving to place kisses to his jaw. He knew he probably had lipstick all over his face now. He gasped when you nipped at his pulse, teeth grazing his neck.
“H-how much have you had to drink, (Y/n)?”
“Fuck you,” you mumbled against his skin.
Viktor pressed apprehensive fingers to your shoulder, the skin-on-skin contact feeling far more intimate than it ought to. Your mewled at his touch, your confidence waning as pure desire subdued you, Viktor now holding all the power with a simple, innocent touch.
You looked up at him with lust-blown pupils. “I need you.”
Oh.
“You… want to sleep with me?”
He wondered if you were this dramatic whenever you propositioned yourself. You laughed.
“Yes,” You confessed. But there was something else left unsaid.
Viktor was too busy reeling from what you’d just conceded to notice the way you looked like you had more to say. He wanted to give into the urge he knew many had given into before without a second thought. But he placed his hands on your shoulders, forcing a gap between you.
“The wine has gone to your head. You will regret it in the morning if you wake up and find me beside you.” He retrieved his cane from where it had fallen against the balcony railing, “Go back to the party. Find someone beautiful to warm your bed. Or, better yet, take some water and go to sleep.”
You crossed your arms, insecurity seeping into the cracks of your confidence. “No.”
“No?” Viktor huffed, amused, “I understand you’re not familiar with rejection, but this is how it works, (Y/n): I walk away, and you find someone else.”
“So, that’s it?” you frowned, “You don’t want me?”
Viktor’s heart felt heavy at the thought of leaving you here alone in the cold, wondering what aspect of you was lacking that someone as pitiful as him could afford to refuse you. Not that you had such a low opinion of him as he did, you were always calling him beautiful and handsome, peppering him with compliments he didn’t quite understand. He’d taken them as jokes, even though you meant them to be sincere.
“You need to understand, if we sleep together, I will forever be an ex-fling to you.” He explained, watching you fidget as he spoke. It was rare to see you so unsure of yourself. “I’ve seen how you treat them, (Y/n). You discard them. I don’t want to lose you just because you want one night of fun.”
“Tell me what you really think,” You grumbled, looking off into the night. Viktor brushed a hand over his face, annoyed in himself too. Only he could have the most beautiful woman in Piltover at his feet and manage to screw it up.
“I do,” he whispered, “want you. I just want too much. I could never ask that of you.”
You smiled, relishing the knowledge you held onto as he brought a hand up to caress your cheek. He had given you the key, not knowing you held the lock.
“So, if I promised more than one night…” You suggested, watching him squirm under your gaze as you brought it back to him.
“That sounds like,” Viktor’s breath caught in his throat, “A great setup to break my heart.”
You shook your head, tears caught in your lower lashes.
“It would only be fair, since you’ve broken mine pretty much every week since we met.”
What did you mean by that? Viktor whirled in his memory, trying to figure out when he could’ve done such a thing. Sure, he was mean sometimes when you were acting haughty, and he left parties early even when you begged him not to go. But he was just being a good friend, leaving you alone with whichever person had snagged your interest that night. Leaving you to it, even when your eyes pleaded with him to stay and…
“No,” he droned into his hands, hiding his face “I didn’t know. I’ve been a fool.”
You pulled his hands away, revealing a distressed looking Viktor. You wanted to kiss him again, but that probably wouldn’t have helped his existential reeling. Instead, he took your face in his freed hands, and kissed you like he’d always wanted to, pouring every ounce of himself into you, restraint thrown to the wind.
When you parted, he looked like he wanted to cry.
“You’re simultaneously the smartest and dumbest person I know,” you told him, tracing his wobbling bottom lip.
“Forgive me,” he begged, “Forgive me for wasting every moment we could have been together hating you for not wanting me, when all this time that wasn’t true.”
“Okay,” you smiled, “Only if you can forgive me for being too much of a coward to make it obvious that I wanted you.”
You weren’t at fault. You’d made it as obvious as you could have, save screaming how you felt from the rooftops. Viktor had been too blind to see what was right in front of him.
But he was looking at you now, with open eyes. He saw the heart on your sleeve, the desire in your eyes, his name on your lips and tongue, willing and wanting to give it all to him.
“Shall we catch up on all these feelings in your room?” You asked, a playful glint entering your eye, “Or are you going to be impatient and undress me right here?”
Viktor’s words brushed against your mouth, his lips dipping to yours as his fingers deftly caught hold of the zipper on the back of your dress.
Summary: An unfortunate encounter with a waffle iron leads you to Cook County's ER at midnight. You hope you don't run into your roommate John... he tends to worry, and you're sure he'll prioritize you over more important patients.
Pairing: John Carter x gn!reader
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings/tags: minor burn injury, reader goes to the ER, fluff, roommate!carter, phd student reader. apologies if he's ooc, i've only seen about nine episodes so far lmao
my first ER fic... needed to write this babygirl STAT! perhaps i'll write him more in the future :)
divider
For the record, you tried everything to avoid the ER.
There's really nowhere you'd rather be less than Cook County’s emergency waiting room at midnight. You put ice and antiseptic and Neosporin, all from your roommate’s first aid kit that he insists on keeping stocked. Any other night, you would've stayed home and let your body do its thing. Heal. That’s what human bodies do, right?
But after burning yourself with the waffle iron, you stared at the patches of blood swelling the criss-crossed welts on your arm, and said roommate's voice started nagging you in your head. You know most burns are worse than people realize? I've seen three this month that got infected because people didn't come to the hospital right away. This was two weeks ago, when you were still waking up from a nap after submitting your thirty-two page paper on the significance of husbandry in medieval literature.
It should be said that, after only rotations in dermatology and psychiatry, your roommate is a little jumpy when it comes to emergency medicine. He takes everything seriously, especially after getting reamed by his supervising resident in his first two months.
His nerves have infected you. That’s the truth. You really need to stop helping him study. Knowing all the ways a person can become septic will make anyone jumpy.
The nurse has given you an ice pack while you wait, which was really nice of her. You don't mind waiting, although you have a morning class, and you were hoping to get some actual sleep before heading off. You aren’t a med student, thank Christ, but a PhD is no joke.
The door to the waiting room opens and there’s John, which makes you panic. You seriously debated paying a cab extra to take you to the next hospital over in Chicago. But you don't have that kind of money, and you were worried about the burn, so you sucked it up and hoped he would stay out of the waiting room. No such luck.
It seems like maybe he hasn't spotted you. He beelines for an elderly woman and helps her into a wheelchair, complimenting her Schnauzer-printed handbag, which you find extremely endearing. He looks so professional in his white coat, John Carter printed neatly on the badge clipped to his pocket. John told you that in the beginning of his internship, some of the residents teased him about having a tailored coat. But you think he wears it well. His movements are confident, gentle. It’s nice to see him in action, despite the circumstances. He wheels her inside and hands her off to a nurse. Then he stops.
You grimace as he turns and faces you. You wave, trying for casual.
“Oh, hey, John,” you say lightly. “Is this where you're placed? Very cool.”
He hurries to you and his gaze flicks to your cooked arm. His eyes widen.
“Holy shit,” he says. A few patients look up in alarm. John winces and mumbles an apology. He squats down to your level, gingerly lifting your injured arm to get a closer look at the burn.
“What happened?” he asks. “How long have you been waiting?"
“Dude, relax,” you say, nudging his shoulder with your knuckles. “I'm fine. But that’s the last time I attempt anything with your waffle iron. It's out to get me.”
“That’s why you shouldn't use my stuff,” John says, teasing, momentarily forgetting his worry. But then he sees the welts and frets again. He stands, seemingly coming to a decision in his mind. “I'll be right back.”
“John, please don't make a big deal. I can wait my turn.”
“I'm not making a big deal,” he says as he disappears behind the doors. You groan, tilting your head back in defeat.
“Dr. Benton?”
Carter sniffs his resident out like a bloodhound. You're his only thought. He has about five other patients to check on, but you need care. You burned your arm, and it's nasty-looking. Not that you're nasty-looking. You could never be nasty. You're probably the prettiest person Carter's ever laid eyes on, and he gets a lot of pretty people throwing themselves at him when they find out he's a doctor-in-training.
You aren't like that. You don't care that he’s been sucking on a silver spoon since the day he was born, that he has no idea how he fits into the fabric of the world, but he’s trying his best. You know he’s trying. You're interested, kind. You ask him how he's doing, leave him leftovers to reheat, throw his laundry in with yours if you're doing a load. He pays more than his half of rent, even though you’ve told him repeatedly he doesn’t need to. He buys the expensive groceries to replenish what you use on him, so you can enjoy fancy grilled cheeses and burgers. Carter provides little to nothing, working twelve to fourteen hours a day and borrowing money from his dad, but you still treat him like he’s good. Like he’s worth it. You're the best roommate ever. And right now, he needs to return the favor. This is truly the least he can do.
“Dr. Benton,” Carter says again as he gets closer.
“Heard you the first time,” Benton says tiredly. “What is it, Carter?”
“Uh, burn victim.” Carter winces. He feels bad calling you that. Your case isn't that severe, and he's undercutting what real burn victims experience. He's just a little shaken. He's never seen you hurt. “Sorry, not a victim, just… patient came in with a waffle iron burn and it looks kind of deep. I'm worried about infection.”
Benton shrugs. “So treat it. You can handle a burn.”
“Right, but they're still out in the waiting room.”
“Then how have you already made a diagnosis?”
Carter looks at a crash cart, trying to think of an excuse that'll result in the least amount of shouting. “Uh…”
“Carter.”
“Hmm? Oh, well, I happened to see it when I brought in Mrs. Voorhees. I really think we should bump them up the list.”
“We don't pick favorites. If someone's injuries are severe enough, they get admitted without our interception.”
“Right, yeah, I know that, but…” Carter interlocks his fingers, bending them. “It's just that, uh…”
Benton crosses his arms. “Do you know the patient?”
Shit. Caught. Carter ambles for the answer they both know. “Well, kinda.”
“Kinda?”
Carter musters the saddest, pleading-est look he can manage. “Sir, please. I'm really worried. It's my roommate.”
Benton blows air out, probably already sick of Carter. They’re nine hours into their shift. This is about when Benton loses his already thin patience.
But he doesn’t yell, to Carter’s surprise. “Fine. One time. Don't make a habit of it. And don't tell anyone I gave the okay.”
Carter barely waits after the go-ahead, sprinting back to the waiting room and shouting thank you.
Five minutes later, your name is called. You're aware of eyes on you, and the fact that you've been called before three others who were here when you arrived. You're about to explain all this to the receptionist when John appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. He says your name professionally, like you've never met before.
You glare at him. “John, did you do this?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about, but I'd appreciate it if you'd call me Dr. Carter,” he says mildly.
You roll your eyes and follow him into the ER. The doors shut and you turn, about to give him a piece of your mind. But John's already down the hall, leading you to a room. You follow exasperatedly.
He shuts the door behind you and sets down his clipboard, rushing to inspect your arm. All pretenses fall away; this is your concerned roommate fussing over you.
“John, it's wrong that you bumped me up the list. Those people have been waiting over an hour.” You sit on the examination chair, unable to do much else with John crowding you into it like a neurotic sheepdog. He sits on a stool and gets close, propping your legs up on a large cushion. He takes his stethoscope and feels your chest and back. You sigh.
“Is this really neces—”
“Yes! Burns can get infected. Irregular heartbeat is a sign of that. Anyway, you don't need to worry about the people waiting. One man out there said his cheek hurts after falling asleep on his kitchen table; one woman took too many vitamin C tablets and won't leave even though we told her they're water-soluble and she'll pee them out; and the third patient thinks they’re seeing ghosts. Why you'd come to an ER for that, I really don’t know, but—”
“The point is that you shouldn't show me favoritism just because we're roommates,” you say.
“Considering I'm your emergency contact, I think this is exactly the type of situation that warrants favoritism.” John gently lifts your arm and places it on his lap so he can clean the skin. “Might sting a little. Sorry.”
It stings, but it's tolerable. John's honed in on your arm like he's performing surgery. He meticulously cleans and applies a topical for the burn. Already, your skin feels better, no longer pulsing underneath the welts. John is so careful with you.
Another doctor comes in shortly. “Carter, you're needed in South 4.” His eyes land on you and he looks a little friendlier. “Hello, I'm Dr. Benton. Can I take a look at your burn?”
You nod and he approaches. John leans away for Dr. Benton to look. You know Benton well, from how often John's mentioned him. It's nice to put a face to the name. John watches Benton, eager for feedback.
“Is it okay? Should I run tests? If there's an infection—”
“Looks alright to me,” Benton says, voice a little softer. “First degree burn. Wrap it.” He looks at you. “So you two are roommates? I thought Carter lived with Mommy and Daddy.”
“They wanted me to be independent,” he mumbles, focused on wrapping your arm.
You smile. “We've been roommates for a few months. I live close to the hospital and needed the rent. It’s good to meet you. I've heard great things about his time here.”
Benton barks a laugh. “Yeah, I know that's a lie, but thanks.” He eyes John. “We had no idea he was living with someone. We’re relieved to learn he’s well-adjusted.” John rolls his eyes but doesn’t look away from your arm.
“You kids get along alright?” Benton asks.
You're confused by what he’s getting at but you nod anyway. “I’d say so. I mean, I hope I'm a decent roommate…”
“You are,” John says instantly. “The best.”
Benton hums. “Two minutes, Carter, or I'm assigning you to enemas for the rest of the shift.”
You hide a smile. John winces. “Okay, okay. I'll be out soon.”
“We'll give you a topical,” Benton says. “Apply it and change the dressing every six hours or so. If it starts to hurt or smell, come back. I'm sure you'll be well taken care of.”
“Of course,” John says, touching your knee.
Benton leaves and you watch John clean up the station.
“He seems nice,” you say.
John scoffs. “Yeah, in front of you.” He tilts his head, considering. “Actually, he was unusually cool about bringing you in sooner. More than when I brought Joe after he broke his arm at the bar.”
You remember that; John had just fallen asleep when he'd gotten the pleading call from his idiotic friend Joe Bailey to bring him to the hospital. His parents are friends with John's, and Joe had been terrified his parents would ship him off to military school if they found out about another drunken injury. He was always pulling stupid, rich boy stunts, as far as you understood, but John had taken him to the hospital out of nostalgia and sympathy.
They don’t talk anymore. You’re grateful. John deserves better friends.
“Benton told him he was a fool.” John sighs at the memory. “He wasn't wrong.”
“A waffle iron burn is pretty foolish too,” you say glumly.
“No, it's not. Could happen to anyone.” He squeezes your uninjured arm. “I'm glad you came, alright? I'd drive you home but—”
“It's fine,” you say. “It's a short train ride.” You don't have the funds for another cab.
John frowns. “This late? No way. Here.” He pulls out his wallet and two twenties, tucking them into your coat pocket.
“John—”
“No.” He holds up a hand. “Take advantage of me while you can, before Dad officially cuts me off.”
“It doesn't cost forty dollars to get home.”
“Well, order a pizza or something.” He smiles cheekily. “Anything to keep you from using my waffle iron. Why were you making waffles at night anyway?”
“I was trying to make breakfast for dinner. I was gonna leave you a plate too, for when you got back, so you could actually eat breakfast in the morning instead of dinner leftovers.”
His eyes turn soft. “You don't need to do that. I like whatever you cook.”
You shrug. “You have no choice.”
He grins. “I'm at your mercy, true. Honestly, though, I do like what you make. And I'd much prefer you stick to dishes that won't result in a burn.”
You groan. “Oh my God. How long are you gonna bring this up?”
“At least a month. Probably longer.”
“Carter!” comes a shout from the hallway.
John winces, scrambling to get up. “Sorry. I have to go. He's not kidding about the enemas. I'll see you soon? Call me when you get home so I know you're okay. Just leave a message, they'll get it to me.”
“Okay, worrywart. I'll be fine, you know. Not my first day on Earth.”
You flick his bangs away from his eyes. They drift back immediately.
“You need a haircut,” you say.
“Maybe one of my patients will be a hairdresser.” He crosses his fingers, scrunching his face. You laugh. He opens his eyes, sobering. “Please take a cab. Promise?”
“Yes, mom, I promise. Thanks.”
He reaches for you like he’s going to hug you, or maybe… maybe kiss your head. He did that once, when you both got a little drunk after finals last semester. Your heart stutters. But John aborts at the last moment, patting your shoulder instead. He flexes his hands, looking at you for a moment longer.
“See you at home.”
Then he’s gone. And maybe it’s not so bad, going to the ER, when John Carter’s tending to you.
Summary: You and John are convinced to take an unassuming aphrodisiac for the universities research department. It's effects were stronger than expected.
Authors Note: binge watching er and ovulating. i had a vision. i am very aware this entire scenario would literally never ever happen. but a girl can dream. i tried my best. i lowkey hate this but it's been sitting in my drafts for far too long. Smut with some plot.
Word count: 2.9k
"No I'm not doing that!" yelled Mark.
"Count me out" Susan said to a defeated looking Dr. Morganstern.
This was the scene you and John had walked into starting your shift at ER.
You and John had been training here at the County General Hospital for a little over a year now. Due to a lack of resources you'd also been sharing a room at the apartment complex three blocks away from said hospital. And a bed.
Over the past year you and John have been growing closer. It would be nearly impossible not to, given that you were quite literally spending every waking breath with one another. But this was a forced proximity you had grown fond of.
Sure it became slightly annoying when your colleagues (more often than not Dr. Greene and Dr. Ross) would joke about the two of you being together so much. Always being referred to as "love birds", the two of you may as well have been attached at the hip. But these romantic accusations did not come from nothing. The constant stolen glances from one another, the lingering touches, the way John would not so casually jump through fire to have an excuse to be with you as much as possible. It was a struggle not to pounce on him the second you two were alone in that cramped apartment.
But you had spent the past year convincing yourself it would only lead to harm, and that it was easier lingering in the maybe instead of possibly ruining the only real friendship you really had there.
"What's going on here?" John asked the group, a mutual look of either fear, disgust, or confusion written across their faces.
"Oh you two would be perfect! Two youngsters like yourselves!" Morganstern exclaimed prancing over to the two of you with a clipboard in hand.
"What exactly is he referring to?" you looked to Susan, disturbed by the unfamiliar excitement exuding from Morganstern. Susan shook her head with a disinterested face before being called for a patient. She was more than eager to flee the scene.
"The university has asked us to be apart of a little research experiment they're performing" said Morganstern.
"Yea why don't you go ahead and tell them what it's for Morganstern" laughed Dr. Ross, who sat amused in the spinning chair behind the counter.
"Yes well," Morganstern shot Dr. Ross a glare "It's a new aphrodisiac they're testing out"
"Right" you said confusedly "And we'd be perfect candidates why?" John began shifting his weight between his feet as he stuck his hands in his coat pockets and began looking around the lobby to appear uninterested.
"Well you see, their research shows extremely inconsistent results. Some test subjects have experienced little to no effect, others have experienced up to 24 hours of it's... lasting effects" he explained.
"So what? You want us to take this mystery drug that may or may not have lasting effects on us because we're what? Young?" you weren't quite sure what had lead him to this conclusion.
"Listen, I know it's not ideal. Doesn't really make much sense." Morganstern reasoned.
"None actually," John chimed in,
"But you see the head of the research department at the university is always asking me to try out much riskier things on my employees. You guys would be perfect because you're young and in good health, and not just any college students taking it for fun. You're both responsible. Besides, I have hope that if I do this just once, he may actually leave me alone." Morganstern said.
"This head of research guy sounds like a mad scientist" John shook his head.
"A sadist even" you said in disbelief.
"I know I know, trust me I know. But this is the least harmful thing he's wanted to test. Worse case scenario you'll just have to be a little excited for a few hours and then it will wear off!" John and I winced at his wording.
"I don't know..." This just seemed strange, and unnecessary. Possibly unethical given the morally gray head of the research department.
"I'll give you guys tomorrow off!" Morganstern spoke desperately. How persistent could this research guy be to have Morganstern pleading like this?
"What? That's not fair!" exclaimed Dr. Ross.
"Remember when I said responsible Doug?" Dr. Ross rolled his eyes. "If you take it tonight when you get off you can both have tomorrow off? Deal?"
You and John looked to each other with uncertainty.
"I mean it's a small price to pay for a day off." John was the first to give in to his antics. You were unsure. A mystery sex drug in which you have no clue what the effects are? It seemed pointless. Maybe that's why you agreed.
"Oh my god fine whatever" you gave in. Morganstern grinned ear to ear. "Amazing!" he exclaimed. "I'll have it sent to the two of you by the end of the shift!"
"You know they share a room right?" Dr. Ross gleamed. You shook your head.
"Yes well," Morganstern looked concernedly between the two of you "I'm sure it will be fine" he said unconvincingly before speeding off.
"Oh yes, it will be just fine" Dr. Ross said before grabbing a stack of papers and walking down the hall.
"It'll be fine! Probably won't even do anything." John grinned down at you. You nodded.
It would be fine.
"Holy fucking shit!" John moaned. "Why does it hurt? Why does it hurt?"
The mystery aphrodisiac had proved to be much more effective than the two of you had expected. About two hours ago when the both of you had gotten off of your shifts you decided to take the pills, planning to be asleep during its' effects. However about an hour after taking said pills you found that it wouldn't be so simple.
John was a wreck. As were you.
Both of you had initially started by ignoring the tingling sensation beginning to take place in your groins as you went about your nightly activities. Your nights usually consisted of John reading some novel as you fell asleep to the sound of the TV.
But quickly it had become far too much to ignore. The tingling turned to a harsh buzz and you thought soon you'd have to be restrained from touching yourself to stop the pain.
He leaned against the dresser across the bed, slouching down to push against it and lay his head down. He was sweating through his gray t-shirt and his eyebrows furrowed as he winced in pain.
"How- fuck how do we get it to stop?" you whimpered, rubbing your legs together as you threw your head back in agony.
John turned to look at you, practically whimpering at the sight of your pathetic state. The sound of him alone sent a shock down your spine and you broke eye contact in fear of coming on the spot.
As the sweat and pain grew you began to close your eyes, biting your lip harshly to put your focus on a separate pain.
John watched you in despair, falling to his knees slowly, unable to take his eyes off of you. Slowly in his disoriented state he began to crawl to the edge of the bed.
"Y/n" he whispered, slowly creeping up the edge of the bed.
"What?" you groaned, slowly lifting your head to meet his gaze.
"Please" he whispered with caution as he pulled himself onto the bed slowly. He crawled towards you like an animal, on his hands and knees he came to you. He whimpered as he pushed his head into your shoulder, slowly grinding into the mattress. "Can we please?" he lifted his head to meet your eyes once more. You stared in awe. The devastatingly pathetic look in his eyes as he pleaded. You knew what he wanted.
You knew because you wanted it too.
You whimpered at the sight of his purely pathetic expression, bringing your hand to his cheek. He leaned into your touch. "I need it y/n" he opened his eyes as his mouth fell open. "Don't you?" he whined.
Propping yourself up on the back of your elbows to push your forehead to his. You stared into each others eyes. You were hungry for him. Completely starved.
Before you knew it you were pulling him by his shirt into you, kissing him with such desire you felt like you were gonna explode. He moaned into the kiss. Slowly at first he dragged his hands up and down your body, groaning into the desperate kiss that grew in urgency. You brought your hand to his growing bulge, he moaned pitifully into the kiss and almost pushed his face into yours. Cradling the back of your head with one hand he slipped his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, slowly pulling his fingers to touch you over your already soaked panties. He moaned softly, surprised at your wetness.
He drew circles over your clit at an achingly slow pace, your hips raised to his touch as he did. He lifted the bottom of your shirt, placing soft kisses on your lower stomach before tugging your sweatpants down to reveal your covered heat. You looked down to him and whimpered at the sight of him as he slowly licked at your clothed pussy, grinding his throbbing cock into the mattress as he did so. He gripped at your thighs as he breathed you in, groaning at your arousal. He grabbed at your panties and you lifted your body to help get them off. He moaned softly at the sight of your dripping pussy, pushing his dick harder into the mattress. "John do something" you moaned as you brought your hand down to your clit.
Almost immediately he shoved your hand away before harshly licking at your clit. "Holy fuck" you moaned as he whimpered into your core, gripping at you hips so hard he'd leave marks. The vibrations of his whimpers sent a shiver down your spine as you grinded into him.
He sucked at your sensitive nub so harshly you began clenching around nothing, overcome by pleasure. You moved your hand to grip on his hair as he ate you so desperately. Your grip alone sent him over the edge as he looked up to you completely wrecked as he began mindlessly rutting into the mattress. Before he knew it he had already finished in his boxers, staring so deeply into your eyes. He was a fucking mess.
You throbbed as he slowly trailed up your body, leaving soft kisses from your core to your stomach, to your chest, til he was sucking at your neck grinding his clothed wet cock into your core. He was still so fucking hard. You groaned at the sensation, needing your release so bad you moaned gripping at his hair, rubbing your clit up and down on his throbbing member. "John please" you pushed into him as it became painful how much you needed him.
You began moving your feet, trying to push his boxers down desperately. "Mmmm" He whined pathetically into your neck as he felt his wet cock touch your aching core as you successfully pushed his boxers off. You didn't care that his cock was leaking all over you. Didn't care that there wasn't a condom in sight. All you cared about was John stuffing your aching core, you needed it so bad.
He rubbed his cock up and down your slit as he pressed his forehead into yours, looking down watching as your body leaned up to meet his. He let out a loud whimper as he slowly started pushing inside. You gripped at his back as he tried his best to hold himself steady. "Holy fuck" you groaned as your eyes rolled shut as he continued to push his lengthy cock into you. He knew he wouldn't last long. Not with you warm wet pussy squeezing him so tight, fitting him so good. Like you were fucking made for him.
His head fell into your neck as he moaned desperately. Softly rutting into you. You were both so fucking sensitive. His cock pushed into you, reaching a spot you never could on your own. He started going faster, his soft whimpers filling your ears. You groaned at the feeling of him filling you so good. He was pounding into you and it felt so fucking good. Too fucking good. You moaned his name as he hit that wet spongy spot inside of you.
You pushed on his lower stomach as he hovered over you, his face completely lost in the pleasure of your core. You pushed and pushed cause it felt so fucking good and you couldn't fucking take it but you never wanted it to end. You wrapped your legs around him pulling him in as he fucked you. He groaned as you squeezed him. He grabbed your arms from pushing him and placed them both beside your head, pinning you down as he got even deeper inside.
You clenched around his cock, feeling every vein as he throbbed inside. "Holy shit holy shit" you whimpered, your legs beginning to shake. Before you knew it you were coming so fucking hard as he placed his hand on your throat, he watched in awe as he fucked you into oblivion. Your body convulsed as he pinned you down, you felt your face go flush as he continued pounding into you. Your eyes began to water at how good it felt. He licked the tear that fell down your cheek before letting out such a pathetic whine as he came inside your tight walls, trying his best to fuck you through your high.
He collapsed on top of you, letting out a sigh. The way he nuzzled into your neck like he wanted to wear your skin. Your pussy was clenching around him and all he could do was lay there and feel it as it pulsed around him. Too tired to move, you both lay there, completely fucked out. You whimpered as pulled his soaked cock out of you, part of you wished he could fill you forever.
He layed down beside you and all the two of you could do was sit there. You layed there, waiting for your breathing to return to normal as you stared into the ceiling. Your vision was blurry and began to fill with floating shapes and color before your eyes fell shut. You felt John drape his arm around your waist, followed by his leg over the both of yours. "That's not how I thought our first time would be" he broke the silence with his soft voice. He began moving his fingers on your bare stomach softly, drawing little circles.
You smiled at the thought of him thinking about what your first time would be like. "What did you have in mind?" you whispered, turning your body to him as you pulled the sheets of the bed over the both of you.
"Well I thought I'd at least have some decorum" he looked at you sheepishly as you began to run your fingers through his hair. He pulled you closer to him by your waist.
"That's no fun" you smiled as you brought yourself into his chest, completely wrapped up in each other. You breathed in his scent as you drifted off to sleep.
The day the two of you returned to work you were greeted once more by Dr. Morganstern as well as the usual herd of your other coworkers.
"Hey guys! How did it work?" Morganstern beamed, somehow completely unaware that he was quite literally asking if you guys got horny or not.
You quickly looked over to John, who was already looking at you, unsure of what to say.
"Yea um, it didn't really do anything" You said in your most convincing tone. John nodded his head in agreement, fearing if he spoke he'd somehow give himself away.
"Oh, how interesting! I'll have to let the head of the research department know." Morganstern replied before scurrying away to his office. Which left the two of you face to face with Doug Ross, Susan, and Dr. Greene, all of which had a smug look on their faces.
You and John stared at them, trying to be as unassuming as possible as the five of you stood in silence.
"Y/n" Dr. Ross smirked at you.
"Yes?" you responded, calmly. Completely normal. Super unassuming.
He stood up, grabbing his clip board. "You've got something on your neck." He smiled before walking off. Your hand flew to cover the skin as you shot John a worried look. John smirked, completely disassociating in that moment, just staring at you silently as he thought back to the night the two of you shared.
You looked over to Susan and Mark, who were trying their best to hold in their laughter.
"Yea ok whatever I have work to do," you shrugged before walking off to be quite literally anywhere else. You didn't need to turn around to know the footsteps behind you were Johns.
Fred Weasley x Shy!Hufflepuff!Reader (soulmate au)
cw: fluff, not really anything but a little suggestive, a disgusting amount of use of y/n, this is my first post so pls be nice 😭 open to any criticism (like please im dying)
Word Count: 7.1k
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Grimmauld Place wasn’t the cold, cursed house it once was. Not anymore.
With the war that never happened, with Regulus alive and the Potters untouched by Voldemort’s wrath, the Black family home had become something else entirely. It was still dark in places, still held echoes of the old ways, but now there were charmed lights, mismatched furniture, and constant noise. There were loud dinners and louder debates. Music drifting down halls, laughter echoing off portrait covered walls, and Sirius (very much alive) arguing with James over whether or not the chandelier was meant to swing like that.
It was home, in a way y/n had never really known.
She was a Hufflepuff, soft-spoken and polite, far too used to fading into the background of louder Gryffindor personalities. But somehow, she’d been pulled into the gravitational orbit of Harry, Ron, and Hermione early in first year, and now, years later, she was here, spending her holidays surrounded by magic, noise, and people who were far too bright for someone so…quiet.
And yet, they kept inviting her back.
Every Christmas, every Easter, every summer she was welcome. The Potters treated her like one of their own. Molly Weasley fussed over her hair and fed her second helpings before she could politely decline. Remus always had a book recommendation just for her, and Regulus, not nearly as terrifying as she’d once thought, would quietly set a cup of tea down beside her without saying a word.
It was perfect, almost.
Except for the mark. And for Fred Weasley.
She’d known for a while. The soft swirl of ink on her skin, a curling feather paired with an ember, intricate and strange and impossibly him. Soulmarks appeared in adolescence, and hers had been there since fourth year, hidden beneath long sleeves and jumpers. It was delicate. Beautiful. And unmistakably Fred's, once she’d seen his in passing during summer at the Burrow.
His mark matched hers exactly. His just happened to be inked proudly on the inside of his forearm, often visible as he pushed up his sleeves to cook, or tinker, or just walk around like it didn’t matter that his soulmate was clearly nowhere in sight. Except she was right there.
Sitting across from him at breakfast. Laughing quietly at his jokes. Helping Hermione clean out the attic while he and George planned pranks two rooms away. She was right there—heart thudding every time he brushed past her, never looking close enough to see.
Because how could he?
Fred was sunlight and fire. Charismatic and funny, brilliant in a way that burned. She… was not. She was Ron’s friend, quiet and kind and perpetually wrapped in oversized jumpers. Her sleeves always long enough to hide the mark. Always careful, always cautious.
She couldn’t tell him. Not when he deserved someone who matched his energy, someone bold and quick and magical in a way that sparkled, not lingered in corners. And not when Ron might very well lose his mind. The idea of dating anyone was already enough to get him fussy. But his best friend with his brother? No, thank you. So she kept it quiet. She watched Fred laugh with George and throw his head back around the fire. She helped Ginny repaint her room and stayed up late reading with Harry. She smiled and listened and never let her sleeves slip.
And Fred? Fred didn’t seem to notice.
He spoke to her kindly, joked like he did with everyone, but never once looked at her the way soulmates were supposed to look. He was waiting for someone else. Someone loud. Someone obvious. Someone not her.
So she stayed hidden. Quiet. Long sleeves in summer. Careful, careful always.
But magic has a way of dragging the truth out.
And houses, especially ones as alive as Grimmauld Place, never stay quiet for long.
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The first time it happened, it was barely anything.
Y/n was reaching past Fred to grab a spoon from the kitchen drawer, murmuring a soft “sorry” as she brushed by. But her fingers, just the tips, skated over the bare skin of his forearm where his sleeves were rolled up.
Her breath caught.
The world tilted, just slightly.
It felt like static, like lightning dressed up as a whisper, quick and electric and too much all at once. Her mark flared under her jumper, not in pain, but in awareness. She yanked her hand back like she’d been burned and mumbled an apology.
Fred, for his part, blinked. It had registered. Not fully, not consciously maybe, but something in him had noticed. He glanced down at his arm, then back at her, confused.
“Huh,” he whispered, more to himself than her.
But she was already halfway out of the kitchen, hands shaking, fingers curled to her chest like she could press the feeling back in. She didn’t look back.
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The second time, it was worse.
Fred and George were helping Sirius repair a shelf in the sitting room, and y/n, curled in her usual armchair, offered to help pass tools from the box. Sirius had wandered off to yell at James about the missing nails, so it was just her and the twins. She handed Fred the small hammer, their fingers brushing again. That time, it was deliberate. Not on purpose but not a mistake either. Her fingers grazed his knuckles, and something tugged in her chest so hard it made her dizzy. Her heart tried to climb up her throat. Fred froze.
Just for a second. Barely enough for George to notice, but enough that y/n did. His fingers tightened around the handle like it grounded him. Then his eyes flicked up to her, just a beat too long.
“Thanks,” he said. A little quieter than usual.
She gave a small, strangled nod and buried herself in her book, eyes fixed on the same line for ten minutes without reading a single word.
Fred tried to shake it off. He did shake it off. He always had random moments of weirdness, too much static from George’s spellwork, or a quirk from living in a magical house full of twenty people. But…
That night, lying awake in the room he shared with George, Fred found his thoughts wandering. Back to her. Back to the way her fingers had touched his. How her voice went a bit breathless when she was nervous. How she always wore long sleeves, even when it was boiling. He didn’t know why he noticed those things. Or why it suddenly mattered.
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The third time it happened, neither of them could write it off.
She was helping Molly in the garden, potting herbs in little clay jars for the kitchen. Fred came out to drop off lunch, arms full of sandwiches and his usual grin slanted across his face. He sat beside her in the grass without being asked. They talked, about nothing, about gnomes, about Regulus’s weird attachment to one of the garden cats. It was easy, which was always the most dangerous kind of moment. Fred passed her a cup of lemonade, fingers brushing hers again and this time?
It jolted.
Like something cracked open between them. Their marks pulsed; hers beneath cloth, his in open air.
She gasped. He flinched.
The cup slipped, lemonade spilling over her skirt. But neither of them moved right away staying frozen in place, eyes locked.
“What was—” he started, then stopped.
She stood too fast, mumbling, stammering, heart beating so loud she could barely breathe.
“I—I should—go inside,” she whispered, not looking at him.
Fred didn’t stop her. Couldn’t. He sat in the grass, lemonade dripping from his fingers, staring after her with the mark on his arm tingling.
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Later, he’d sit in his room, legs folded, staring at the design he’d always worn like decoration.
The feather and ember. Curling inwards.
Familiar in a way that now made him uneasy.
Because he’d felt something. Three times now.
And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to realize it wasn’t just random sparks.
It was her.
It had to be.
Her quiet hands, soft eyes, and the way she always wore long sleeves in the middle of August.
Fred Weasley had never been more confused in his life.
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George wasn’t a mind-reader. He just had a twin.
Which meant that he didn’t need to hear Fred’s thoughts to know something was up. All he had to do was watch. And lately, Fred had been looking.
At her.
At y/n.
Not that she noticed. She was the kind of person who made herself small without meaning to, always tucking herself into corners like she didn’t belong in the noise. But George had noticed. Had alwaysnoticed. Because Fred noticed. And now it was getting… suspicious.
It had started with the garden. George heard about it from Ginny, who’d seen Reader nearly bolt inside “like her skirt was on fire.” Fred had come in ten minutes later, weirdly quiet, and gone straight upstairs. Alone. No commentary. No dramatic reenactment. Just gone.
That wasn’t normal.
And then there was the way Fred had been rubbing his forearm lately. Not in pain. More like restlessness. That same forearm with the soulmate mark.
George wasn’t the sentimental sort. He and his own soulmate, Angelina, had figured it out fast and easy. No dramatics. No poetry. Just a “hey, you’ve got the same weird lightning bolt-and-laughing mask combo as me, want to make this official?” and a kiss behind Zonko’s.
But Fred? Fred had always been the one who’d imagined something… more. He’d always joked about a “big, cinematic reveal.” He wanted the drama. The passion. Fireworks.
Instead, he got a Hufflepuff girl who tripped over her own feet when he looked at her for too long.
George, naturally, found this hilarious.
And also, a little bit endearing.
So he decided to help. Subtly.
Which, for a Weasley twin, meant just enough chaos to get things moving.
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It started with lunch. Everyone was crowded into the dining room at Grimmauld Place, half the house seated elbow-to-elbow, passing plates and shouting over one another. Y/n was nestled between Ginny and Hermione, picking at her salad, while Fred sat across the table talking to Harry, but watching her.
George leaned in. “You’ve been acting weird,” he muttered under his breath.
Fred blinked. “What?”
“You’ve got that look,” George said, stabbing his fork into his food without looking. “Like you’ve seen a ghost. Or fallen into a hopeless, soulmate-level crush.”
Fred choked on his water.
George slapped him on the back. “There it is.”
“I have not—” Fred hissed, glancing around, but no one was paying attention.
George raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you keep staring at y/n like she’s got a secret you’re trying to read off her face?”
Fred went quiet.
And that was enough for George.
He smirked.
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The next morning, George took it up a notch.
“Hey, y/n” he said casually, popping into the sitting room where she was curled up with a book. “You ever get those random soulmate mark flares? Like, warm spells or zaps or whatever?”
She stiffened. Just slightly. But he caught it.
“Um…” she said softly. “Sometimes, I guess. Not lately.”
Lie.
He grinned like it was nothing. “Weird. Fred’s been saying his has been going bonkers lately.”
That was also a lie. Fred hadn’t said a word. But she didn’t need to know that.
She bit her lip.
George walked off like he hadn’t just dropped a match into a bucket of gasoline.
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Later that night, Fred cornered him. “You’re messing with me.”
George looked deeply unbothered. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Fred crossed his arms. “Telling y/n about my mark flaring up?”
“Is it not?” George blinked innocently. “I figured it was. You’ve been rubbing at it like it’s got fleas.”
Fred’s hand dropped from his arm like he’d been caught red-handed.
“I’m just—” Fred faltered. “I think I might know who—”
George leaned in, smug. “Do tell.”
Fred shook his head. “It’s stupid. She’s—she wouldn’t… I mean, she’s Ron’s friend. She’s shy. She never even looks at me.”
George’s face softened. “Yeah, and you’re not exactly subtle either. She looks at you when you’re not looking. All the time.”
Fred stared at him.
George just clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t overthink it. Just—pay attention. Maybe the drama you’re waiting for is already happening. Quietly.”
Fred didn’t say anything. But that night, when he saw y/n helping Lily with tea, her sleeves pulled to her wrists again in the middle of summer, he looked a little closer. And the next time their hands brushed, he didn’t pull away quite so fast.
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The house had gone unusually quiet. It was late, later than it should’ve been. The kind of late where the halls of Grimmauld Place creaked softly under their own weight and the enchanted lanterns had dimmed to a golden haze. Everyone else was asleep or pretending to be, tucked into mismatched rooms and beds far too small for the growing number of people they now housed.
Fred wasn’t tired. Not really.
He was restless, mind buzzing with a quiet, nagging hum he couldn’t shake. He wandered toward the sitting room, where the fireplace still crackled low, and nearly turned back when he saw someone already there.
It was her.
She was curled into the armchair closest to the hearth, blanket draped across her lap, a half-read book cradled against her chest. Her head tilted toward the firelight, and for a second, just one brief aching second, Fred forgot how to move.
She looked like something out of a memory he hadn’t made yet. Peaceful. Soft. Warm. She didn’t hear him at first. And maybe he should’ve left. Should’ve turned and given her the quiet she clearly came looking for. But then she shifted, reaching down to adjust the blanket. And her sleeve slipped.
Just for a moment.
Just far enough.
Fred’s breath caught. He didn’t mean to stare, he didn’t mean to, but he did.
There, just above her wrist, half hidden in the shadows and the folds of soft knit fabric, was the familiar curve of a feather. Dark ink curling up her forearm. The exact lines he’d traced a hundred times with his eyes, maybe more.
His own mark.
His soulmate’s mark.
On her.
She didn’t see him. She didn’t know. And Fred didn’t say a word. He stepped back, quietly, breath barely held between his teeth as he turned and walked away, heart slamming so hard against his ribs it made his palms sweat.
He didn’t sleep that night.
The next morning, nothing had changed.
Not on the surface. Y/n sat beside Hermione at breakfast, soft-spoken and sweet, sleeves tugged back down like usual. Fred wandered in late, hair mussed, eyes shadowed from too little rest. George gave him a look. Fred ignored it. He didn’t speak to her. Not directly. Not yet.
But he watched.
He saw her.
The way she laughed softly at Harry’s joke. The way her fingers danced nervously around her mug. The way she chewed the inside of her cheek when Ron brought up the Yule Ball from two years ago. And he wondered: how long had she known? Because she’d known. She had to. No one hid a soulmate mark that well on accident. Fred’s hand drifted down to his own arm, fingers brushing the mark he’d never bothered to hide. He thought about the garden. The lemonade. Her silence. She’d known. And she hadn’t told him. And for once, Fred didn’t have a joke ready. No quip. No grin.
Just a quiet question that gnawed at the edge of his ribs:
Why not?
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Grimmauld Place was asleep. The kind of deep, velvet silence that only came in the earliest hours, long after the laughter faded and the house finally stopped creaking under the weight of too many footsteps and too many secrets.
Y/n stood barefoot in the cold kitchen, fingers wrapped around a glass of water, watching moonlight spill through the tall, grimy window above the sink. She wore only a soft tank top and sleep shorts, loose and plain. Something she never would’ve worn in the daytime, not in this house. Not when she spent every waking moment covering the one part of herself she couldn’t let anyone see. But it was late. Everyone was asleep. Or so she thought.
The cold tile cooled her toes as she took a small sip, her mind foggy from sleep and the residual tug of dreams she couldn’t quite remember. She set the glass down and turned
toward the hallway when—
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She jumped. Actually jumped, heart lurching into her throat.
Fred Weasley stood in the doorway, shirtless, pajama pants hanging low on his hips, hair a riot of copper and curls. He blinked at her, one hand dragging across his face. Sleepy.
Surprised.
Too awake.
“I—sorry,” she stammered, taking a quick step back, her right arm instantly crossing over her left, covering the exposed mark on her upper forearm.
Fred’s eyes dropped, just for a second. And that was all it took.
The curve of the feather. The ember trailing into soft spirals. Her soulmate mark. His soulmate mark.
Exposed for half a heartbeat before she shielded it with trembling fingers.
He knew.
He knew.
But she didn’t know he knew.
He looked up again just as she spoke, fast and brittle.
“Didn’t think anyone else would be awake.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Fred said casually, voice rough with the kind of tired that doesn’t come from a lack of rest.
She nodded, backing away with practiced grace, arm still clutched tightly against her side. “Well—goodnight.”
“Night,” he echoed softly.
She left quickly, bare feet nearly silent on the wooden floors. He waited until he couldn’t hear her anymore before sinking down onto one of the kitchen stools, elbows on the counter, head in his hands.
She was his soulmate.
He'd been almost sure after that night by the fire. He’d been hopeful after George started poking around. After the strange spark between them. The softness. The hesitation.
But now…
He’d seen it.
No mistaking it. No room for doubt.
She had known.
And she was still hiding.
Fred exhaled slowly, staring down at his own forearm; the same mark, bold and bare, exposed for years. She must’ve thought he didn’t want her. Did she really believe that?That she wasn’t what he wanted?
He stood slowly, the kitchen too quiet, the glass still sitting where she’d left it. Fred didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He just sat awake, mind turning, heart aching, not angry. Just full. Too full.
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He didn’t say anything.
Not about the mark.
Not about that night.
But everything changed.
Not suddenly, not in a way most people would notice. But she noticed. Of course she did. Y/n had spent her entire life listening for the quiet things.
And Fred was loud, normally. Wild, quick-tongued, sharp and sun-bright.
But now, when it came to her?
He was quiet.
Intentional.
Soft.
He started sitting closer. Not in a crowded kind of way, not too close, just enough. Just near enough that she noticed the warmth of him before she even saw him. He’d fold himself into the couch beside her while she read. He’d sit at the table early if she was already there. No grand entrances. No loud jokes. Just.. presence.
And his mark, his soulmate mark, was always in sight.
Not aggressively. Not on display. But visible. Sleeves rolled up. Arm on the back of the chair. Subtle things.
And he’d glance at her sometimes, not at her face, but at the fabric she wore. The way her sleeves were always pulled long. Like he was waiting. Wondering.
She noticed. She noticed all of it.
It terrified her.
Because something was changing, but she didn’t know what.
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One afternoon, when the rest of the house was loud with Ginny and Ron arguing over a chess match, Reader sat alone in the sunroom, curled in her favorite corner chair with a book she’d been trying to read for over an hour. She didn’t hear him come in. But suddenly he was there. Holding a mug of tea. Her tea. The exact way she took it. No one else ever remembered.
He handed it to her wordlessly, then sat on the floor beside the chair, close enough for his knee to rest near her ankle, but not quite touching.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
He didn’t look up. “You always read when things get loud.”
Her heart flipped. “It helps me think.”
“Yeah?” He rested his head back against the edge of her chair, voice low. “I think I’d rather listen to you than them.”
She nearly dropped the mug. He didn’t press. Just closed his eyes and let the silence settle around them, warm and fragile. And she wondered, was this how he was with everyone? But she knew the answer.
It kept happening. Small, impossible things.
Fred started remembering details about her, little ones no one else had ever bothered to ask.
The kind of books she liked. The way she hated cold butter on toast. The exact spell she struggled with during sixth year. And then one morning, in the kitchen, he reached across her to grab a jar, his fingers brushing the fabric at her wrist.
“Sorry,” he said, too gently. Like he didn’t mean just for the touch.
She flinched anyway. And Fred, his smile didn’t fade. But it shifted. Softer. Sadder. Like he understood. Like he didn’t want her afraid.
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That night, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her arm cradled to her chest. He was acting like someone who wanted her. Not just liked her. Not just thought she was funny or nice.
Wanted her. Desperately. Quietly. Like he didn’t know how to say it.
And she didn’t understand why.
She’d always thought she wasn’t his type. But then why was Fred Weasley, flirt, prankster, golden boy, bringing her tea and memorizing how she liked her jam and sitting on the floor just to be near her? Unless…
No.
He couldn’t know.
Could he?
Down the hall, Fred sat at the edge of his bed, arm resting on his knee, thumb tracing over the familiar lines of his mark.He had no idea what he was doing. No plan. No script. Just one stubborn, overwhelming truth:
He wanted her.
Exactly as she was.
Quiet, and scared, and soft.
And he would wait.
As long as it took.
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It was nearly two in the morning. The house had fallen into that thick, uncanny quiet again, too still for a place always brimming with life.
Y/n hadn’t meant to be up this late, but she’d left her sketchbook in the old study off the second floor and she couldn't sleep without it.
Barefoot, hoodie tugged low over her sleep shorts, she padded through the corridor, heart calm, unaware she wasn’t alone. Not until she turned the corner. And crashed directly into Fred Weasley.
She gasped as she hit him, stumbling back, only for his arms to catch her, steady her, pull her in.
It was instinct, fast and clumsy, not meant to be more than a reflex, but it was more. Because she ended up backed against the wall. And Fred? Fred didn’t step away. Neither of them moved. Not for one long, crackling second.
He was so close. She could feel the heat of his chest against hers, the brush of his breath where it hit the shell of her ear. One of his hands was braced beside her head, the other—lower, hovering near her waist like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. He looked down at her like she was something precious he wasn’t sure he deserved.
And then—
He did touch her.
Slowly.
Carefully.
His hands, warm and calloused, slid under the hem of her jumper. Not far. Just enough to find her bare waist. He exhaled sharply through his nose, like he hadn’t expected to feel so much from something so simple.
She trembled.
His thumbs moved in slow, careful circles. Up and down. Feather-light. Barely there. But there. Anchoring. Worshipful.
“Sorry,” he whispered, but he didn’t pull away. “I just…”
He never finished the sentence.
Because her breath hitched. Her hands curled into the front of his shirt like she didn’t know what to do with herself. And then, just like that, she unraveled.
She ducked under his arm, half-stumbled, and all but ran down the hall. Fred didn’t follow. He pressed his back to the wall, dragging a hand down his face, his skin still buzzing where he’d touched her. His fingers still remembering the curve of her waist. The soft warmth of her. The way she’d melted into his hands before she ran. He didn’t know if he should be kicking himself or chasing after her.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
She didn’t sleep.
She lay in bed, blanket up to her chin, every inch of her skin still singing. Not just from his hands. From how he’d touched her. Gentle. Slow. Like he wanted her. Like he knew what she was.
She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks and wanted to scream into her pillow. He hadn’t said anything. But he hadn’t needed to. And now she didn’t know how to look at him again.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
He didn’t sleep either.
Because now? Now he knew she felt it too. That this wasn’t in his head. That even if she ran, even if she hid her mark under long sleeves and tried to pretend, She wanted him too.
And Fred Weasley had never in his life wanted anything more.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
She’d been avoiding him.
Not overtly, y/n was too subtle for that. But Fred wasn’t oblivious. Not anymore. Not to her. She moved differently around him now, like he was heat she couldn’t bear to stand too close to for long. Always out of the room just before he entered, always keeping her eyes fixed anywhere but on his face.
He gave her space. At first.
But he was starting to burn from the inside out.
And then, one evening, it just happened.
The house was noisy with after-dinner chatter, Harry and Ron yelling over wizard chess in the lounge, Ginny and Hermione helping Lily in the kitchen, James loudly threatening to sing. Fred slipped away to the hallway, needing air. And that’s when he saw her.
She stood by the old bookshelf near the stairs, arms folded, face turned toward the high, half-cracked window. Moonlight caught the side of her face. She looked calm, but her fingers were fidgeting, like she was trying to undo the nerves curled up inside her chest.
He didn’t think.
He moved.
“Hi.”
She jumped—again—and looked over, startled. “Oh. Hi.”
Fred smiled, soft, nervous. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”
“Me too.”
He leaned beside her, close but not touching. Silence stretched between them, not awkward, but full. Of questions. Of things unsaid.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye “You’ve been… quiet.”
She let out a breath. “I’m always quiet.”
Fred turned his head, really looking at her now. “No, I mean… quieter. Around me.”
That landed. She froze, just for a second. “I don’t mean to be.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know.”
She flinched like it was a touch.
“I’m not—afraid of you.”
“Then what are you afraid of?” That cracked it open. Just a little.
Her throat bobbed, her eyes darted away, and her voice came out barely above a whisper. “Of wanting something I can’t have.”
And that almost broke him.
Because Merlin, if she only knew.
Fred took a breath, sharp, quiet, unsteady. His heart was pounding, his hands twitching with the need to reach out, to touch her again, to press his mouth to her jaw and tell her everything.
She was right there. Inches away.
He turned, stepped closer.
She looked up.
And it was all there. In her eyes. Her breath. The way her lips parted like she was waiting for something, anything.
Fred leaned in.
His hand lifted, hovered near her face, near her hair, her neck.
So close.
He opened his mouth.
“I…”
Her eyes widened.
His voice caught.
And then—
He didn’t say it.
Didn’t say I know.
Didn’t say I saw.
Didn’t say I want you too.
Instead, he exhaled. A quiet, rough thing. And let his hand fall to his side.
“Goodnight,” he whispered.
He stepped away. Left her standing there, staring after him like he’d stolen the air from the room.
And down the hall, out of sight, Fred ran a hand through his hair and whispered to himself: “Coward.”
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
Fred was brooding. Again.
He stood in the backyard, leaned against the garden wall, chewing absently on a blade of grass like it might stop him from thinking about her.
It didn’t.
Of course it didn’t.
George found him like that. Arms crossed. Mark visible. Soulmate-level angst radiating off him in waves.
“You’re being pathetic,” George announced.
Fred sighed. “Hello to you, too.”
“No, seriously,” George said, throwing an arm around his twin’s shoulder. “You’re acting like you’ve been love-cursed. You’ve seen her mark. You know she’s yours. She wants you. And you’re still walking around here like you’re waiting for the Sorting Hat to give you permission.”
Fred groaned. “It’s not that simple—”
George spun to face him. “IT IS EXACTLY THAT SIMPLE.” Fred blinked. George threw up his hands.
“You know what she’s like, mate. She’s shy. She’s scared. And she’s convinced you’re not into her. You waiting for her to get a telescope and decode your emotional signals from space?”
Fred scowled. “I’m trying not to scare her off. You didn’t see the way she ran after I touched her.”
George put a hand to his heart. “Okay. Fine. Yes. You’re soft and sweet and respectful. We all love that about you. But if you don’t kiss her soon, I will lose my mind.”
Fred laughed despite himself.
“And!” George added, “I have a plan.”
Fred narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like that look.”
“You will,” George grinned. “You’re going to take her to the lake.”
Fred blinked. “What lake?”
“The lake, Fred. The one five minutes from here, the one that glows at night from the enchanted algae, the one that’s literally built for soulmate confessions and forehead touching and tragic stargazing. That lake.”
Fred hesitated. George leaned in, lower and dead serious. “Just you and her. No interruptions. You tell her you want to show her something. You walk her down there. You sit next to her. You take her hand. And then—you tell her.”
Fred swallowed. “And if she runs again?” he asked, quiet.
George shrugged. “Then at least she’ll be running away knowing she’s wanted. And that’s already more than what she thinks now.”
That shut Fred up.
Because George was right.
She didn’t know.
She couldn’t possibly know, not really.
And he’d waited long enough.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
That evening, just as the sun dipped behind the trees, Fred found her on the back steps, hugging a blanket to her chest, watching the sky fade into twilight.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She looked up.
“Want to take a walk?”
Her brows pulled together. “Where?”
“I want to show you something.”
She hesitated. But then she nodded. And Fred offered his hand. She took it.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
The lake shimmered like spilled stardust.
Soft blue light bloomed beneath its glassy surface, illuminating the mossy edges and casting a pale glow over the quiet trees that stood like silent sentinels around them. The night air was warm, the kind of summer air that held you gently and smelled like grass and faint wildflowers.
Fred tugged off his shirt with a lazy smirk, the light catching along the lines of his back as he dropped it onto the grass. Y/n sat at the edge of the dock, bare feet swaying in the water, ankles glowing softly from the magic below.
She tried not to look at him.
And failed.
He stretched, slow and unbothered, then glanced at her over his shoulder with a teasing grin. “You coming in?”
She sputtered. “W-what?”
He stepped toward the water, now only in his swim shorts. “You heard me. It’s perfect. You’re wasting it.”
She shook her head, clutching her knees to her chest. “Nope. I’m good here. On land. Where there’s… gravity?”
Fred grinned wider and slipped into the water with barely a splash.
She watched him, face warm. Too warm. Her stomach buzzed like she’d swallowed a snitch.
He swam a few strokes, then turned and began drifting toward her again, slow and smooth like some sea creature sent to ruin her life. And ruin her life he did.
Because he reached the edge of the dock, hands sliding gently onto her thighs, wet and warm and intentional, and pulled himself closer between her knees, water dripping down his chest, his face suddenly very close to hers. Her breath vanished.
His hands moved up, grazing her bare skin beneath her sleep shorts, then settled on her hips, fingers curling around the soft waistband. He tilted his head, smirk lazy but his eyes, his eyes, hungry.
“Still not tempted?” he murmured, voice low and soaked in amusement.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
“I—I’m not really… swim-prepared.”
“Neither am I,” he grinned. “But here I am. No excuses.”
“I—this isn’t fair,” she whispered.
“What’s not?”
“You.” Her voice cracked. “You being this close and—touching me and—looking at me like that.”
Fred leaned in closer, lips just a breath from hers. “Like what?”
She couldn’t answer.
Couldn’t think.
Her hands gripped the dock beside her, knuckles white. His fingers squeezed her hips just slightly, like he was grounding her, keeping her from floating away.
They sat in that charged silence, barely breathing, until Fred whispered, “Can I kiss you?”
She nodded before she even realized it.
And then his mouth was on hers.
Soft. Gentle. But hungry, too. Like he’d been starving and she was the first taste of something real. Her entire body went stiff, shocked, and then melted, mouth opening under his, hands rising shakily to his shoulders.
Fred kissed her like he already knew every inch of her, slow, reverent, deep. One hand slipped under the hem of her oversized sleep top, dragging up the damp fabric to feel more of her skin, and her breath caught.
She hesitated.
Pulled back, just slightly.
Fred paused, eyes heavy-lidded and lips parted. “Please, baby,” he whispered, voice so soft it didn’t even echo.
And that was it.
She gave in.
Let him pull the shirt up, let him kiss her again as her hands found their way into his dripping hair. Everything else vanished; the dock, the trees, the whole damn world, except him. Fred's hand found her wrist. The one she always kept covered. She didn't even realize.
Not until he pulled away and brought it to his mouth and pressed a kiss directly to her mark.
Her soulmark.
His soulmate’s mark.
Her breath stopped.
The world crashed back in.
She froze, stiff as stone.
Fred felt it immediately. Pulled back, confused.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
But she was already scrambling, grabbing her shirt, slipping it back over her head like armor.
“I—I have to go.”
“Wait—”
“I’m sorry—I just—” she stood, wild-eyed, barefoot, heart racing.
Fred stood in the water, blinking, arms half-outstretched, the blue light painting him in soft silver. “Please, love—”
But she was already moving.
Already gone.
Running.
Again.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
Once again she didn’t sleep.
She couldn’t.
Her skin still buzzed with the ghost of his hands,on her waist, her thighs, her wrist. His mouth on her mark. His voice in her ear.
“Please, baby.”
She clutched her knees to her chest in the corner of the bed, oversized hoodie drowning her frame, heart racing so hard it felt like something might snap inside her.
She’d ruined it.
Whatever gentle, burning thing existed between her and Fred, she’d burned it down. She should’ve stopped it. She should’ve said no. She should’ve never let it happen.
But when he kissed her like that, when he touched her like she was something precious, how could she not fall apart?
And then he saw the mark. Kissed the mark. And he hadn’t said anything, but she knew. Knew the second it happened that he knew. Now what?
Avoidance. That was the only plan. The only survival method she had left.
So the next morning, she didn’t come down for breakfast. She skipped lunch. Pretended to nap. Hid in the upstairs library until nearly everyone had gone to bed. But George Weasley was waiting.
He cornered her just outside the second floor bathroom, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he’d been lying in wait all day.
She froze.
He raised a brow. “You planning to hide for the rest of your natural life, or just until Fred starts crying into his pillow?”
Her stomach dropped. “George—please don’t—“
“Nope.” He stood, arms flinging wide. “Absolutely not. I let you both have your tension. I let you pretend like the longing stares were just 'coincidences'. I even let Fred spiral in peace for, like, months. But this?” He pointed at her hoodie. “This is mark-covering shame mode. And I’ve had enough.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said too quickly, backing up a step.
George just stared at her like she was the slowest puzzle he’d ever solved.
“I know what happened,” he said, voice gentler now. “Fred told me. He’s been losing his mind.”
Her heart stopped. “He—he told you?”
“Not everything. Just that something happened. That he messed up. That he thinks he pushed you too far.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
George softened, stepping closer. “Look, I get it. You’re scared. You think he only wants you because of the mark. You think maybe if he’d found out differently—less… naked—he’d have changed his mind.”
Tears stung the back of her eyes. She looked away.
“But here’s the thing.” George ducked his head to catch her eye again. “Fred was in love with youbefore he ever saw the mark. Before you kissed. Before the lake. Before anything.”
She sucked in a breath.
“I know my brother,” he continued, voice low, steady. “He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t look at someone like he’s been struck by lightning unless it’s real.”
Her throat burned. “But what if it’s not enough? What if—what if he regrets it? What if I’m not who he wanted me to be?”
George reached out, placed his hands on her shoulders gently.
“You are exactly who he wanted. You’ve always been.”
She blinked fast, tears catching in her lashes.
“Fred is absolutely wrecked over you right
now,” George said. “He thinks he scared you away. He thinks you regret it. He thinks he’s lost his chance.”
“I don’t regret it,” she whispered, voice cracking.
“Then tell him.” George squeezed her shoulders, smiling slightly. “Tell him before he sets something on fire in your honor. He’s very dramatic when heartbroken.”
She let out a shaky laugh.
“Just… talk to him,” George said softly. “Let him show you how much he wants you. Because he does. Mark or no mark. All of you.”
She nodded, finally. Barely.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
The hallway outside Fred’s room was dim, the shadows long and flickering with the soft glow of the sconces. The house had finally gone quiet again, filled with the hush of night.
She stood at his door for a full minute before she could bring herself to raise her hand.
She didn’t knock.
She just opened it.
Fred looked up from where he sat at the edge of his bed, hair messy from running his hands through it, shirt rucked up slightly where he’d been tugging at the hem in frustration. He froze when he saw her.
Eyes wide. Lips parting.
He stood slowly.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough. “I—”
But she didn’t let him finish.
Didn’t say anything.
She crossed the space in two heart-thudding steps, grabbed the front of his shirt in trembling hands, and kissed him like her life depended on it.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.
It was everything she’d been holding in for months. All the terror. All the longing. All the slow-burning want that had curled in her belly since the first time he touched her and she felt it.
Her mark burned under her sleeve, but she didn’t care.
Fred made a choked sound against her mouth, surprised, but then he was kissing her back with equal desperation. Hands on her waist, her hips, gripping like he wasn’t sure she was real.
He backed her toward the bed without ever breaking the kiss, swallowing her gasp as he gently eased her down with him, her legs falling to either side of his hips as he hovered over her, still drinking her in like she was made of light and he was starved. She was trembling. He broke away just long enough to breathe, his forehead pressed to hers.
“You came,” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe it.
She nodded against him, still too breathless to speak.
Fred’s hand came up, brushing the hair from her face, thumb resting on her jaw.
“I was so worried I’d scared you away.”
“You didn’t,” she breathed. “I—I just—“
He kissed her again before she could spiral. Slower this time. Reverent. Like she was something sacred and he’d never get tired of worshipping her.
When his hands drifted beneath her jumper again, she didn’t stop him. She let him pull it over her head, slow, careful, and this time, her soulmate mark was fully exposed in the dim light. Her skin burned under his gaze, but she didn’t flinch.
Fred stilled.
She could barely look at him.
But when she finally dared to lift her eyes to his, she found something there that broke her.
Wonder. Awe. And something so devastatingly tender it made her chest ache.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
Instead, he reached for her wrist, just like before.
synopsis: when your boyfriends james and regulus rush to the infirmary after you knock yourself out, they’re relieved to see you awake… until they realize you don’t remember them and instead start flirting with them, completely unaware you’re already dating them.
tags: minor injury, concussion, mentions of being drugged due to a medicine, light angst, playful banter, angel imagery, temporary amnesia. (3k words)
The minute Remus had barged in and told James, who was lounging beneath a tree with Regulus, that you were knocked out in the infirmary, both of them were on their feet before he had even finished the sentence.
James moved first, which was not surprising considering the way his entire body had gone rigid with alarm the moment your name left Remus’ mouth.
One second he had been sprawled comfortably in the grass with his glasses sliding down his nose and the next he was halfway across the courtyard already, hair disheveled from running his hands through it as he demanded, “What do you mean knocked out? What the hell happened?”
Remus barely had the opportunity to answer before James was off toward the castle.
Regulus followed a moment later, though unlike James he was not panicking aloud, which did not mean he was calm; the fear coiled beneath his ribs, gnawing at him with the knowledge that something might have taken you before he could reach you. The image had arrived uninvited and vivid in his mind before he could stop it; you lying somewhere on cold stone, injured, alone, hurt because someone had been careless, and all he could think, over and over, was Remus’ words: knocked out, knocked out, knocked out, knocked out, knocked out—
He had already noticed something was wrong long before Remus appeared. You were always punctual when it came to your Thursdays with them, sometimes arriving early simply to irritate James by stealing his spot under the tree or tugging his hair loose just to annoy him. The fact that you had been thirty minutes late was unusual enough to make Regulus fucking anxious.
So now he was striding through the corridors of Hogwarts with long impatient steps while James practically barreled ahead of him, knocking past startled students and muttering frantic curses under his breath.
They pushed through the infirmary doors with enough force that they slammed against the wall, startling Madam Pomfrey who looked up with immediate disapproval.
“Mr. Potter,” she began sharply.
“Where is she?!” James demanded before she could continue.
Poppy sighed with weary patience. “Bed six,” she said, gesturing across the room. “And before either of you begins shouting, she is fine.”
James was already halfway across the infirmary.
Regulus followed more slowly, though the tightness in his shoulders betrayed how little he appreciated the situation.
Poppy continued explaining as they walked. “Apparently she was practicing a charm during class with Barty Crouch,” she said, her tone carrying particular disapproval, “and the spell went rather wrong.”
Regulus stopped walking. Slowly, he turned his head. “Wrong h0w?”
“The charm caused her to levitate far higher than intended,” she explained briskly, “she drifted all the way to the ceiling of some empty classroom before Mr. Crouch panicked and cancelled the spell entirely.”
“He dropped her?!” James said faintly.
“In short, yes.” Pomfrey confirmed.
(Regulus was already plotting the most violent methods to fucking murder him.)
“She struck her head on the way down,” Pomfrey added, “which resulted in a minor concussion. Nothing serious, though she has been unconscious for about forty minutes.” she explained as they had reached the bed.
James froze.
You were lying there beneath the pale infirmary sheets with your hair spread across the pillow, looking deeply asleep except for the faint crease between your brows that suggested the headache waiting for you when you woke. There was a small bandage near your temple and the sight of it alone was enough to make Regulus’ stomach twist unpleasantly.
As for James, he looked like someone had drained every drop of blood from his body.
“Oh, love,” James murmured.
Regulus stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded tightly across his chest as his gaze swept over you with sharp precision, assessing the situation the way he assessed everything.
You were breathing normally.
No visible injuries besides the bandage.
No sign of distress.
Still, his jaw tightened.
James sat carefully on the edge of the bed, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face with surprising gentleness. “She looks fine,” he said quietly, though the words sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
From behind them Madam Pomfrey gave a patient sigh, clearly accustomed to the dramatic tendencies of Hogwarts students when anyone they cared about so much as sneezed.
“Oh, don’t fret so terribly, dear,” she said, her tone warm but practical as she approached the bedside. “As I mentioned earlier, it is nothing more than a minor concussion. I have seen far worse injuries walk out of this infirmary without so much as a lingering headache.”
James glanced over his shoulder as he and Regulus exchanged worried glances.
Pomfrey adjusted the edge of the bandage at your temple with practiced ease before continuing.
“She may appear a little disoriented when she wakes,” she added calmly. “I administered a mild draught to help with the pain, so it would not be surprising if she seems somewhat… hazy for a short while. A bit sluggish, perhaps even slightly drugged.”
Regulus raised one eyebrow faintly. “Drugged,” he repeated.
Pomfrey waved a hand dismissively.
“Oh, nothing alarming. Just the temporary effects of the potion settling in her system. In a few hours she will be perfectly herself again.”
She gave James a reassuring smile.
“So truly, Mr. Potter, there is no need to look as though the world has ended. Your sweetheart will be as good as new before the evening is out.”
Regulus hummed quietly as Madam Pomfrey moved away to tend to another student. Both of them had prepared themselves for something far worse than the sight that greeted them in the infirmary, yet the reality of you lying there motionless had still settled heavily in the room.
James continued pacing.
“—and what if she wakes up and her head still hurts? What if she’s dizzy? What if she—”
“James.”
He kept walking.
“What if she can’t—”
Regulus stepped forward and caught James firmly by the shoulders, forcing the taller boy to stop moving altogether. The sudden interruption startled him enough that he actually looked up. Before James could launch into another frantic thought, Regulus leaned in and pressed a brief, gentle kiss to his mouth.
“James, mon beau,” he repeated quietly.
He blinked, clearly caught off guard.
“Reggie,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, “I’m just worried.”
“Stop panicking and pacing,” Regulus continued calmly. “She’s fine and she’s gonna wake up soon, yeah?”
James dragged a hand down his face and nodded, attempting to convince his own brain.
“Yeah. Okay. Right. She’s okay,” he said, the words coming out slightly uneven as he forced himself to breathe properly again. “I just… her head.”
James huffed out a quiet laugh despite himself. “Right. Yeah. Okay.”
“When she wakes up I am going to have a very unpleasant conversation with Crouch.”
James snorted weakly. “Get in line.”
For a few minutes the infirmary settled into a strained quiet.
James remained seated beside you, leaning forward slightly with his elbows braced on his knees while he watched your continued breathing. Every so often his hand drifted back to yours or brushed another stray piece of hair away from your face, small restless gestures that betrayed the nervous energy he was doing a very poor job of containing.
Regulus stood near the foot of the bed, his posture remained perfectly straight, arms folded, expression cool and unreadable. Anyone who did not know him well might have assumed he was entirely unaffected (which would have been very incorrect; he was one breath away from fucking collapsing, but if he did that then James would lose it, and Regulus refused to have both partners unconscious).
Neither of them noticed your fingers twitching against the sheets.
You stirred slowly, your body shifting beneath the blanket as the fog inside your head began to thin just enough for awareness to creep back in.
James straightened so quickly his chair scraped softly against the floor.
“Hey,” he said at once, his voice dropping instinctively into something gentle and reassuring. “Hey, sweetheart. Easy.”
Your eyelids fluttered open.
For several seconds you did nothing but blink up at the ceiling, your gaze unfocused as your brain attempted the slow and rather uncooperative task of catching up with reality. The infirmary lights were painfully bright, the air felt strange in your lungs, and your thoughts drifted sluggishly through your head as though someone had filled it with cotton.
The first thing you noticed was that there were shapes hovering above you.
Two of them.
Tall silhouettes standing close enough that their outlines blurred together against the light behind them.
You squinted harder, attempting to bring them into focus, but right as your vision began clearing both figures leaned in at the same time.
One of them came very close.
Very, very close.
You noticed messy dark hair first, then glasses sliding down the bridge of a nose as the taller one leaned directly over you with such obvious concern that he was practically breathing the same air.
From somewhere beside him another voice spoke, irritated and sharp.
“Give her some fucking space, James.”
“Oh—sorry—”
The tall one jolted back slightly.
“Oh shit. She’s awake. Reggie, she’s awake.”
Your lips curved into a slow, dazed smile.
“Wow,” you murmured hoarsely.
You were quite certain you had died.
Admittedly you could not remember the exact moment of death, but the evidence in front of you seemed fairly convincing. You were lying somewhere soft, the air felt pleasantly weightless, and hovering above you were two very beautiful men who looked so unfairly perfect that they could only belong to heaven.
They were angels, obviously.
You shifted slightly, squinting as your vision cleared enough to properly take them in.
One of them leaned closest to you, tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair. A pair of glasses rested crookedly on his nose and his expression held the sort of open warmth that made his face almost painfully easy to look at. He looked like the embodiment of sunlight.
The other stood just behind him, pale and elegant in a way that felt almost ethereal. His dark hair fell neatly across his forehead, framing eyes so striking they looked unreal against his pale skin. Where the first angel looked like sunlight, this one looked sharper, cooler; something beautiful carved from the galaxy.
If that was the welcoming committee waiting for you in the afterlife, you must have been doing something very right in your life without realizing it.
Your smile widened with dreamy satisfaction.
“Well,” you said slowly, your voice still thick with sleep and whatever potion was currently drifting through your bloodstream, “this is nice.”
The taller angel blinked.
“Nice?” he repeated, clearly offended by that assessment. His mouth pulled into the most ridiculous pout as he leaned closer again. “Oh, not so nice. You scared the hell out of us.”
Oh, those lips; so dreamy and soft looking. You suddenly had the overwhelming urge to kiss them. (You weren’t entirely sure if kissing angels counted as blasphemy, but honestly… what you would do. Heaven really did hold treasures.)
“So,” you continued thoughtfully, “I’m dead, right?”
Because honestly there was no other explanation that made nearly as much sense as waking up on what felt suspiciously like a cloud while two ridiculously attractive angels hovered nearby looking concerned about you.
And if this truly was the afterlife, then frankly you felt rather lucky about the arrangement.
“Hiii,” you said slowly, the word stretching out as though it had to travel a long distance to leave your mouth.
For a moment neither of them said anything.
The pale one tilted his head slightly, dark hair slipping across his forehead as he regarded you with something very close to amusement. “Oh, amour,” he said gently. “No. You are very much alive.”
You relaxed instantly. “Oh good.”
A dreamy sigh escaped you as you stared between them. “I’m so glad I was a good person.”
The taller angel blinked, seeming confused.
“Well,” the black-haired angel (and really, a very pretty one at that) said dryly, “when you’re no longer concussed I will be lecturing the absolute fuck out of you for whatever idiotic stunt you pulled with Crouch.”
You frowned at him, still floating somewhere between dream and reality. “But… I thought I was good.”
The curly-headed angel laughed quietly beside you, a soft, warm sound that made your chest feel a little too full.
“You are, sweetheart,” he said, the words rich with reassurance, almost teasing in the way he said them.
You pouted slightly.
“Well,” you reasoned slowly, eyes drifting between them, “I must be good if I’m going to heaven.”
The curly-headed angel immediately burst out laughing, a loud, joyful sound that made the air feel lighter.
“Oh, she’s absolutely high as a kite right now,” he said, still laughing, eyes sparkling with mischief.
You ignored him completely, captivated by the pale angel who seemed to embody a cruel kind of perfection, as though the universe had spent too long sculpting him.
“You’re so pretty,” you informed him softly, almost in awe.
The pale angel froze. A deep red flush crept up his neck, spreading across his ears like fire.
The curly-headed angel’s eyes widened immediately, and he grabbed the other by the shoulders with delighted amusement.
“Oh my god,” he said, laughter bubbling over, “look at you—Reggie’s blushing.”
“Ja—” the pale angel muttered sharply, but was interrupted.
“—;ook how cute you are when you blush!” the curly-headed angel continued, pinching his cheeks gently, still grinning like a fool.
The pale angel looked like he might actually bite him, and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing softly, utterly enchanted by the display.
Oh, how desperately you wanted them both, impossibly radiant and impossible to resist, each one a forbidden fruit in flesh and breath. You had no idea if humans (even dead ones, since clearly that was your current status) were even allowed to court two angels at the same time.
The temptation felt almost biblical, like Eve reaching for the forbidden apple, except you were far greedier; you did not crave one, you wanted both apples, whole and sacred and forbidden, and you wanted them all at once.
You frowned and tilted your head staring at them while you wished to steal a fragment of the perfection they radiated. “I wish I could have two.”
They both blinked in unison.
“Two what?” the curly-headed angel asked, genuinely confused.
You shrugged lazily, hands trailing over the blankets. “I don’t know. Just… wanna have two. But I can’t.”
The curly-headed angel immediately went wide-eyed, offended by the concept. “Well, that’s tragic,” he declared, puffing out his chest. “You ask, and you shall receive, ma belle,”
You turned toward both of them again, suddenly curious. “Are you dating anyone?”
The paler angel raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Who,” he asked slowly, gesturing between himself and the other angel, “me or him?”
“Both of you,” you admitted, voice soft.
They exchanged a glance, a flicker of something private passing between them, before answering simultaneously: “Yes.”
And they smiled at each other.
You deflated immediately, pulling the blanket over your head. “Oh.”
The curly-headed angel leaned over with a laugh, his warmth filling the space around you. “Oh come on, why are you hiding, baby?”
Your muffled voice emerged from under the blankets. “Was gonna ask you out…”
He snorted softly.
“But too late,” you continued, tone heavy with mock despair. “You have someone.”
He chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a gentle hand. “Well maybe you should ask us out when you’re actually awake.”
The blanket shifted as you peeked back out. “I can ask you both out?”
The pale angel’s smirk lingered, faint but unmistakable. “Well, if you want two,” he said smoothly, “why settle for one, right?”
You considered this carefully, closing your eyes briefly as you imagined the impossible, the weightless air around you, the dizzying thrill of having them both so near.
“Hm,” you murmured, still dreamy, still half-lost in the impossibly bright, soft space you were convinced was heaven. “As long as I’m not kicked out of heaven…”
The curly-headed angel laughed, “Oh, you won’t get kicked out, don’t worry. Not for thinking you can have two angels. Besides…” He leaned closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Heaven’s really just about giving you what you’ve earned.”
You let out a small, sleepy giggle, feeling the lightness in your chest. “I suppose that makes sense,” you murmured, still half-lost in the soft, impossibly bright air.
He grinned, shaking his head slightly. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
Your eyes drifted between the two of them. “Y’know… you’re both very pretty,” you said thoughtfully, “but you must already know that if your partner tells you.”
He scoffed, shooting the pale angel a pointed look. “Yeah, actually,” he said, “I barely hear it.”
The pale one’s glare sharpened immediately, lips pressing together in a mock scowl that barely hid the blush rising to his cheeks.
You frowned, sleepy sympathy softening your expression. “Well, they suck.”
The pale angel choked on a laugh. James wheezed beside you, nearly falling off the edge of the bed with his amusement.
“I don’t want to be a homewrecker,” you continued, voice drifting with drowsy honesty, “but if I was dating both of you, I’d definitely remind you how pretty you are every single day.”
“Well, that’s enough angel talk for now.” the curly-headed angel leaned closer, whispering, “Come on, sleepyhead, you’ve got to rest.”
The pale one bent down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Rest now, amour. You’ve worried us enough for one day”
You let out a contented sigh, curling deeper into the blankets between them. “Okay…”
Wrapped between them, feeling impossibly safe, impossibly lucky, you allowed yourself to sink fully into sleep, two guardian angels holding the space around you as the world outside melted away.
****
You had been asleep for a good two hours, long enough for a lot to happen in the background, when Sirius suddenly barged in with Remus close behind.
Sirius pretended to sob as he enveloped both his brother and best friend in a dramatic hug, all while thrusting a ridiculously oversized bouquet into the bedside infirmary—flowers from Merlin knows where. (“Idiot. What the fuck is she supposed to do with these?” “Reggie, he’s trying to be nice, say thank you!”)
By the time Regulus had given Sirius and Remus their marching orders (though he was far nicer with Remus) with the excuse that you were still out of it, the room immediately felt calmer.
You stirred awake for the second time, blinking as clarity returned, and immediately noticed Regulus at your side. You reached out with both hands. “Oh, Reg, c’mere.”
He stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “So… you’re conscious now,” he murmured.
You hummed, smiling faintly. “Yeah. I think I’m good, just a little lighthea—”
Before you could answer, the curtains were abruptly pushed open again. Regulus stiffened immediately, jaw tightening as he muttered under his breath, “Not Sirius again…”
You turned your head, only to find Barty standing there, noticeably paler than usual, eyes wide and nervous.
Standing there, wide-eyed and panicked, was Barty. His hands twitched awkwardly. “Oh—Regulus, y’know, I didn’t mean—”
Regulus’s head snapped up, eyes locking onto Barty with a glare so sharp it could have dug a grave.
“You!” he pointed a sharp finger at his friend, “Outside. Now. We need to talk.”
James let out a soft, mischievous giggle, burying his face against your shoulder. “Oh,” he murmured, shaking his head, “he’s so gonna kill him.”
hiiii mae ❤️ i love your writing. could you possibly do a james potter x super awkward reader who isn’t bothered by say her fumbling over her words or having a terrible social battery etc he’s just soothing with her. thank you 🙂
Thank you for requesting <3
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
James Potter x awkward!reader ♡ 837 words
You’re glad that James likes to talk. He’ll answer one question for ten minutes, and that’s perfectly fine with you, mostly because he’s entertaining but also because every time you try to talk, it’s a disaster. You embarrass yourself, and then James feels compelled to reach across your little coffee shop table to squeeze your hand or smile at you in that sweet way of his, and it does not help.
“And yeah, them getting a dog the second I moved out definitely felt like a betrayal.” James grins at you. You grin back. It’s a default setting by now, simply the way your face has wanted to be since you sat down. Your cheeks are starting to hurt. “Obviously because we never got one when I wanted one, but also, I mean, clearly my parents thought I could be replaced by a dog, so.”
You laugh. James glows at it.
“How about you?” he asks, picking up his drink for a sip. “Any pets?”
You swallow, preparing yourself. “Not right now. I—or, well, we—always had pets when I was growing up, so I like them, and I’m used to being around them—animals—but I just don’t think I’ve felt ready, or…like, settled enough since moving out to get any of my own?” You take a breath, realizing that all came out as one long sentence. And then cringe when you realize it was actually one long question. “I’d like to, is what I mean. I just don’t have any yet.”
James nods. “That makes sense,” he says, though you’re fairly sure it didn’t. You’re fairly sure your tongue just fell out of your mouth and started flopping about on the table, rambling on without your brain to direct it. “I’m trying to convince my housemates that we should get a dog, but I don’t have any pets right now either.”
You hum and sip your drink, trying to quell the anxious pitter of your heartbeat.
“What sort of pet would you want, when you do get one?”
“I think a cat,” you say, intentionally slow. “I like dogs too, but I’m more used to cats, I guess. I want to—or, well, I’ve thought about maybe going to the shelter and getting an older cat, because most people don’t want them, and if I could I think I’d like to give them a good life before they—I mean, you know, for as long as I can.”
You’ve begun speaking faster again without meaning to, your words running together. James only smiles and props his chin on his hand.
“That’s nice,” he says, somehow making what might normally be a platitude sound wholly heartfelt. “I’m not sure I could do that, honestly.”
“I’m not really sure about it, either,” you admit. “I like the idea, but I’d be signing up to lose them, so I have to sort of weigh whether I could handle it. But I like elderly, or—what’s the word?—um, geriatric? I guess those are really just the same thing.” You blow out a breath, laughing anxiously at the end. “Sorry. I swear I didn’t even order coffee.” You pick up your drink, swirling the non-caffeinated liquid inside for emphasis, and of course—of course—nearly spill it on yourself in the process.
“Hey, it’s okay.” James reaches for your free hand, though you notice his eyes flicker to your drink, lips quirking at your near miss. “You’re fine, you don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“I just feel like I’m being so…” You blow out another breath, turning your palm up helplessly.
He grins. It’s knowing. “You’re good, lovely,” James promises, thumb rubbing against your open palm. Which, again, not helping. His eyes are warm enough to dissolve into. “I’m having a good time.”
You keep telling yourself that this must be the case, though you can’t really wrap your head around it. James asked for you to be here. You think he must have known about your crush on him for a while—subtlety isn’t your strongest skill—but he was the one who asked you out one day while you were both finishing your shift. You may never understand why he did, but you know enough not to question when impossibly good things happen to you.
“I don’t mean to ramble so much,” you tell him.
“You’re worried about rambling?” His dimple pops when he smiles, teasing. “With me?”
“It’s different,” you laugh.
“How is it different?”
“Don’t make me—I can’t explain it. You’re interesting.”
James’ good humor almost falls away, and oh god, you’ve done it now. You’re ruining it. “I think you’re interesting,” he says, a bit serious, but still kind. His thumb rubs over your palm again, and you have to fight the urge to pull away at the goosebumps that tickle all up your arm. “I like talking with you.”
“I like talking with you,” you say, an apology and a thanks.
“Will you talk with me about geriatric cats?”
“Oh, god. I can try.”
James laughs, squeezing your hand. “Let’s hear it.”
summary: You and Remus are married, and it just so happens that Dumbledore has hired him to be Hogwarts new DADA professor while you already work at Hogwarts as Madam Pomfrey’s assistant.
pairing: Remus Lupin x professor(?)!healer!reader
includes: MAJOR FLUFF, you and snape act like children, remus being the best husband, the golden trio being the golden trio, making out, essentially everything you could find in any HP fic, minimal use of Y/N
a/n: I’m rereading the HP series and I forgot how much love I had for Remus 🩷
You and Remus had known each other since you accidentally tripped in front of him during your first year at Hogwarts—well, more like fell into his back on the express going to Hogwarts. Granted, you weren’t looking where you were going, but it’s not like he was supposed to be standing in the halls for that long. No matter, the two of you have always been as thick as thieves since then, and it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when you began dating during your sixth year and eventually got married soon after graduating.
And when you had your heart set on becoming a healer—specifically one for Hogwarts—Remus was your number one supporter. He was your backbone during the NEWTs in your seventh year and during your training at St. Mungo’s. Remus was always there when you needed a breather. Then, when Dumbledore hired you as Madam Pomfrey’s assistant, he was the first one to congratulate you on the achievement.
Moreover, you were always there when he needed support, too. During the first wizarding war, there were so many casualties that it was impossible to count them. And when James and Lily died, you were the first to comfort Remus—especially when it was brought up that Sirius might have been the one to expose their whereabouts to Voldemort and even kill Peter when he tried to defend the Potters.
You weren’t close with James and Lily, but Remus was their best friend, and you knew losing nearly all his friends in a span of a few days hurt like hell. It took a lot of love and reassurance to get Remus to get out of your shared bedroom and get ready for their funerals.
Nevertheless, it was trials like those that made the two of you the perfect pair. But something always ate at your insides. Since Remus was a werewolf, no one in the wizarding world would want him to work for them. Even if he never told them about his condition, they could easily piece together why he would disappear from work every full moon.
Remus told you he didn’t mind staying home and caring for the house, but you swore you saw the light in his eyes dim a little more every time he came back from an unsuccessful job hunt. So—against your better judgment—you sought out Dumbledore after a term at Hogwarts, when another Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had been sacked.
“Professor Dumbledore, sir!” You chased after him after you watched the last student leave the castle, smiling up at him with the same smile from your own years at Hogwarts. “Sir, I think I have the perfect replacement for the DADA position.”
Dumbledore hummed and waved his hand, lighting the rest of the candles in the corridor. “How many times have I told you to call me Albus? We work together, Y/N.”
“Sorry, sir— Albus.” You correct yourself before shaking your head. Twisting your wedding ring, you spoke up with a sparkle in your eyes. “As I was saying before, I think—”
“I know you want me to hire Remus for the job.” He cut you off, putting a hand up when you were about to speak up again. “I believe that’s a wonderful idea. And given what he is, I’m sure he knows all about what should be taught to the students.”
You beam up at him, “I’m glad we’re on the same page then, sir—Albus.” You correct yourself once more when he stares at you intently, your face flushing before clearing your throat. “Sorry, it’s a habit already… I should probably tell him—”
“Do not worry about telling him about the job, Y/N,” Dumbledore said calmly, patting your shoulder. “I will handle telling him when the time comes.”
What you didn’t expect was that Dumbledore practically waited until the very end of the summer holiday to inform Remus about the available position at Hogwarts. Every day, it became more and more evident that you knew something was going to happen. Even when Remus questioned your odd behavior, you simply brushed him off and kissed him silly until he forgot what he asked.
Well, up until Dumbledore told him.
“Dovey, you won’t believe who I ran into at Diagon Alley.” Remus entered the living room with paper bags, kissing your cheek when you took them from him and thanked him for buying ingredients you needed for remedies Madam Pomfrey requested you make over the holiday.
You furrow your brows in response to him, waving your wand and sorting the different ingredients alphabetically. “Who, Rem?”
“Dumbledore.” He stated and leaned back on the counter, watching your shoulder stiffen before they relaxed once more. Remus thought you couldn’t be more obvious, but he still played along. “He offered me a position at the school as the Defense Against Dark Arts professor.”
“Did he?” You murmur, refusing to turn around because you knew your eyes would give you away. You felt him get closer, his arms snaking around your waist, causing you to tilt your head in his direction, begging Godric that your eyes weren’t hinting at anything too revealing.
He hummed, “He said a little bird told him I’ve been lonely back home.”
“Lonely?” You scoffed and pulled away from him, putting your hands on your hips. “I did not call you lonely.”
Remus raised a brow at you—watching your face go from defensive to horrified to sheepish. He was probably more surprised than you when apologies began spilling from your lips, making him hold your arms to stop your rambling.
“Why are you apologizing?” He rubbed soft shapes into your arms.
“Because I offered you up for the job even when I didn’t ask you.” You murmured, pulling on the ends of your sweater. Well, technically, it was his sweater that you promptly stole from him one day. “I understand if you don’t want to take the position. I just thought—”
“Don’t be sorry. This is good.” He nudged his nose to yours, making you look up.
You blink and look between his eyes, searching for any kind of lie. “This… is?”
Remus chuckled and kissed your forehead, his chest rumbling when you went to wipe off the kiss in confusion, thinking it was a pity kiss. “Dovey, you and Dumbledore are the only ones left who still believe in me.” He shrugged. “I think this is a great opportunity.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Of course not.” He creased his brows together before balancing himself when you threw your arms around him, his hands splaying on your back carefully. Before he could ask, you spoke, your mood greatly improved from when you thought you were in trouble.
“I’m excited to work with you, Rem.” You smiled brightly when you pulled away, punching his arm lightly. “You’ll love it just as much as you did all those years ago.”
Unfortunately, you weren’t the only other employee at Hogwarts. While McGonagall was happy to have Remus as a professor—mainly because he was a star student back when he attended Hogwarts himself, and she trusted him to teach a class such as Defense Against the Dark Arts—Snape was anything but joyous to have him teaching a subject he wanted for himself.
“You have to be joking.” Severus drawled as he looked between you and Remus before his eyes settled on the headmaster himself. He sighed through his nose, “Albus, I simply cannot allow a werewolf to teach the students as you put them in danger—”
“Remus knows exactly what to do during his transformations.” You defend your husband, standing in front of him despite his warm hand on your waist to calm your fire, even though Remus wanted nothing more than to hide in the shadows of Dumbledore’s office. “And we both know wolfsbane is the perfect solution to his lycanthropy, Snape. Unless you want him to suffer just so you can teach—”
“Enough.” Dumbledore put a hand up, silencing whatever argument you and Severus had left. “You have been working together for several years, and only when Remus begins working here do the two of you begin arguing like first-year students.” He looked at the man mentioned with a soft smile before staring down at you and Severus through his moon-shaped spectacles. “While Remus teaches here, you cannot act like this, do you understand?”
You sigh and nod, crossing your arms while Severus begrudgingly agrees, somesort of grunt leaving his mouth. Still, the two of you glared at each other as if Dumbledore hadn’t said anything. Remus pursed his lips in discomfort and kissed your temple in an attempt to diffuse the tension between the two of you, causing Severus to finally look away with a grimace.
“I expect you three will be responsible and respectful this year.” Dumbledore finished in expectancy before sending you all out of the office with a simple wave of his hand.
The three of you descended his office, the pressure between the three of you still heavily weighted down until Severus spun around abruptly. He briefly looked at you before sighing again, his eyes trained on Remus with bitterness.
“Don’t expect me to be at your beck and call, Lupin.” He sneered before taking his own leave toward the dungeons, his cloak following behind like a foreboding shadow.
You scoff under your breath, “Arsehole.”
“Dovey.” Remus suppressed a laugh, shaking his head. “Let’s go home.”
The following week was hectic for you and Remus. Having to move his stuff over to yours—now your shared quarters at Hogwarts, and then planning lessons that the last two professors failed to complete. And when the students began arriving, Remus thought it would be better for him to take the express for old times’ sake, making you roll your eyes in affection at how nostalgia hit him like a brick.
But when you were taken away from the start-of-term feast to tend to Harry Potter because of a dementor attack, you thought the express ride was far more terrifying than nostalgic.
“What trouble have you gotten into this time, Harry?” You tut at the boy who always came rushing to you whenever he got cut by something magical that even Ron and Hermione couldn’t explain. “I swear, you’re always back at the hospital wing at the beginning of every term.”
Harry messed with his Hogwarts robes and pushed your hand away when you put the back of your hand on his forehead. “S’not my fault. The dementors came onto the train.”
You send him a somber look, “I heard all about it from McGonagall when she called me over. Let me get you some chocolate—”
“Oh! The new professor, I think Professor Lupin was his name, gave me some already.” Harry interrupted before you could shove more chocolate in his mouth. If he was being completely honest, he was getting pretty tired of chocolate already, and the term only just started.
“Did he?” You ask almost cheerfully, confusing Harry while he nods slowly, furrowing his brows when you clapped your hands lightly. Maybe it was because he was confused about why you were clapping about the attack. “That’s good.”
And before he could even ask, Madam Pomfrey walked in and checked Harry’s temperature and then heart rate, checking in with you about other important vitals. “I hear we finally got a good DADA professor. It’s nice to have someone who knows what they teach.”
“I agree.” You nod swiftly, making Madam Pomfrey roll her eyes in your direction. Harry looked between you two again, getting more and more confused with each passing second. “What?”
“Go down to the feast, you two.” She finally waved you and Harry off.
You tilt your head in mock offense, “I’m not a child, Poppy.”
She raised her brow, “Say that to me when you aren’t coming to me whining about being tired when the twins spell first years.” You feel your face warm at her words, but she continues. “In fact, that’s what your husband is for now that he’s—”
“That’s unfair!” You complain before catching yourself, clearing your throat, and scratching the back of your neck. She stared at you expectantly, shaking her head in amusement as you apologized hastily. “Sorry, Poppy.”
“Husband?” Harry turned to you once the two of you were out of the hospital wing, catching up to your surprisingly quick pace. “You’re married?”
It was quiet for a second, the words not processing through your mind until you were at the oak doors that concealed the Great Hall, where everyone else had already begun eating. You stop just before you could push the doors open, turning to look at him face-to-face.
“Of course, I am.” You send him an odd look, yet a smile appeared on your face. “To one of the smartest wizards I know.”
“Wait a second, do we even know who it is?” He inquired, taking notice that you were getting more impatient with all his questions. For once, you seemed more eager to get inside the Great Hall than he was.
“Oh, Harry.” You coo as if you were talking to a baby and pat his head, making him push your hand away again. “Let’s not ask the obvious.”
And with that, you pushed the oak doors open and entered the hall as if you hadn’t left Harry with so many unanswered questions. He watched you bound toward the staff table at the very front of the hall, taking your usual seat between McGonagall and whatever new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor they had this year, except the excitement he saw from you earlier only seemed to increase when you sat down.
What was even more unusual was that Snape’s glares seemed to be aimed at the new professor and you rather than Harry.
Harry took his seat beside Ron, looking over at Hermione. “Did you know Y/N is married?”
Hermione raised a brow at him and put her fork down, her gaze drifting toward the staff table along with Ron, who was busy stuffing his face full. “The ring on her hand wouldn’t suggest otherwise, why?”
“Because…” Harry trailed off before shaking his head. “Nevermind, it’s not important.”
Hermione and Ron glanced at each other before shrugging, although Hermione was already planning to keep an eye on you this year. Not that it was prudent to know who exactly you were dating, but if Harry mentioned it and found it a little interesting, it wouldn’t hurt to do a little investigating.
As the first term went by, it was more or less rough with how Remus was adjusting to teaching at Hogwarts, and with Snape constantly making snide remarks whenever Dumbledore wasn’t around, you were starting to get pissed. Even more so when Snape threatened not to make the potion for Remus one afternoon simply because you looked at him funny.
“Severus, it is completely unjust if you refuse to make the potion.” You hiss one day in his empty classroom, staring at him with nothing but pure hatred. “Frankly, I don’t care what happened back at Hogwarts when we were younger. What I care about is whether or not he is going to be okay during the next—”
“Is it unjust?” Severus narrowed his eyes at you. “I may be crude, but what if he is helping him get onto the school grounds?”
You scoff out a laugh, “I know my husband, and he would never—”
“Er— Professor Snape?” You heard a voice coming from the potion’s doorway, making you freeze on the spot. “Professor McGonagall asked me to fetch you for—”
“Weasley, can’t you see I’m busy?” Snape sneered before taking his leave without even taking any points off the Gryffindor house. You left the classroom soon after, leaving behind fury and annoyance from the earlier conversation—not even acknowledging Ron’s existence at the moment.
Against his better judgment, Ron followed you as best as he could, hoping you wouldn’t catch him in the act despite your indignant mood. However, when you turned west of the hospital wing, he saw a glimpse of where you were heading, only briefly hearing a voice before you slammed the door shut.
“Dovey—”
By the start of the second term, Harry, Hermione, and Ron still had no clue who you were married to. And it’s not like you were going to give them hints—you were always one to avoid talking about your personal life whenever they tried to pry. Honestly, they were about to give up by the end of January when Ron came up with such a crazy theory on the way to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
“You don’t think she’s married to Snape, do you?” Ron muttered as a group of Slytherins passed, rolling his eyes when he saw them trip a Hufflepuff.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron. We’ve known them for three years now. If they were married, we would know.” Hermione shook her head in exasperation, adjusting her shoulder bag. “Besides, her husband could very well not work at Hogwarts. There are thousands of wizards out there.”
Harry scuffed his shoe against the stone, his voice uncertain but clear. “But Ron said he heard someone when she entered the faculty tower.”
“That could be anyone.” She shook her head. “Come on, we'd better get to class before Malfoy decides it’s funny to take our seats again.”
At the same time, you were cooped up in Remus’ office. You just went up to check on him one last time since the full moon was coming up soon, when one thing led to another, and well… It’s not like you were doing anything indecent, but it was enough to traumatize someone if they walked into his office.
“Okay, I have to go.” You murmur as you pull away from his kisses, laughing when he pulls you close by the waist, not wanting to let go just yet. “Remus—”
“Yeah?” He grinned and kissed you once more, making you soften under his touch.
Smiling into the kiss, you pull away again, putting a hand up against his lips. “As much as I would love to stay here and kiss you dizzy, you have a class in about five minutes, and—” You reinforce your tone when you feel him open his mouth against your palm. “—Poppy will come after my head if I don’t show up to help her reorganize our remedy cabinet.”
Remus lolled his head to the side with honey eyes that made you melt on the spot before you shook your head, already walking backwards toward the exit of his office. “Don’t miss me too much, Lupin.”
“I’m already dying, dove.” He grinned and followed you down the stairs, hands in his pants pockets as his room began filling with Slytherins and Gryffindors, the golden trio entering the classroom with curiosity. “The three troublemakers.”
“Yep.” You murmur with a smile, waving to the three of them as you head for the door.
Ron, however, stopped you from advancing, suspicion lacing his voice when he spoke. “What were you doing here?”
You shrugged, taking small steps toward the exit, glancing at Remus momentarily before answering Ron. Technically, you were lying to them, but they didn’t need to know your husband was a werewolf or that you were basically making out with their professor for the past twenty minutes. “Giving the new professor tips and tricks on how to deal with you lot.”
Hermione frowned, “But it’s been an entire term—”
“Have fun with DADA!” You cut the busy-haired girl off, finally taking your leave as Remus calms the class down to start their lesson on Red Caps.
Then, in February, you and Remus decided it would be nice to actually get out of the castle for once. Of course, since there wasn’t anywhere else to go, you landed on going to Hogsmeade for the weekend. There wasn’t an exact shop or place either of you wanted to go to, but it had been a while since you and Remus went out on a date without having to be needed by the students at every waking minute.
But it wasn’t like they didn’t approach. On the way, several students came up to you and Remus to simply say hi or how are you? You were both kind enough to respond, but truly, you just wanted to spend time together. And just as a first-year Hufflepuff named Julie left the two of you alone, you finally turned to Remus—seemingly exhausted by the number of students coming up to you.
“We could get butterbeer?” You suggested, your arm curled around Remus’ while your old scarf billows in the wind, the stone path covered in bits of snow. You carefully stepped over a pile of gray snow, nose scrunching as you spoke. “And then we could go to Tomes and Scrolls after.”
“I like the sound of that.” He nodded and pressed a muted kiss to your temple, guiding you into the Three Broomsticks.
As you entered, Madam Rosmerta’s eyes flickered up when footsteps entered the pub, gasping when she saw the two of you appear in front of her. Instantly, she rushed over to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek before doing the same with Remus, just as though the two of you were the children she saw dancing around each other’s feelings.
“Well, isn’t this a sight to see. My favorite Gryffindors together once more.” She gushed, squeezing your arm.
You smile and pull your scarf off, gingerly teasing her when she kept looking at the two of you in awe, as if she could hardly believe her eyes. “Stop, you’ll make me blush.” You wave her off, your own gaze shifting to pride when you catch Remus’ eyes. “Actually, Remus got a job at Hogwarts.”
“I heard.” Madam Rosmerta tilted her head with her own smile before gesturing for both of you to take a seat, wiping her hands on her apron. “I think a batch of butterbeer on me is in order.”
Remus raised his brows in surprise, shaking his head at the offer. “Please, there’s no need to—”
“I’m doing it anyway, Lupin.” She insisted and shooed you away, gently pushing the two of you away from the bar.
You laughed softly as Remus took you to a booth, humming as you calmed down. Tilting your head, you rested your chin in your palms and studied Remus as if he were a textbook you were supposed to be studying for an exam. He raised a brow in your direction, silently asking you what you were thinking.
“Seriously, though, I’m happy you’re here.” You say in response, eyes still trained on him. You feared that if you looked away for even a second, he would disappear. Before he could say anything, you asked him a question that you hoped would yield a positive answer. “Are you happy to be teaching here?”
Remus nudged your foot with his, a small smile making its way to your face at the simple action that filled your chest with his oh-so familiar warmth. “I would like to say so. The students are quite wonderful and are curious about what we seem to be learning.” He waved a hand around, a recognizable grin plastered on his lips. “And I guess it’s a bonus that you work here too.”
“Aw, you love me.” You chuckle, reducing to a puddle when he cupped your face and placed a tender kiss on your lips. “Remus…”
“And you know that is completely and utterly true.” He rested his forehead on yours and pressed one last peck before pulling away, acutely aware of how students from Hogwarts were gaping at you both.
It almost seemed quiet in the Three Broomsticks now, all heads turned to where you and Remus sat. Then, several seconds later, whispers began to fill the air. Some were giddy, and some were in repulsion at the thought of the staff having a relationship outside of the school.
“I think they know.” You mumble with a tiny smirk, thanking Madam Rosmerta when she delivers the butterbeer tankards at your table. Stirring your straw around the drink, you look around the pub as well, choking on your drink when you catch Ginny Weasley staring like she saw a ghost.
Remus shrugs, “They definitely know, but who cares, really?” He sipped his butterbeer, causing you to wipe the excess from the corner of his lips. “I mean, the other day, we nearly had the Weasley twins walk in my office while you were—”
“Enough.” You cover his mouth, face burning from the memory. Your next words came out in a low whisper, “I thought we agreed to never mention that ever again?”He laughed against your palm and kissed the skin there.
After your date at the Three Broomsticks, you were sure everyone knew that you and Remus were in a relationship, as there were students who seemed to tease you whenever they saw you walking in the hallway. Even McGonagall now had her fun at poking at the two of you, saying how she was the sole reason you even got together in the first place.
Unfortunately, Harry, Ron, and Hermione still couldn’t piece together that the two of you were married. Not until the three of them ran into Remus when he was on his way to see you. They suppose he was just visiting the hospital wing since he tended to be ill a lot, but he looked physically fine, confusing them for the last time, since Remus had told them that he would be busy after his final class.
“Professor!” Harry stumbled over his own feet when he did a double-take, taking notice of how Remus was actually walking quite happily compared to most days whenever he navigated himself to the hospital wing. “I-I thought you said you were busy?”
“I am, Harry.” Remus corrected, not even sparing a glance toward the young wizard. “I’m off to the hospital wing.”
Ron furrowed his brows and looked at Harry and Hermione sideways before speaking, “Are you feeling… Okay? I mean— You know… You look fine, professor.”
He nodded and made a sharp left turn, causing the three Gryffindors to crash into one another. “I’m feeling great, Ron.”
Hermione brushed herself off and quickly chased after Remus, not bothering to even check up on Ron and Harry. She was out of breath by the time she caught up with him, equally shocked at how lively Professor Lupin was today. Typically, they’d have to slow their own pace so he could catch up with them.
“Sir, why—?”
“Remus! What took you so long?” You call out to him when you see him enter the hospital wing, smiling knowingly when the golden trio walks in behind him. Waving at them, you shook your head, all pieces clicking together. “I should’ve known it was you three who would slow him down.”
Hermione tucked her curled hair back, chest still rising and falling from the journey it took to get here. “Well, we were actually heading to the library when we ran into Professor Lupin—”
You clicked your tongue when you looked at the giant clock displayed above the door, “Luckily, Remus made it here on time. We’re cutting it close with our reservation at the Gilded Griffin.”
Only then did the three Gryffindors notice what you and Remus were wearing. While Remus was wearing black, sharp dress robes, they didn’t even know he owned—for he always dressed in his shabby, torn ones—you were dressed in a maroon dress that they thought was far too fancy to even wear for any occasion besides a wedding. Ron’s mouth dropped open before Hermione shut it with the tip of her finger, but equally shocked at the way the two of you dressed.
“Ready, dove?” Remus let you take his arm, his smile softening as he looked you up and down.
“Always.” You nod cheerfully and pull your wand out, not noticing the way the trio was looking at you like you had both grown multiple heads.
And before you could apparate—special permission given by Dumbledore himself because he definitely favored the two of you over others—Harry snapped out of his astonished gaze and practically shouted at you like he was bleeding out to die.
“YOU’RE MARRIED TO PROFESSOR LUPIN?”
You break away from admiring Remus and tut at Harry, patting his head once more. Ironically, Harry was starting to believe you loved to treat him like your own child because of how often you did that to him. He pushed your hand off his hair, scowling a little when you spoke to him with a mocking tone.
“Oh, Harry… Of course, I am.”
Hermione’s mouth opened and closed several times before settling on something, “B-but how come—”
“If you ever asked what my last name was, we wouldn’t be here, now would we?” You tilt your head before smiling at them, watching the three of them look at one another incredulously. “I will see you three later. For now, behave and don’t go looking for trouble.”
And with that, you and Remus disapparted with three very surprised Gryffindors.
“Well, Professor Lupin. I think we really deserve this now.” You laugh when you appear at the entrance of the restaurant, propping your chin on his shoulder.
Remus pressed a kiss to your lips, “I couldn’t agree more.”
summary: bob isn't used to the pressure of high end events, so he gets you inside a closet to ease his nerves – whichever way will work.
cw: smut, mutual masturbation, semi-public intercourse ig? they're in a closet, established relationship, half secret relationship, mentions of anxiety, reader wears lipstick a dress and heels, bob is a horny freak
word count: 4k
masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates
buy me a coffee ♡
You closely heel Bob’s rushed steps, heels sharply hitting the marble floor in clicking sounds as he keeps looking back and forth between where he’s leading you and back at you to make sure you’re following him – you’ve never seen him so hasty, acting so enigmatic.
You rush through corridors you’re pretty sure you’re not supposed to cross, see luxurious things that make you remember it’s such a strange life you’re living to be attending parties like this.
“Bob, I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to roam around these areas” you note, looking back around to make sure no one is suspecting you of doing anything shady. “Where are we going?” you ask once again, growing impatient from the lack of response, but from the way Bob looks around at every turn there is to take, he doesn’t seem quite sure where you’re going either – until his face lights up when he glances at one piece of the paneling on the wall.
“C’mon,” he urges you, motioning for you to come forward when he somehow gets the wall to open – the panel quite effectively hiding and opening to an old service closet, but as it turns out not hiding it well enough for Bob to not notice it. “Get inside” he tilts his head after quickly evaluating the space. “Quick”
You do so without a word, a confused frown etched over your face, and he slips in the cramped space behind you, letting out a heavy sigh once you’re both in there, hidden from anyone. It’s tight in here, forcing you to stand close to each other, shelves restraining space for movement.
“What's up with you?” you ask, arms crossing once making sure he’s not stepping over your dress.
The faint security light above your heads grants you vision of his figure, and your face hardens when you notice him swallowing with difficulty before his head shakes slightly.
“The public doesn’t know we’re together and not being able to let alone hold your hand for comfort drives me insane” he explains, emphasizing on the last word, teeth clenched. He reaches and slides his hands into yours, lightly fidgeting with them. “You know I get anxious in public settings.”
There’s a vulnerable edge to his voice, an helpless look in his eyes as he explains himself, and you nod and squeeze his hands in reassurance, letting your thumb gently rub back and forth over them.
You give him a compassionate smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your ears. “Well I know it’d be easier if Valentina let us get the word out, but you know she’s obsessed about you being the people’s golden boy in every sense of the word” you shrug lightly, giving him a small smile. “People like you. You would break a few hearts if we went public” you hear him scoff a laugh before you press yourself close to him, head resting against his chest. His arm instinctively wraps around you, and he lets out a small sigh of relief now that there isn’t so much noise anymore.
“And I would probably become public enemy number one” you say, voice slightly muffled from your cheek being squished against him.
“You know I don’t mean to be rude to those people but,” he pauses and you can hear the beating of his heart when his voice quietens. “I don’t want us to hide forever” he shrugs, brows gently furrowing.
“I know,” a soft sigh escapes you. “I’ll talk to her. These PR things are so irritating” you murmur.
He hums in agreement, his hand trailing up your back to rest at your shoulder and bring you closer to him. Your eyes close when Bob kisses the top of your head, and you lean further into him.
“I think you’re wrong, about the public enemy number one thing,” he mutters, voice low as his mouth is pressed against you. “Yelena says she thinks people would be rooting for us”
You snort an honest laugh, kind of digging the idea. Of not being demonized for the things that you do for once.
You would have to get Valentina to the idea that a couple within the team of New Avengers might actually be a good thing for your global image, as shallow and scoop-driven as the idea seems to be.
It is so hard to convince people that you would take anything that would brighten your image as a group just a little and make you seem legitimate.
You remain quiet as you hug him close, staying pressed to him until his breathing evens out, until you notice the lines of his face are more relaxed, his jaw not clenched in tenseness anymore when you look back to him.
And it’s only then that you come to reevaluate the whole situation, stepping back.
You’re inside a closet, dressed in expensive clothes, in a fancy building that is currently hosting a charity gala, trying to ease your boyfriend’s anxiety.
Nothing about this life makes sense.
“Why’d you have to get us inside a closet,” you chuckle, making Bob smile when you brush back a strand of his hair. He’d tried making it look less messy than usual, but that failed attempt was more endearing than anything. You would have to admit there’s something in the way he looks so proper in those clothes, so unusual and out of place yet so strangely right. “We could have just hung outside in a corner of the building or something, even in an empty corridor” you add.
“I don’t know, I kinda just… panicked” he shrugs. “Seemed like the best option at the moment” he says, pinching his lips into an awkward, sweet smile.
You reciprocate his smile before you lean in and kiss him, deep and unhurried. You know you won’t be able to do it again once you step out of that closet, so you take your time with it, fingers clutching the collar of his shirt, gently pulling him down to you as his hands tentatively settle at your waist.
Everything feels slower than the whole other world outside of this closet, rushed and superficial, and for the first time tonight, you take the time to truly breathe, not needing to overthink each and every of your actions and movements, knowing each of those could say something about you, could have people say things about you.
But at that very moment, you can’t seem to care anymore.
And it seems like Bob doesn’t either – he chases after your lips and kisses you back when you break away, pulling you closer when his hands rest at your hips, quietly humming into your mouth.
You can feel his chest lifting under your palm, can see his breathing has hardened after his lips leave yours, and you can, most of all, feel the very insistent, very obvious bulge of his hard on in his tailored pants when you shift just slightly against him.
“Bob…” you murmur, still feeling the warmth of his breath against your mouth. “Really?” your voice is laced with a light playfulness and genuine stupefaction. His face grows warm, but it’s unrelated to the temperature of the cramped space, and the faint tint of his flush is just a few shades lighter than the smudged lipstick marks you’ve left on his lips from kissing.
He lightly clears his throat, looking down between the both of you, forehead pressed to yours. “Sorry” he smiles, voice choking on itself a bit. “The room is tight and you look so hot in that goddamn dress” he admits. “Can’t help it.” When he looks back up at you, the grin over his face might be slight but is far from innocent, and you’re suddenly more aware of his hands against your body, your face warm and flushed from his compliment, and your frown shifts to something else.
“That was your plan all along, huh” you scoff plainly as your face twists into a grimace that Bob can’t quite decipher, your hands sliding from his chest to rest at the sides of his neck.
His mouth gapes before a chuckle escapes, his eyes closing when he stammers slightly. “No, oh no I swear– it wasn’t.” his head shakes, voice slightly wavering in haste.
His expression shifts to an earnest raise of his eyebrows as his hands progressively slide up along the sides of your body. “...But I can’t say I didn’t think about it those last few minutes”
“Oh, alright” you nod, biting your lip thoughtfully before you exhale softly. “Well… I would give you head but my knees hurt so bad because of the heels somehow.” you say, giving him an apologetic pinch of your lips.
“God, don’t say stuff like this so casually” he accuses with a shake of his head like it physically pains him. “It makes me want you so bad”
He’s onto you after not much afterthought, his mouth against yours, his tall frame pressed up against you, hand cupping the back of your head so it doesn’t hit the wall when he backs you up against it. It doesn’t do much considering how narrow the room is – if you can even call it a room – making the action impossible to be that rough anyways. But it remains gentle in its own way, hungry in its own way.
The room feels stifling with every brush of his lips against yours, with the low sounds he lets slip when he can taste the faint long lost savor of cocktail on your tongue as he kisses you.
He licks his lips when he pulls apart, the back of his knuckles lightly brushing along the side of your face before his cheek gets there. “I can be the one to get on my knees” he murmurs into your ear teasingly, voice so low and warm it makes your breath hitch.
“What about–”
“It’s not about me,” Bob counters, the press of his lower body against yours saying otherwise. He groans when you let it be known, when your thigh conveniently happens to ever so slightly brush against the bulge of his pants.
“I’ll fuck you afterwards. I can hold you up” he nods. He halts and his mouth gapes slightly as his expression softens, and you press the tip of your fingers against his mouth before he can talk and inevitably add something along the lines of “if that’s alright with you”, which it is, always is when he talks like this, when he confidently uses such words to describe what he wants to do to you.
“You’re nasty. It kinda is about you”
Bob gives you a derisive look, eyebrows lifting. “Well, y’know, if you’d rather go back there and hang out with those snobs I’m not holding you back,” he says in a sarcastic whisper as he points his thumb back.
You shake your head and your arms wrap around his neck when you press your mouth to his again, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile against your own before you’re distracted by the way his hand pushes against your lower back to bring you closer to him, pressing you back against the wall.
You feel the sneaky graze of his fingers against your thigh when his hand pinches your dress, hiking it up and lifting the fabric enough so he can slip his hand underneath, the tip of his fingers lightly brushing against the skin of your stomach before they dip under the thin material of your underwear.
“God,” he groans, nuzzling along your face. “Please, please let me do this” he begs like you’re not already clutching onto his shoulder when his fingers slide through the mess he’s made of you just from a little kissing and grinding.
“Do it like this,” you command. “Don't get on your knees, you'll get your pants dirty”
He hums in agreement, low into your ear as his fingers rub through the wetness that pools between your legs. “How long do you think we have before someone notices we’re missing?” he breathes into your neck, warm and needy before kissing there.
“I don’t really care about anyone noticing we’re not part of their pretentious gathering” you huff out, only half joking. “Certainly not when your hand is in my panties, Bob”
He snorts a small laugh and nods, clutching harder where his other hand rests at the side of your body. “I guess that’s fair” he mutters, leaving a kiss at your temple, smiling when your breath catches in a choked sound when his fingers slowly slide through the slick of your folds again, savoring the way your chest heaves and your breathing gets harder as he goes on and lets his fingers linger at your clit.
The cramped closet suddenly feels even smaller, the temperature higher, the concept of time completely discarded, strangely rushed and frozen at the same time.
Bob’s heart rate is even higher than it had been when anxiety induced, particularly spiking when you pull him closer by letting your fingers hook in the belt loops of his slacks. His gaze drops where you hurriedly unfasten his belt, fingers messily working at the buttons like you're running out of time.
“You really thought I’d leave you hanging?” you ask, a grin tugging at your lips when his eyes meet yours again, one that he chases away when his tongue slips into your mouth again, hungrily tasting you.
When your fingers close around his cock, his hand halts where it rubs at your pussy, a groan muffled by your mouth against his, breath scattered, his other hand that was gripping your side moving to anchor against the wall behind you.
“Ah fuck, your–” his words die in his throat when he tries to buck into your fist as you start to stroke him slowly, languidly, setting a maddening gentle pace.
His forehead rests against the rough surface of the wall, gaze absorbed down to where your hands mutually work, his own hand twisting to gently work a finger inside you using the same pace you're using on him despite the ache that is slowly starting to grow on his wrist. His breath is increasingly getting more thick and ragged, face growing warmer when your face nestles into his neck to kiss along the length of his throat, your hand working his cock in long, deliberate pulls, slightly twisting on each upward stroke.
You can feel your legs getting weaker as he pumps his finger in and out of you, reaching the spot that makes the pain in your knees into a soft ache – your free hand grabs onto his bicep and you bite back any sound when he briefly pulls out and adds another finger, fucking inside you in a rhythm that makes you slowly start to crumble under his touch – it's messier than it could be in any other steadier circumstances, maybe more desperate; it's harder to tell when he's more or less always desperate, his ragged pants into your ear only driving you closer, only making the strokes of your own hand around his cock more hurried.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this” Bob breathes out, muscles of his arm tensing under your fingers, hips desperately jerking into the enclosure of your hand, chasing your movements.
“It’s all you” you blame, nose nudging the straining, flushed skin of his neck. “You love it”
A huffed laugh vibrates from his throat. “Yeah, I do” he admits with a tilt of his head, his eyelids fluttering shut, squeezing when he eventually starts to feel it, starts to feel that warmth spreading and pooling low in his stomach – his own free hand grips back at you, unsure where to settle for good before he decides on letting it rest at your waist again, squeezing at your flesh when your thumb maddeningly brushes against the throbbing tip of his cock. “I can’t– I won’t be able to hold it too long” he warns, voice low and wrecked into the shell of your ear, biting back a moan.
“That’s okay” you murmur where your mouth is still warm against his neck, pressing a kiss under his ear. “I’m not asking you to. We can’t draw this out”
Despite pretending not to care about how much time you spend in there, you both know you can't be gone too long, that it can't be noticed that you have both mysteriously disappeared from the crowd, nowhere to be found. Someone will eventually draw conclusions if you remain absent – conclusions that will undeniably be true – but you can't risk letting it happen.
So the soft touches grow more impatient, sweat gathering at your brows from the stifling air of the room, hands frustratingly tiring from being stuck under layers of clothes, wrists held in uncomfortable angles. Bob hangs onto you like he will crumble if he doesn’t, fingers frantically pumping into you, maintaining that same eager rhythm when the back of your head hits the wall behind you in a hollow sound, chest heaving as a quiet keen escapes from your mouth when he reaches deep inside of you.
The smug grin he bites onto his bottom lip quickly fades when his brows furrow in focus, his restraint faltering as he begins to shatter under your touch, the strokes of your hand fully intent on making him come now.
“Please tell me you’re close, I can’t–” he blurts almost unintelligibly, a muttered curse word interrupting his own sentence, all speech coherence lost somewhere outside of this room.
You nod frenetically, trying to keep up with the same rhythm despite feeling your heartbeat catch, blood overwhelmingly pumping into your brain and down south. His thumb seeks out your clit, drawing messy circles, using his last bit of clarity to do it right by you.
He still breaks before you do. You get the reflex of pressing your hand over his mouth – you have no idea how soundproof this closet is, and while that corridor didn’t seem that busy, it would be really, really fucking embarrassing for either of you to be found in that position.
The sound he lets out is reduced to a muffled whimper, the heavy breathing through his nose loud into your ear when you work him through it, his jaw hanging open in ragged breaths when your hand leaves his mouth. The weight of his body presses against your own as his hips sloppily rock as close to you as they can as he spills into your hand, warm and messy, a slight tremble coursing through him as he comes, brokenly thanking you in quiet exhales, a few times over again.
He’s nowhere near letting up once his orgasm subsides, the movement of his fingers inside you still unwavering, and you don't need much left before it comes for you either, even less when he tells you how pretty you look pressed against that wall.
His teeth lightly graze at the skin under your ear as he desperately begs you to come too, and he knows he's hit it as your thighs begin to tremble, your hand clutching the back of his head so hard he whimpers into your mouth as he kisses you.
His fingers dig hard into your waist as your walls tighten around those buried inside your pussy, softly gasping into his mouth when you break and come over his fingers, hand tightly clutching his hair and pulling at the roots.
His forehead falls against yours, hand traveling up your side to brush your hair back as you go limp under his touch, gently guiding you down the slope of your climax, fingers easing out of you once he’s sure it has fully washed off. Your eyes fall shut, head tilting back against the wall, gently for the first time since you entered that closet. Heavy pants guide the rising and falling of your chest, hand finally easing your grip onto Bob’s hair when he leaves one last kiss at your cheek. “Sorry if I pulled too hard”
“You know I don’t mind” he grins, softly grimacing at your apology, implying more.
You snort an honest laugh, one that gradually fades as you eventually come back to your senses and realize your other hand is still pretty much buried in Bob’s underwear, coated in his release, and that you’re inside a closet when you should both be with the rest of your team playing pretend because you can’t hide in here forever. “Fuck, we have to clean up and get out of here”
Bob’s eyes light up with a renewed sense of urgency, hastily fishing into the pocket of his pants. “Oh, you’re so lucky I picked up some napkins with the appetizers,” he nods, handing you one.
You both make quick work of thoroughly cleaning your hands, though a quick visit to the bathroom will be much needed anyway – Bob wraps your used napkins into a clean one, a look of mixed disgust and amusement over his face when he shoves it in his pocket.
You smooth over the ruffles of your dress, watching as he buttons his pants and buckles his belt, and it's only when he glances back up at you and the security light hits his face that you realize the mess of smudged lipstick marks you’ve left on him, his eyebrows lifting in an innocent look of confusion when you repress a small laugh.
“What?”
“You look like you lost a fight” you say, snorting a laugh. “Let me just,” his eyes flutter shut as you rub the worst of the lipstick stains off his face and neck with careful strokes. The smudge at his mouth is trickier, heat rising to your face again when his lips part slightly under your fingers, his gaze closely following your movements.
He stays still when you put his collar back into place, chuckling when your fingers run through his hair to try to make it look presentable again. “All good.”
“Thanks,” he grins, hand reaching for yours to hold it. “I do feel better”
A small laugh slips out of you, and you quickly lovingly rub your thumb against his cheek. “After all that, I hope so.”
Just like your bubble just burst, you suddenly become aware of the reality you will have to settle back in once you leave that closet – you lightly clear your throat, bracing yourself for the moment you will have to step foot into false pretenses again. Your free hand reaches to push the panel to the closet open with an exhale, but Bob softly squeezes your hand before you can.
“Hey.” he calls softly. His chest presses to your back as he steps in, arms wrapping around you, chin coming to rest over your shoulder like he needs to settle a moment longer before you leave the cramped space, just one more minute of borrowed time. “I know we have to go back, but I meant what I said earlier”
“About what?”
His face nestles into the crook of your neck, and you feel a smirk drawing against your skin before he even speaks. “...About not being done with you yet” he murmurs, arms squeezing tighter around you. “I mean– Later” he corrects, tone more serious. “When we have a whole room to ourselves. And time to do it properly”
Your eyes close when you repress a chuckle, turning your head just enough so that your temple grazes his, your voice barely more than breath. “Then you’d better behave out there.”
A faint huff warms your neck. “I’ll try” he declares, everything in his tone indicating that he means it. He frees you from his hold and reluctantly lets you step forward, knowing you unfortunately can’t stay like this forever. And it’s a good thing somehow, because the heat of the tiny room is slowly starting to get to him.
His fingers linger over yours when they brush at your side before he lets go, a wave of fresh air hitting your faces when you step outside the closet into the empty corridor – your demeanor may have changed now that you walk back into the crowd, but the challenged expression over Bob’s face doesn’t disappear in the slightest when your gazes meet from far away for the rest of the night.
—
every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated♡
Hello miss ma'am could I get a prompt #1 for Mr. Johnny Storm x reader please 🙏🏼
You Love Me?
Johnny Storm x fem!Reader
Word count: 1k Masterlist
AN: sorry guys I literally just redid my Masterlist so my feed is crazy right now! Thank you for 700 followers, I love each and every one of you!
The cool night air hit you like a brick.
It was the type of cold you felt in your bones, deep and unsettling. A chill went through you and you let it.
You took a deep breath, exhaling the night you were having out into the air.
Just as you reached into your purse to dig around, the balcony door slid open with a whoosh.
You stiffened at the sound.
“You okay?” The familiar voice asked.
You sighed, he moved so that he was standing next to you but leaning his back against the railing, looking at you.
“I’m fine, Johnny. You don’t have to worry about me all the time,” you joked, but anger laced in your tone. You hated that.
The snow started to flurry around you, creating a haze across the Manhattan skyline in front of you, it looked more peaceful this way than any other.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?,” he said, draping his jacket over your shoulders.
You looked up, willing the tears away, before looking back at the skyline, not meeting his eyes that were focused on you.
You weren’t even sure why you were upset, but you knew you had no right to be.
“It’s stupid, Johnny.” You said simply.
“If you’re upset then it’s not stupid.” He answered quickly.
The party behind you was muffled, but you could hear the laughter and the clinking of glasses, the bass pumping through behind the glass doors.
“Seeing you, flirting like that,” you shook your head, cutting yourself off, “you know what, no, it’s stupid.”
He shook his head, pushing himself off the railing and grabbing your hand, “tell me.”
You took a sharp breath, “seeing you flirting with her made me feel sick. And I know we’re nothing serious, I know that.”
You risked looking at him then, meeting his beautiful blue eyes which were laced with concern.
When you had started hooking up last year, you hadn’t thought much of it. It kept your major crush at bay while working for the Fantastic 4, and allowed you to have him in your life.
But tonight, when he smirked at the tiny little blond girl and she clutched his forearm laughing, you realized you couldn’t pretend it all meant nothing anymore.
“It’s just seeing you with her made me realize I can’t keep doing this anymore. Because this isn’t nothing to me.” You gestured between the both of you.
He furrowed his brows, searching your face for any sort of guidance.
“And now I’m going to ruin it, and I’m sorry, I just felt really hurt,” you took a shaky breath, “and I don’t want to do this to myself anymore. Even if I have no right to feel these things.” You wiped under your eyes.
“No, wait —”
“Johnny, it’s okay. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.” You cut him off.
He said your name softly, “that’s not what I’m doing —”
“Really, I’m just going to go and we can be professional adults and pretend —”
“I’m in love with you!” He nearly shouted, you swore you heard it echo through the skyline.
Your heart started beating faster, waiting for your brain to catch up to what he just said.
“You love me?” You asked cautiously, voice laced with emotion.
“I always have,” he said confidently.
You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out, and before you could process what was happening he pulled you into him and kissed you, hard.
Your body was pressed against his, both his hands gripping your waist like his life depended on it.
He smiled into the kiss, pulling back so his face was less than an inch away from yours.
“I love you,” he repeated, like he needed to say it again to make it stick, “I loved you from the moment I saw you walk through the doors trailing behind Sue during your tour of the Baxter building, I knew I loved you when I saw you babysitting Franklin for the first time, and I knew even more when we kissed after sharing that bottle of wine in the lab, everything always comes back to you. I am head over heels in love with you.”
You smiled up at him, eyes still glossy from your minor meltdown, “I love you too, and I have for a while.”
He smiled again, goofier this time, like he couldn’t hide his happiness.
It made your smile brighter.
“So, I guess… will you be my girlfriend?” He said with his boyish grin.
You laughed at that, all the emotion from before leaving your body and being replaced by the heat from his, “yes, Johnny I will be your girlfriend.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, and when he pulled away you could see the rosiness painted on his cheeks.
“Let’s get out of here and go home,” he said softly, before taking your hand in his and guiding you through the party to leave.
You held his hand in one, and gripped his jacket still draped over you with the other.
People were doing double takes as he guided you through the crowd, but you didn’t care, because all you saw was him.
synopsis. In a recent interview, you revealed that your celebrity crush was the one and only Hudson Williams. The universe, of course, had a twisted sense of humor and made sure you met him at a party. ✴︎ MASTERLIST
featuring. Hudson Williams x singer! fem! reader contains. partying, profanity, implied alcohol use, use of y/n word count. 1k
You never thought the most Googled question about you would be “Who is Y/n’s celebrity crush?” Seriously? You figured people would care more about your music—your first single, your album, something like that. But nope. Everyone just wanted to know who you were into.
You found out during your WIRED interview. The question popped up, and without even thinking, you blurted it out.
“Hudson Williams.”
Obviously. You’d just binged Heated Rivalry and were fully obsessed. So when they asked, he was the only name that came to mind.
That had been a few days ago now. Since then, the interview had racked up over 2.1 million views, and one short clip had blown up on TikTok. People were freaking out—zooming in on your face, dissecting every blink, every smile. It was wild. Way more attention than you ever expected from one offhand answer.
So when your best friend suggested a night out, you didn’t hesitate. You said yes before she could even finish the sentence. Maybe a drink—or three—would help you forget the whole thing. Just for a night. You weren’t sure if that was a real thing, but it was worth a shot.
Which is how you ended up here: in a club in LA, the kind of place where the drinks are overpriced and the crowd is full of people who don’t flinch at going viral. Music thumped through the floor, lights strobed overhead, and bodies moved in every direction. You were dancing, sipping something sweet, singing along to songs you barely recognized—doing your best not to think about interviews, TikTok, or the one name that had somehow taken over your entire brain.
For a while, it actually worked. The music, the drinks, your best friend pulling you into the crowd—it all blurred together in the best way. Your thoughts finally shut up. You laughed harder than you had in days, your body moving without overthinking, just following the beat.
Eventually, you slipped away to grab another drink. The bar was packed, people pressed in on all sides. You leaned against the counter, scrolling through your phone, pretending you didn’t feel that familiar itch—like someone was watching you.
“Y/n! You have to meet someone!” your best friend shouted, nearly knocking into you.
You didn’t even look up. “If it’s another producer, I swear—”
You still hadn’t recovered from the disaster that was last time.
“I swear it’s not! You’re gonna love this one.”
You gave your best friend a look, one eyebrow raised. “If this turns out weird, I’m blaming you forever.”
She just laughed and kept dragging you through the crowd like she hadn’t heard a word. You stumbled after her, heels catching on the floor, heart thudding for no good reason—until you saw him.
Hudson. Freaking. Williams.
Standing there like he’d stepped out of your screen and into real life. Taller than you expected. Softer, somehow. And stupidly, unfairly gorgeous.
He turned just as you stopped. His eyes landed on you—and stayed there. For a second, he didn’t move. Just stared, like his brain was still catching up.
Then he blinked, breath catching. “Holy fucking shit,” he said, voice low and a little stunned. “Y/n Y/l/n?”
“Hudson,” your best friend said, way too loud and way too tipsy, “Y/n has the biggest crush on you.”
You groaned, face burning as you covered it with both hands. “Oh my god. Stop.”
Hudson laughed—low and warm, the kind of laugh that made your stomach flip. He looked at you, eyes a little glassy, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Hudson chuckled, a slow, amused smile spreading across his face. His words were a little slurred too. “Yeah… I kinda figured. I saw… the interview.”
Fuck fuck fuck.
Of course he did.
“Oh my god, this is so awkward,” you muttered, face burning. You buried it in your hands, hoping the floor might open up and swallow you whole. No such luck.
“Hey, no, don’t do that,” Hudson said gently, his voice low and warm. “It’s not awkward.”
Liar.
Then, out of nowhere, he added, “Besides… I like you too.”
You blinked. Coughed. Nearly choked on your own breath.
“I’m sorry—you what?”
“I mean, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish but still smiling. “I’m kinda honored I’m your celebrity crush.”
You blinked at him, not sure what to do with that. Your brain was still catching up, still trying to process the fact that Hudson Williams was standing in front of you, talking to you like this. You raised an eyebrow, waiting—half hoping he’d explain, half hoping someone would pull the fire alarm so you could escape.
You let out a short laugh, trying to play it cool. “What do you mean?”
He scoffed, but it wasn’t mean. More like he couldn’t believe you were pretending not to get it. “Come on. Y/n Y/l/n having a crush on me? That’s kind of insane. I like it.”
Then he smiled—soft, a little crooked, and way too charming for your own good. “Besides,” he added, “who doesn’t have a crush on you?”
You were definitely drunk—that much was obvious. But even through the haze, you couldn’t quite wrap your head around what he’d just said. Hudson Williams. Having a crush on you?
“You have a crush on me?” you asked, blinking at him like you’d misheard.
He didn’t even hesitate. “Uh, yeah. Of course I do.” He gave a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I’m a huge fan of yours. Seriously. You have no idea.”
“Thank you, then,” you said, biting your lip. And before your brain could stop your mouth, it slipped out—soft, almost playful.
“Huddy.”
Oh god. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
He smirked immediately, one eyebrow lifting like he’d just won something. You could’ve sworn he bit his lip too, and that alone nearly sent you into cardiac arrest.
“Huddy, huh?” he teased, leaning in just enough that you could smell his cologne—warm, clean, a little dizzying. “I might let you call me that. But only if I get to call you something cute too.”
You groaned, covering your face again. “I take it back. I take everything back.”
He laughed, low and amused, and then his voice dropped just a little. “Maybe we should, you know… go out. After we’re sober.”
You peeked at him through your fingers, heart thudding. “I’d love that.”
He smiled—soft this time, almost shy. “Cool. Then I’ll try not to embarrass myself until then.”
🎙️ela speaks umm hello guys!!! I’m Ela and this is my first fic :) hope u like it, because i’m still figuring out writing in general, so sorry if this is bad. I’m thinking about writing for lando norris, oscar piastri?, hudson williams, connor storrie/ilya rozanov (these are people i’m currently obsessed with lol) so we will see!!! Also would anyone like part two of this? maybe?
SUMMARY: Everybody in Hawkins knows that you are sickeningly sweet to everyone you meet. Nobody, however, understands that quite as much as Eddie Munson, and he will stop at nothing to make sure that you know how insanely loved you are.
NOTES: Mild profanity, reader is an absolute sweetheart, protective!Eddie, very minor hurt/comfort vibes, mutual pining.
NAVIGATION | S.T MASTERLIST | KO-FI
You never really meant to become the one person in Hawkins High who remembered so many people’s birthdays. It just happened. You liked making things nice. You liked seeing someone’s face light up when you gave them a cookie wrapped in cling film or a sweet treat you had scavenged from your own lunch. It pleased you to be kind. It felt like something you could contribute, even when everything else about school made your stomach twist in that thin, sour way.
Eddie Munson saw it before you realised he had been paying attention at all. The boy was a walking ruckus. He burst down corridors like he was the frontman of a band only he could hear, chains jangling, his voice echoing off lockers, hair refusing to behave in any discernible order. Even from a distance he had an effect on you, like static brushing across skin, both thrilling and a tiny bit unsettling. There were days you caught him looking straight at you and you had no idea what to do with the molten warmth that sparked behind your ribs.
He’d been staring a lot lately. More than usual. You assumed he was simply amused by how much you fussed over people. You had no idea he was keeping count of every time you pressed a bandaid into someone’s hand for a simple scratch, or offered younger students your umbrella when the sky opened over the car park.
Dustin Henderson, who possessed the subtlety of a fire alarm, caught on faster than anyone. He started giving you these little looks whenever Eddie mentioned you, a glint that suggested he knew exactly what was happening. The boy was determined to stir something that already simmered too close to the surface.
You were shelving returned books in the library on a bleak Tuesday afternoon when it really began. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead and the heating rattled as though the pipes were filled with gravel. Eddie strolled in without even pretending he had legitimate business. His boots thumped in that familiar way that made your heart perform tricks in your chest.
Eddie leaned on the counter, tapping a pencil you could have sworn he’d stolen. His smile was wide, the sort that tried its best to hide nerves but never quite succeeded. You noticed these things about him. You noticed more than you let on.
“Got anything new for me?” he asked, gaze flicking towards the fantasy section where he pretended to browse.
“I showed you the new arrivals yesterday,” you reminded him, soft voice disappearing into the hush of the room. “Not sure the library can replenish itself overnight.”
“Shame. I was hoping for something thrilling.” His eyes dropped to yours. “Maybe a little romantic.”
The comment had your pulse tripping, though you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. People always assumed you were calm. They had no idea how loud everything felt on the inside.
Before you could respond, Jason Carver barged in with his usual graceless heaviness, nearly knocking a stack of science textbooks off their trolley. He didn’t apologise. He never did.
Jason spotted you arranging a pile of bookmarks. “Hey, could you make a few more of these? Coach wants something for the team to give out at that charity thing. You did the others, right?”
Your stomach sank. You had already made forty of them last week when he’d said, ‘it won’t take long for someone like you’. He’d smiled while saying it, the kind of smile that made your bones feel hollow.
“I’ve still got homework,” you said gently. “I’m not sure I’ll have time.”
Jason waved your concern away. “C’mon, you’re good at this stuff. Just whip some up tonight.”
Before you replied, Eddie straightened, the noise of it sharp in the quiet room. He planted himself a step closer to you, arms folding in a way that felt protective without being overbearing.
“She just said she’s busy,” he told Jason, tone light but absolutely firm. “Are you being ignorant today or is that just a natural talent?”
Jason scoffed. “Stay out of it, freak.”
“No problem,” Eddie replied. “Happy to stay out of it, long as you stop treating her like your personal craft machine.”
Heat crept up your neck. People didn’t usually defend you. It wasn’t that they didn’t care. They just assumed your gentleness meant permission.
Jason huffed and backed off, muttering something about the ‘weirdos taking over’. The library door swung shut behind him. The silence left behind felt enormous.
You focused on straightening a pile of returned novels, fingers trembling slightly. Eddie stood beside you, not saying anything for a moment. There was surprising quiet around him now, as if the loudest person you knew had chosen to match your softness.
“He always do that?” he asked, turning the pencil over in his hands.
You didn’t want to make a fuss. You rarely did. “I think he just doesn’t realise how much time it takes.”
“I think he realises perfectly well,” Eddie muttered, frowning. “People like him always do. They count on you being too kind to kick up a scene.”
“I don’t want a scene,” you said. “It never helps.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to let yourself get trampled.”
The words slipped in under your ribs, unsettling in their accuracy. No one ever said things like that to you. No one looked at you as though your feelings were urgent.
You stepped back, giving yourself a moment to breathe. “It’s not that important.”
“It is to me,” Eddie said.
The confession landed between you, soft as a leaf and heavy as stone. Your breath caught. His cheeks coloured in a way you had never seen before. Not on Eddie.
An awkward hum rose in your throat before you managed to say, “Thank you.”
He nodded, shaky and relieved. “Any time.”
For the rest of the afternoon he lingered in the quiet aisles, helping you stack books even when he put half of them in the wrong place. He looked at you like you hung the moon. Dustin’s words echoed distantly from last week, when he cornered you outside the science labs, ‘He’s not like that with anyone else, you know. He notices things about you’.
You told Dustin he was imagining things. Now, you weren’t sure.
When the final bell rang, Eddie walked you to the school gate. The sky had clouded over, grey and soft, the air thick with the promise of rain. He kicked at gravel as though searching for the right words.
“You alright?” he asked at last.
You nodded, though you wished you could find the courage to say everything that swelled inside your chest. Gratitude, embarrassment, something warm and terrifying all at once.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, flashing you a smile that lingered long after he left.
You watched him disappear across the car park. You didn’t realise until later that your heart had been glowing the whole way home.
Dustin cornered Eddie the next morning near the vending machines. It was barely eight and Eddie already looked frayed round the edges, pacing as if trying to burn off whatever storm brewed inside him.
“You look terrible,” Dustin said through a mouthful of crisps. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Not the point,” Eddie muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, only succeeding in making it stick up more wildly. “You should’ve seen Carver yesterday. Had her doing his homework but with glitter or something. Absolute parasite.”
Dustin stared. “He asked her for bookmarks.”
“Yeah, and? You know those take ages. She does little patterns and stuff. It’s labour, Henderson. She’s doing unpaid labour for a guy whose entire personality is hitting things.”
“You’re very passionate.”
“Someone has to be.” Eddie leaned against the vending machine, tapping his boot. “She looked so small. You should’ve seen her shoulders. All tense. Kept pretending she didn’t mind.”
Dustin swallowed another handful of crisps through a hearty laugh. “You’re completely gone for her.”
Eddie froze. “I am not.”
“You’re pacing like a dad waiting for a baby to be born. You’re describing her shoulders.”
“They were tense.”
“That’s my point.”
Eddie pushed off the machine, jittery. “I just hate seeing her taken advantage of. She’s too kind. She gives people cookies and she gives me those little heart attacks.”
“You mean heart-warming feelings?”
“Same difference.”
Dustin stuffing the rest of the bag away seemed like his attempt to be serious. “If you like her, you could tell her, you know.”
Eddie scoffed. “Are you kidding? She’s delicate.”
“She’s not made of glass.”
“She might as well be. Have you seen the way she smiles? It’s like a small animal trusting you for the first time. You make one wrong move and poof, she disappears into a log.”
“Into a log? She’s not a worm, dude.”
“It’s a metaphorical log!”
Dustin sighed with the weariness of someone decades older. “Just be honest with her.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie muttered, though the idea made him feel faint.
You arrived not long after, clutching your books to your chest, cheeks still tingling from the cold. Eddie brightened instantly. He didn’t mean to. He’d sell his soul before admitting how reflexive it had become.
You joined them by the lockers. Dustin greeted you eagerly. Eddie hovered, trying to decide whether to say good morning or recite sonnets at your feet. He settled for a quiet, “Hey.”
Your smile, small and soft, made him look away before he grinned too widely. You didn’t notice. You never did.
“Dustin, you dropped something,” you said, bending to pick up a folded bit of paper near his shoe.
Eddie caught his breath. You’d swept your hair forward and the whole hallway seemed to slow down. He nearly said something embarrassing just from watching the way your fingers brushed the floor.
“It’s from Mike,” Dustin explained, stuffing it into his bag. “He’s probably complaining about something unimportant.”
“Oh,” you murmured. You didn’t question it.
Jason strode through the corridor then, and your posture changed in an instant. Eddie spotted it immediately. Your shoulders subtly drew in, chin dipping, gaze dropping to the laces of your shoes.
Jason noticed you. That was the problem. “Hey,” he called, without bothering to sound pleasant. “About those bookmarks.”
You opened your mouth but Eddie spoke first. “She said no.”
Jason’s jaw flexed. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“I know,” Eddie replied, standing beside you in a way that felt protective rather than confrontational. “Still relevant information.”
Jason looked at you again. “You didn’t finish them?”
“I told you I had homework,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.
Jason sighed loudly, an exaggerated sound that made your cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Could’ve just said you weren’t up for it.”
That hurt. Eddie saw it. He saw everything. The way your throat tightened. The way your fingers curled in towards your palms. He knew you would apologise, even though you didn’t owe anyone a thing.
“She did,” Eddie said. “You just don’t listen.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not dealing with you this morning.”
He walked off with a shake of his head. A few students snickered under their breaths. You looked like you wanted to sink through the linoleum.
Eddie wanted to march after Jason and express certain opinions with strong vocabulary. He didn’t. He turned to you instead.
“You alright?” he asked gently.
You nodded, though your eyes darted away. “It’s fine.”
“It isn’t.”
Some tension flickered across your face. You didn’t like arguments, even when they weren’t yours. You didn’t like people raising their voices or drawing attention. Every instinct in you seemed built to keep the peace.
Dustin, surprisingly gentle, said, “You don’t have to say yes to everything.”
“I know.” Your voice sounded brittle.
Eddie’s chest ached. He wanted to place a hand over your heart and cradle it like something precious. He wanted to tell you that you were allowed to take up space. Allowed to say no. Allowed to exist without being chewed up by people who mistook softness for weakness.
The bell rang. Students shuffled off. You breathed out slowly before saying, “Thank you. Really. Both of you.”
Eddie melted. He couldn’t help it. Your gratitude hit him in the sternum and spread through him like warm tea.
“Anytime,” he said, voice quieter than he intended.
The three of you walked to class together. Eddie deliberately kept his steps slow to match yours. Sometimes you got lost in your thoughts and drifted. He liked following that pace, the calm of it smoothing his usual restlessness.
Dustin peeled off at science, and you and Eddie continued to English. Halfway there he nudged your elbow, very gently. “You know, if people keep taking advantage, you can tell me. I’m not asking you to cause a scene. I can do that part.”
You almost laughed. “I don’t want you to cause one either.”
He pressed his lips together, a thoughtful expression flickering. “Then I’ll cause a very polite one.”
Your smile returned, small but genuine. “You really don’t have to get involved.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t have to. I want to.”
That left you quiet again, though the tension in your shoulders eased slightly. He watched you as you entered class, slipping into your seat with that careful grace of yours.
For the rest of the lesson he barely paid attention. His mind looped one thought over and over:
He would do whatever it took to keep that worry line off your forehead.
It wasn’t love. Not yet. But something was blooming fast and fierce, like a fire catching on dry leaves.
He didn’t realise he’d been staring until you glanced over with a shy, puzzled look. He shivered, looked away, then scribbled nonsense across his notebook.
Dustin was right.
He was gone for you.
The sky was a flat wash of cloud by the time the final bell rang, the sort of drained grey that made the air feel heavy. You held your books close and walked towards the front steps, hoping to slip out before anyone made more requests of you. Your nerves still hadn’t settled. Jason’s sigh kept replaying in your mind, that disappointed sound that wormed its way into places you hated.
Eddie spotted you from across the courtyard. He had been waiting for you, although he would never admit it so plainly. Dustin had already sprinted home, leaving Eddie with instructions to ‘try not to implode’. Eddie had responded with a rude gesture, though the worry in his eyes gave him away.
He jogged over, boots thumping on the concrete. “Heading home?”
“Yes.” Your voice came out softer than usual.
He picked up on it instantly. “Come on. Walk with me. Or I walk with you. Whichever sounds less creepy.”
A tiny smile tugged at your mouth. “You can walk with me, and I’ll walk with you.”
He fell into step beside you, letting the rhythm settle. The wind tugged at your hair and the cold flushed your cheeks a delicate pink. Eddie tried not to look too long in case his mind sprinted directly into dangerous territory.
“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.
You hesitated. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
He hummed in that way he did when he wasn’t convinced. You reached the pavement and the trees rustled overhead, dead leaves scraping against each other. The noise was soft enough that it didn’t overwhelm you.
“It gets to me sometimes,” you admitted at last. “People assuming I’ll do things. I don’t think they mean harm. They just… assume.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“It’s easier to help than make a fuss.”
“I know,” he said gently. “But it should be your choice. Not theirs.”
You blinked down at your shoes. That sharp coil of emotion twisted under your ribs again, that feeling of being seen in a way you weren’t used to. His voice had softened so much it felt like warm hands cupping something fragile.
“You don’t have to fix it for me,” you murmured.
“I’m not trying to fix you.” His tone had never been more sincere. “I just want you to feel safe. That’s all.”
You didn’t speak for several steps. Your throat felt warm, and you feared if you said anything it might tremble. A minute passed before you said, “Thank you.”
Eddie breathed out slowly, shoulders dropping as though he had been holding something tense and invisible. “Always.”
The wind picked up, blowing your hair across your face. Eddie reached out on instinct, then stopped himself halfway, fingers curling slightly. You brushed the hair behind your ear before he had to make a decision.
“Can I walk you to your place?” he asked. “I know it’s slightly out of my way. Only slightly though, I swear.”
“If you want to,” you said.
“I do.”
You didn’t look at him, but your cheeks warmed just enough that he felt it like sunlight.
You walked in comfortable quiet for a while. Dogs barked behind fences, a car rattled past, someone in a front garden swore at a hedge. Eddie kept close without crowding you. He kept checking your expression out of the corner of his eye, and each time he caught a little crease between your brows, something protective flared so strongly he had to clench his jaw.
When you reached your road, he slowed. There were puddles lined up like silver coins along the curb. You stepped around them with delicate precision.
“Carver won’t bother you again,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“I don’t want you getting into trouble.”
He let out a breath of a laugh. “For defending the nicest person in the whole school? Worth it.”
You shook your head but your smile gave you away. Eddie felt his heartbeat scramble like it had tripped over a step.
You arrived outside your house. The curtains were half drawn and the porch light flickered faintly, though it wasn’t dark yet. You turned to him, holding your books a little tighter.
“Thank you for walking with me,” you said. “I’m sorry if I’ve been strange today.”
“You haven’t.” He struggled for words. “You’ve been brilliant. You’re always brilliant.”
Your eyes widened slightly at that. He rubbed the back of his neck. His rings clicked together nervously. For a moment you both stood there, caught between the desire to step closer and the fear of disrupting something delicate.
He cleared his throat. “Can I say something without you running away?”
“I don’t run,” you said quietly.
“You sort of retreat into yourself like a shy woodland creature.”
You huffed a laugh. “You can say something. I won’t retreat.”
Eddie shifted his weight. “Yesterday, when Carver acted like you owed him something, I got angry. Proper angry. Not because of the bookmarks or any of that. Because you looked so… small. Not literally. Just… like someone had dimmed you.”
Your breath caught. He swallowed hard.
“I hate when people take advantage of you,” he continued. “You’re kind. You care. You remember things no one else notices. And it kills me that people think that means you’re easy to step on.”
“That’s not why I’m kind,” you said in a near whisper.
“I know. That’s what makes it special.”
You didn’t know what to say. His words settled over you like a warm coat, heavy and comforting. He shifted again, looking away briefly, gathering courage like it was loose coins in his pocket.
“I really like you,” he said. “I’m not asking you for anything. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just… needed you to know. Because I think you’re the best part of most of my days.”
Your heart fluttered so sharply you had to inhale slowly to steady it. He looked terrified now that he’d spoken, eyes darting to the pavement as if searching for a crack to fall into.
You stepped forward before you lost your nerve. “I like you too.”
His head snapped up. “You do?”
“Yes,” you said, pulse racing. “A lot.”
A grin broke across his face so quickly it was almost ridiculous. He tried to rein it in but failed completely.
“Can I hug you?” he asked.
You nodded. He wrapped his arms around you with a gentleness that surprised even him. He held you as though you might slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful. You pressed your forehead lightly to his chest, breathing in the faint smell of smoke and something warm beneath it.
When he let go, he looked like he might float off the front step. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, voice slightly trembling from trying not to explode with happiness.
“Tomorrow,” you echoed.
He walked backwards for a few steps, grinning at you like a fool before turning and nearly tripping over a recycling bin. You laughed softly. His laughter drifted back to you, bright and unguarded.
You stepped inside your house with a heart beating warm and full, already counting the hours until morning.
Can I request a Steve x Reader imagine?
Set during the Russian base storyline, where Steve and Robin are captured—but this time, the reader is captured with them. Instead of the Russians focusing on hurting Steve, they turn their attention on the reader.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS + HENDERSON READER
summary: being tortured by russians under the mall you work in, with the boy you have grown rather fond of was not on your summer to do list…
warnings: language, violence, blood, needle, mild torture to reader (sorry about that), steve loses his mind slightly, henderson reader, robin escapes this time with dustin & erica
truth serum • steve harrington
their first mistake was taking you first. they might have realized that after watching steve’s reaction to you being dragged out of the chair and taken out of his view. you could still hear him screaming— pleading for them to leave you alone, threatening death if they touched you. you were relieved— despite the immense swelling on your head and how you could only see out of one eye— that it had been you instead. steve had been beat up enough times and now you had pissed them off enough to leave him alone indefinitely.
you squinted up at the soldier who held both of your shoulders, shouting at you in russian. you braced for another blow, but it never came. you sucked in a deep breath as you were shoved backwards, your head slamming against the wall with a crack and blinding pain. more russian shouting and you gritted your teeth against the pain. you clenched your jaw, staring up at the men coolly. he was still shouting, uselessly.
you spat at him, smirking just slightly as he stared at you in horror. your lip twitched slightly, eyes furious as you met his.
“such a feisty thing—“ the older man grabbed your face, pinching your jaw to tilt your head up.
“fuck you.”
there was laughter around you; clearly they were very amused by you. you gritted your teeth as hands tightened their hold on you. “such a mouth on this one–“ his hand tightened on your face, sneering at you, displeased.
“tell us who else was with you and the screaming boy.”
steve was screaming, you realized. but not out of pain— he was cursing, screaming threats, calling for you.
oh, steve…
“no one else was with us.”
“who was the child?”
dustin.
“why would we bring a kid with us?”
“alright… bring the other one in.”
no—
steve could be heard down the entire hallway, growing louder as he got closer. you held your breath, thinking of ways to bring the attention back on you. you tasted blood and pain seared across your face— but it wasn’t steve…
it wasn’t steve.
steve was fighting the entire way in, grunting and trying to get out of the soldier’s grasps. his eyes fell on you and the fight left him immediately. you squinted at him through your swollen eyelids. steve was saying your name, panicked, now fighting harder to get to you. you just looked at him— shaking your head just slightly— trying to tell him not to react.
no matter what happened you made steve promise to leave dustin out of it.
“let’s try this again.”
the soldiers turned their attention back to you. you gritted your teeth, forcing your eyes away from steve. you hoped he would look away— you hoped he wouldn’t react…
“who else was here?”
you said nothing. but they were looking at steve. “who else was with you?” steve fell silent, watching only you now with a panicked, pale expression.
“no one…”
the fist came down on your nose before you could even prepare for it.
“no— don’t you touch her!”
you closed your eyes against the fresh wave of pain, dizzy and lightheaded now, on top of the nausea rising up from the pain.
“i see we have gone about this all wrong.”
“no, no no— leave her alone— just leave her alone— you can do whatever you want to me— please just—“
“who else was with you? tell me now or she gets much worse than a punch.”
your heart leapt into your throat as you watched something shiny and sharp cross your blurred vision. a knife? or something worse.
“there was no one else… i swear—“ the tool moved closer to you and steve was screaming as if he were the one being tortured, “no– i swear— i swear to you! there was no one else! please— please not her—“
“steve—“
your voice shook, fighting the bile rising in your throat, “steve, it’s okay—“
you felt a sharpness against your finger and realized in horror that they actually did pull out people’s finger nails. steve had moved so suddenly that the guard holding him lost his grip. chaos erupted and steve was grabbing onto you just as the guards caught him again.
“that is enough of this!”
the butt of a rifle cracked down on your head and you saw nothing else.
you came to, once again in more pain than you had been in before. your neck ached as if it had been crushed. there was muttering behind you, panicked and pleading and you forced yourself to lift your head. “steve—“
steve said your name, quiet first then seeming to wake up like ice water was dumped on him. he kept saying your name, now frantic and pleading.
“steve… did you tell them? did you tell them about..?”
god, you hoped your brother was long gone. maybe getting help— but not coming back anywhere near here.
“are you okay?”
“steve— dustin—?”
“no… i didn’t tell them anything. they stuck a goddamn needle in our necks and then knocked me out too.”
“they—“
a needle in your neck?
thank god you weren’t conscious for that.
“oh shit…”
“i feel really weird…”
“steve, try not to say anything… i think they gave us truth serum.”
“like in the movies?” steve was rather amused by this and you knew soon you would likely be just as carefree.
“steve. try to get your hand loose—“
“i was really worried about you…”
“i’m okay.. well, actually i’m in excruciating pain and think i have permanent brain damage…”
“no. they took you out of here and i couldn’t see you or— what they were doing to you… i thought— maybe…”
“steve. i’m okay… maybe a mild concussion and a less pretty face but—“
“i think you’re still beautiful.”
oh, god, you needed to get him out of here.
“steve—“
“it’s not the truth serum. or whatever it is… i’ve always thought so. i saw you and i actually said holy shit, how can she be related to henderson?”
“steve….” your voice was warning but you were smiling. you shifted slightly and grabbed onto his hand, earning a sharp intake of breath from him.
“while they were beating me up, all i could think of was how happy i was that it wasn’t you.”
“don’t say that. no, i should have taken all the hits…”
“but you didn’t.”
“maybe i should have told them— something… any name. someone i hate… they would have stopped and—“
“no, steve. i’m glad you didn’t. if they had reversed it…”
steve’s hand tightened on yours and you shifted, trying to look at him but not quite able.
“we’re getting out of here… scoot to the left.”
there was an awkward, jerky jolt, as you both moved in opposite directions. you sighed, laughing slightly, “your other left.”
“you went right—“
“oh…”
steve snorted and you started laughing. some truth serum, if you could no longer tell your directions apart. you moved again, this time the same direction and the movement made you dizzy. you tilted your head back against his with a groan.
“are you okay??”
“i think i’m gonna be sick…”
“please don’t puke on me…”
you were laughing again; though you weren’t really sure why. maybe it was the way he said it. so casual with the mildest hint of alarm. the chair teetered dangerously and you held your breath. steve cursed, “hold on—“ you both shifted your weight— overly so, almost falling the other direction— but the chair leveled.
“i’m going to get you out of here.” the carefree, airiness of steve’s drugged tone was gone, “they’re not going to touch you again…”
you shifted three more times and steve breathed out a laugh, craning his head to reach the medical tools on the counter. you felt the chair lean slightly, holding your breath and hoping it wouldn’t break or fall over.
the chair broke.
you collapsed on top of steve in an awkward, uncomfortable pile. steve groaned, shifting slightly so his nose was not pressed against the floor. you cursed, trying to shift enough to get off of him. your wrist felt dangerously close to snapping, as you strained and bent your hand at unnatural angles, tugging at the rope.
“i got it—“ the rope around your left hand loosened and you actually laughed in relief. steve untied it the rest of the way and you felt your chest loosen. “you look impressed.” his slight smirk and cocky tone told you that steve harrington was just fine.
“maybe i am…”
your flirty tone must have been the drugs. surely…
“you should see how fast i can undo a bra—“
this time you did snort, raising your eyebrows slightly, now both laughing like absolute idiots. you shushed him, still laughing, while he shushed you back.
you were on your feet again, woozy and extremely lightheaded. steve’s amused expression vanished and you swayed into him, his worried eyes locked on you, “easy…” you had the sudden, uncontrollable urge to kiss him. it may not have been the drugs entirely… steve just stared at you, concerned, relieved, slightly dazed. his nose was bleeding and you realized the thud you heard right before you landed on the floor must have been steve’s face against the table. you placed your thumb against his face gently, wiping away the blood from his mouth.
an alarm blaring startled both of you out of you longing gaze.
“we need to go.”
right…
you ran, despite your legs feeling like jelly. you kept tripping, bumping into steve and throwing you both off balance. you sincerely hoped steve knew where he was going because everything was starting to spin and you couldn’t tell which direction was which. you stumbled forward again, groaning as your stomach twisted.
“hey— whoa–“ steve grabbed your hand and pulled you along, unable to run in a straight line or see where you were going. then he was picking you up. holy shit, how was he carrying you– he was struggling, unadmittedly, but he was much more effective than you bumping into things every five seconds and possibly alerting the entire under-the-mall-army.
steve crashed through a set of double doors ans almost screamed. he ran right into dustin, who had knocked both of you over.
“holy shit, you’re alive!” dustin was stumbling into you, giving you a hug. it would have been endearing and filled you with relief, if you didn’t feel so sick. you groaned, patting him on the back, while your face turned green.
“oh—“ steve pulled him off of you, wincing slightly. dustin finally got a look at you and you could have cried.
“she’ll be okay. at least that’s what i’m telling myself so i don’t go insane.”
“i actually don’t think i’ve ever been in this much pain…”
steve frowned at you, and dustin just looked between the two of you like you were aliens.
“we were drugged—“
“probably truth serum…”
dustin sighed, helping you to your feet, “come on… we need to get you guys out of here.”
you followed him, grabbing steve’s hand, assuming since dustin was holding yours, that it was the time for hand holding. steve gave you a stupid, dazed smile and you almost laughed at him.
“you’re adorable.”
you hadn’t even realized you said it. evidently the block between your thoughts and keeping them from being verbalized had taken a drastic hit.
“nah…”
but steve was blushing and had turned scarlet, now rubbing his face with his hand.
“oh my god, i’m glad i got you both before you started making out.”
dustin had sat you in a movie, front row, telling you both to stay put. you had nodded, smiling up at him, feeling rather grateful that he had taken you and steve to a movie. “what is going on?” steve leaned over, pointing at the screen. you furrowed your eyebrows, trying to figure that out, yourself, “i don’t know… i think his mom’s trying to make out with him—“
steve looked horrified, looking at you like you were insane, “weird movie…”
someone behind you kicked your seat and shushed you loudly, to which you and steve both turned around and shushed back. the motion of turning around so quickly had your stomach twisting and you stumbled to your feet.
steve still had not let go of your hand, following behind you blindly, “where are we going—“ you stopped outside the theater, staring up at the ceiling. there was a lot of colors up there… bright lights— and glass that reflected you and steve.
“whoa,” it came out as a breath.
steve glanced up, trying to figure out what you were looking at and echoed your wonder and awe, “whoa…”
the ceiling started spinning, the colors and lights and reflection blurring together in a vertigo inducing swirl.
you were both running for the bathroom, still hand in hand, nearly collapsing into the first available stalls. after throwing up everything in your stomach— and then still nothing, you decided the concussion was also punishing you. each gag or retch made your head hurt. you were dizzier than you had been and you wondered if maybe the drugs had made you feel much better than they should have.
the door creaked open behind you and then steve was holding your hair back. you swore when nothing else came out, wishing you would rather have been dead than have steve see you like this.
“steve—“
oh there was more to come up still…
steve knelt behind you, chest pressed against you back, clearly not going anywhere. you finally finished and wiped your mouth, feeling worse than you had and now rather embarrassed. god knows what you had said to him earlier. and now he just looked at you softly, eyes still filled with concern. you leaned back against the wall, closing your eyes against the pain, against the dizziness and now against steve, who refused to take his eyes off you. you heard his shoes squeak and the comforting pressure against your knee vanished.
at least he wouldn’t see if you threw up again— though suddenly the thought of sitting alone in a mall bathroom was more unbearable than sitting with steve, after he had watched you throw up and still looked at you like he cared.
“steve?”
the sink turned on and you realized he was smart enough to go clean himself up. but he was kneeling in front of you again, damp towel pressed against your face. you winced, leaning into the warm water and the pressure. steve frowned as he watched the paper towel soak with blood.
“you should have let them take me.”
“steve…”
“it would have hurt less—“
you stopped, hand on his wrist to lower his hand so you could at least see him out of your one good eye.
“getting punched and god knows what else would have hurt less than watching it happen to you— hearing it happen to you. i’ve taken hits before. i know— this was worse.”
there suddenly wasn’t enough air in this bathroom. the walls felt like they were closing in and you were suddenly very aware of steve kneeling between your legs, his hand resting on your knee.
you didn’t actually have anything to say to that. not that wouldn’t sound cheesy or stupid or change the entire trajectory of your friendship—
“why do you think i was the one provoking them? i wanted them to take me instead…”
steve shifted, both hands now on your knees as he lowered his back against the opposite wall.
“i thought you were just worried i would tell them about dustin…”
you shifted, your hands now on his knee, reaching for the toilet paper. you held it against steve’s nose, eyes locked on him like you were both trying to figure each other out.
you were inches from his face, leaning in, your stomach almost pressed against his.
“i think i’m crazy about you…”
steve blurted it out, expression not even changing as his eyes shifted to yours.
your heart flipped, stomach twisting again— this time thankfully not because you were going to throw up. “i think you’re just crazy…” you knew he was telling the truth. and maybe that was why you almost laughed. you were in a mall bathroom, sitting on the floor in the same stall.
“i really want to kiss you, but i just threw up.”
evidently the serum still had full effect.
you groaned slightly, now laughing at yourself. steve just looked at you, smiling softly, amused and flattered and fully damn enraptured by you.
“how about a raincheck? not in a bathroom stall, covered in blood and tasting vomit…”
you grinned, sticking your pinkie finger out.
steve mirrored you, locking your own pinkie with his. you stayed there for a moment, pinkies interlocked, looking at each other like you didn’t know what to do with one another.
the bathroom door opened and you heard dustin curse, “i found them—“ you assumed he was talking to robin or erica, though until this moment you had forgotten all about them.
dustin glanced down at the two of you and raised his eyebrows, “you two don’t think you just got married, do you?”
marrying steve harrington in a bathroom stall would not have been the craziest part of your night— and certainly not the worst…
Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader Word Count: 2.2k
Description: Steve and you had history together…and then Eddie happened. As your “best friend”, you waited for Steve to care. He waited for you to let him in. Neither of you moved on. Now, months of grief and guilt explode in one awful fight that might break you for good.
Tags/Warnings: s5 spoilers, angst, hurt/no comfort, kind of an eddie munson x reader too, fighting with Steve over mourning Eddie, rainbow room scene.
Note: This came out as a response to Dustin and Steve’s fight about Eddie. As much as I love Steve and part of me agrees with him, that scene hurt like hell, and I needed to write something about it. Enjoy the angst 🙃🤍
It used to be the two of you. Always. Before you started looking at Steve Harrington like he was the enemy.
You and Steve had…history. Best friends through every damn supernatural disaster Hawkins could throw your way. You knew each other’s favorite movies, snack preferences, dreams and fears. You shared nightmares and scars. Trauma bonded, if you will. A connection that went farther than just friends, even if that was the only world you ever allowed to call yourselves.
You waited for him to say something. To make the move. But Nancy was always there somehow, and even if you held hope close to your heart, even statues start to crumble if they’re made to wait too long.
And then Eddie happened.
A boy with a guitar, a devilish grin and a tragic story you never saw coming. He made you laugh, God he made you laugh. He welcomed you into his club. He listened and looked at you like you were interesting, like you mattered in a way that wasn’t tied to the end of the world or the Wheeler last name.
Even then, you told yourself it wasn’t that serious. Just a silly crush on a guy that was cooler than anyone in your friend group. A guy you needed to save before you could even think about more.
But the “friend group” could tell there was always more. Even Steve.
Especially Steve.
He pretended not to notice how your smile grew whenever Eddie asked specifically for you on the walkie or when you insisted on visiting him at the safehouse. Pretended not to twitch in annoyance when Eddie offered you his jacket or leaned a little too close during planning meetings.
It was Steve’s fault after all. He’d been too hung up on his ex to notice he had what he needed right in front of him all this time. And you know what they say, chase two girls…lose the one.
And as if it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t only you. He was losing his other best friend to the metalhead too.
Dustin.
So Steve got bitter. Jealousy sat on his tongue like poison, seeing Eddie treating you both the way he should’ve. And the worst part is that it didn’t even look like he was trying. It was in Eddie’s nature to encourage people to be unapologetically themselves. That’s what drew people to him. That’s what drew you and Dustin to him. A safe place.
And then, as quickly as he came into your lives…Eddie was gone.
Dragged into the kind of “hero’s death” that didn’t leave room for more than just one goodbye, and it wasn’t yours. You weren’t there, and part of you wishes you could’ve said more to him, but you’re not sure if you could've handled seeing him go like that.
So the what-if’s, the hope of it all, the pain…it all broke you.
The grief was quiet at first. A numbness you could carry in silence and loneliness when everyone gave you space.
Then you got angry. So angry.
You can’t say Steve didn’t try to be there. He did, in his own way. But this wasn’t the kind of grief he understood. He’d change the subject, act like nothing happened.
You wished Steve had waited for you the same way you did for him all those years. Wait for all the hurt to pass. But you always felt like he was impatient for you to move on. Like mourning was something you could time with a clock or the change of seasons.
It didn’t take long before you started snapping, and he snapped back. You accused him of not caring. He accused you of using Eddie to push everyone away. The fights got longer and hurtful. And eventually you just stopped being what you once were.
Months passed. Hawkins covered its wounds under rugs and metal plates. Steve carried on with his life and started The WSQK station with Robin as you and Dustin were still stuck right where Eddie had left you.
And you didn’t even have space anymore. Not with all the crawls, and the secret meetings, and the same bullshit over and over again that always ends up with you in the same damn room with Steve Harrington.
Still angry. Still hurting.
And still looking at each other like maybe, just maybe, things had gone differently, you could’ve loved each other.
“We should split up,” Nancy says, looking at the stairs where the path goes up and down. “Cover more ground.”
“I’ll go with her,” Jonathan says quickly.
You glance sideways and meet Dustin’s bloodshot eyes. It’s unspoken, but clear, he’s with you. Always has been, especially since Eddie.
“We’ll head down,” you shrug, motioning to the stairs descending into darkness.
Steve shifts beside you awkwardly. “Actually, I think I’ll switch teams.”
Nancy stiffens as Jonathan turns his head slowly, already reading too much into it. And you? You roll your eyes. Here we go again.
“We need a bit of space,” Steve adds, motioning vaguely between you and Dustin, as if you weren’t right there. “Nance I’ll go with you upstairs.”
“Yeah? Why don’t you go with me then?” Jonathan shoots back.
“What? No. I just–look, you and I could use some space too, man,” Steve stammers.
You really have to bite your cheek to keep yourself from chuckling bitterly and calling him out, but Jonathan beats you to it.
“Wow. So everyone but Nancy.”
Preach.
“Enough,” Nancy snaps. Her voice echoes across the walls. “We don’t have time for this. We split like we planned. I’m with Jonathan. Steve stays with Dustin and her.”
You don’t miss the way Steve deflates. God forbid he has to spend more time with you.
You don’t even wait to hear what he has to say about it. You just brush past him with a huff, shoulder grazing his on purpose as Dustin follows right behind you.
There was a time when you’d glance back to make sure Steve was coming too, but now you don’t even turn as you disappear down the shadows.
The rainbows on the wall and the scattered toys on white shelves make you sick. You know what this place was. Where she was made. Where they turned kids into weapons.
It doesn’t help that Steve and Dustin keep bickering behind you, as you scan the place with a flashlight trying to disconnect from all of it. You’re used to it by this point…doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell.
“…yeah good luck looking for your…treasure. I mean shield generator. I mean made up bullshit–”
“Thank you.” Dustin cuts Steve off sharply.
He storms off the room before you can say anything to him. His sneakers stomp across the grimy floor, disappearing into the hallway. You walk to the door, but hesitate at the threshold, considering if you should really go after him.
Because you know that bitterness. You’ve lived with it for months. When it takes hold of you like that, the last thing you want is someone chasing you, asking questions and trying to fix the unfixable.
So you turn to Steve instead, who’s now leaning on a table, pouting as he fiddles with a Rubik’s cube he found laying around. It only pisses you off more.
“You should be more gentle with him, you know,” you snap, crossing your arms. “He’s hurting.”
“Oh come on,” Steve scoffs. Of course he’s offended. “I’m the one who should be more gentle? He’s been treating me like shit for months.”
“This hasn’t been easy for him,” you retort, walking closer to him. “He’s just a kid, Steve.”
“And that gives him a free pass to be an asshole?” He fires back. “He knows this plan is bullshit. We’re wasting our time.”
“God, Steve,” you sigh. “All I’m saying is you know better to give him a break.”
That seems to snap the last of his patience. He straightens up from the table, walking toward you until he’s just a few inches away.
“No,” he says sharply. “You both need to give me a break. I’m tired of you acting like I don’t care about what happened.”
That makes something in you snap too. It comes out in the shape of a bitter laugh. “Do you, Steve? Do you actually care?”
“What?”
“I don’t think you do,” you accuse, shaking your head. “You never talk about him–not in a way that matters. After you told me he didn’t make it, I’ve never heard you mention Eddie again in a way it didn’t feel like you were calling me out for something. Not once.”
He lets the weight of your words take over him. Here we go again. The accusation sits so heavy it blinds him and the words just start spilling out recklessly.
“Oh, this has always been about Eddie, hasn’t it?” He retorts, breathing heavily. “You want me to talk more about him? Fine. Why don’t we talk about the mistakes he made then?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You mutter under your breath.
“Since everyone likes to remind me I’m a fucking idiot, why don’t we talk about the fact that at least I’m still here?” He says, and the tears in your eyes should be enough for him to shut up, but he doesn’t. He can’t. “All because he didn’t listen to me. I told them not to be heroes. I told them. But Eddie made a wrong call and suddenly I’m the one taking the shit for it.”
The words punch the air out of your lungs.
You go quiet for a moment, blinking away the tears blurring your eyes and swallowing the lump burning your throat. You don’t have it in you to yell anymore.
“Don’t you dare, Steve,” you say slowly. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”
“It’s the truth,” he insists. “You’re just angry because you know it is. He didn’t save anyone. He went and got himself killed for nothing!”
Slap.
Your hand connects with his cheek, sharp, sudden, leaving a red mark on his face.
The sound echoes on the walls, as you both stare at each other in disbelief. His hand lifts slowly to his face, and you try to shake the sting off your hand.
“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, stepping back. “I can’t believe someone I thought cared about me could say something like that so easily.”
“I’m–“ He tries to step forward, but you lift your hand between you both.
“I’m drowning, Steve,” you choke out. “Every day. I wake up and it feels like I’m still hearing you say he’s not coming back all over again. And now–now I have to deal with this? With you turning his death into some kind of argument you need to win?”
You shake your head, disbelief laced into every word. Tears keep falling, making it hard to breathe, but you push through them.
“You’re right. Is that what you want to hear?” You sniffle. “Maybe Eddie was stupid. Maybe he wasn’t like you or Nancy or Hopper who always get shit done. And you know what? Yeah, maybe he didn’t save anyone that day. But maybe he just wanted to do something for good. Like all of us. He tried. He thought he’d keep us safe. And I think that should count for something.”
Your chest rises up and down quickly, as you wipe your tears violently with the sleeves of your sweater. Steve opens his mouth, but whatever he wants to say never makes it out. You don’t wait to see if he does.
You turn away and leave in the same direction Dustin did.
You don’t know how far you walk, just that the corridors start blending together and by the time your legs give out, you’re somewhere dark and quiet. You find a spot to lean safely against the wall, and let yourself fall to the floor.
You cover your mouth to muffle your little cries, and try to find a way to not hate Steve for everything he just said.
He’s hurting too. You know it. All of you are. But that doesn’t give him a reason to–
“Hey…”
Dustin’s soft voice startles you. He was making his way back to the playroom when he spotted your figure in the hallway.
You wipe your face quickly, but it’s useless, you look like a mess either way. He stops in front of you, but you don’t say anything yet. You can’t.
“Did he say something shitty too?” He asks carefully.
You nod.
Dustin sighs. “Of course he did.” He sinks down next to you, and you both sit there side by side. “I heard something. I thought maybe it was…” He hesitates, eyes flicking toward you with curiosity. “Did you–did you slap him?”
You huff. “Yeah.”
“Good,” he says immediately.
A small, broken laugh escapes your throat, followed by Dustin’s. After a moment he shifts closer, leaning his head on your shoulder. It makes you feel less alone.
“I know he didn’t mean it but–it still hurts,” you whisper. “He just doesn’t know what to do with all of it. The grief. The guilt. And he’s angry at him. We all are…”
You don’t even need to say Eddie’s name. It’s there, hanging between every word. The handprint on your heart. The empty space beside you. The hollow that never leaves.
“I just…I miss him,” you add. “I miss them both.”
“I know,” Dustin says. “I miss them too.”
Thank you so much for reading. Feedback is always appreciated 🤍
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