[rafeyswrd]

salut! rafe cameron &&. miguel diaz enthusiast. middle eastern / north african. pinkpantheress fan. maximalist by heart. stem student. #1 doll wannabe.

navi ( 🧸 ). rules. masterlist.

18+ and use fem reader unless asked or not specified. ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[ticifics]

I'd like to make a little request...Maybe reader teaching Dave how to ice skate? Like he SUCKS at it and when she's teaching him he slips and instinctively grabs her and they both fall down and he gets really worried and panicked that he accidentally hurt her but she ends up laughing and he laughs too and FLUFF FLUFF FLUFFY FLUFF :D

Ice Skates

Dave Lizewski x reader

Summary: "Want to go ice skating?" "Not a chance," he said with a sleepy laugh. You planted kisses all over his face. First on his cheek, then along his jaw, and finally on the curve of his bottom lip, teasing him enough to draw a smile from him. "You play dirty." "And it works." You smiled.

Warnings: none

A/N: anon, hope you like it <3333

Masterlist

You had invited Dave to spend the weekend at your family’s winter house. It was far from the city, and the snow covered everything like a private paradise—and the best part? There was a frozen lake! It was barely dawn when you sneaked into the room where he had spent the night, walking on tiptoe so your parents wouldn’t wake up. Luckily, you knew where the floorboards creaked and avoided every single one of them.

When you opened the door, you found the dark and silent room, Dave still asleep, lost in the blankets. His chest rising and falling with calm breaths. A smile spread across your face—at moments like this, he seemed even more adorable. With his dark curls falling over his forehead, chapped lips, and so painfully beautiful it should’ve been a sin. Without making a sound, you closed the door and walked over to the single bed, sighing as the warmth enveloped you the moment you crawled under the covers, curling up against his chest.

"Dave?" You whispered, trying to wake him gently.

Dave mumbled something incomprehensible when you called his name, his sleepy voice sounding sweeter than it should. He didn’t even open his eyes, but his arms moved instinctively, pulling you even closer. His face found refuge in the space between your neck and shoulder, his nose brushing against your skin as he let out a long, satisfied sigh.

"Hmm, you’re cold..." He grumbled, his voice muffled against you, wrapping his arms around you like a human blanket.

"And you’re warm." You countered, smiling against the messy curls that touched your forehead. Your fingers, already acting on their own, tangled in his soft hair, lazily stroking the strands.

"If my father finds me like this, he’s gonna kill me," Dave murmured, a playful tone hidden in the roughness of his voice.

You laughed softly, your lips brushing the top of his head. "We won’t let him find out, then."

"Great plan," he replied, his mouth curving against your collarbone. "Just let me sleep a little longer..."

But you had no intention of letting him fall back asleep. Your fingers trailed down to draw lazy circles on his neck, and you tilted your head to whisper in his ear, "There’s a frozen lake outside, Dave."

"Hmm," he murmured, clearly still fighting sleep.

"Want to go ice skating?"

"Not a chance," he said with a sleepy laugh. "I’m terrible at it. I’ll fall flat on my face. You’ll laugh. I’m not risking that kind of humiliation."

"You haven’t even tried and you’re already so pessimistic?" You teased, planting kisses on his face, each one lingering longer than the last, savoring how warm his skin felt under your lips. First on his cheek, then along his jawline, and finally at the curve of his lower lip, teasing him enough to pull a smile from him.

Dave tried to resist, but he gave in, letting out a soft laugh before turning his face to find your lips. The kiss was slow and lazy, just how winter mornings should be. When you pulled away, he sighed. "You play dirty."

"And it works." You smiled, leaning in to kiss him again.

He dramatically huffed before giving in, pulling you against him one last time before finally murmuring, "Fine, but if I break something, it’s your fault."

"You’re the best," you said, your lips finding his in a burst of kisses as thanks, amidst muffled laughter and shared glances.

"Yes, but only because you asked." Dave buried his face in your hair, and for a few moments, you both stayed exactly where you were, tangled in each other under the covers. The warmth between you felt like a perfect shield against the cold that dominated the world outside. His fingertips lazily traced circles on your back while your hand played absently with his curls, twisting them and letting them go. The comfortable silence was broken only by the sound of your synchronized breathing. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to move, as if the universe had paused so you could savor this moment a little longer.

"I still think my father is going to kill me," Dave murmured suddenly, his voice muffled by your hair, making you laugh softly.

"Only if he finds out what we did before we got here," you replied, your face warming at the memory of what you’d done in your room while you should’ve been finishing packing.

After a few more minutes like this, you both finally convinced yourselves to leave the blanket nest. The cold air from the room immediately enveloped you, and you shivered, pressing yourself against him for warmth. Dave laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you both made your way downstairs to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

Sitting at the table, you shared a toast with jam and laughed about how he seemed even more clumsy than usual with his cold hands. Every few minutes, Dave would glance nervously at your dad, who was in the corner of the kitchen reading the newspaper but clearly keeping an eye on the two of you. Every time your gazes met, your dad seemed to squint his eyes, sending a silent yet clear message: Be careful with her.

"He really likes me," Dave murmured to you sarcastically as he set his coffee cup down.

You shrugged, holding back a smile. "He just wants to make sure you’re not going to drop me on the ice."

"No pressure, then," he replied, rolling his eyes playfully.

After getting ready, you both headed outside, ready to face the cold. Dave adjusted the scarf around your neck, his fingers careful and almost reverent before intertwining his hand with yours. The path to the frozen lake was absolutely magical, with the ground covered in soft snow and the trees around you adorned with ice crystals. With every step, Dave squeezed your hand as if he needed to make sure you weren’t going anywhere, his smile on his face showing just how happy he was.

"You’re not going to fall, right?" he asked, teasing in his voice.

"I’m amazing at this," you replied, pulling him by the arm to quicken your pace.

"Great at many things, actually," he commented, almost distracted.

"Was that a compliment?"

"That was an observation," he corrected, smiling sideways as his eyes dropped to you.

When you reached the lake, the ice shimmered like glass under the weak sunlight, reflecting the trees around. Dave opened the backpack to grab the skates, and while you sat on a snow-covered log, he knelt down to tie yours.

"I can do this, Dave," you said, but he shook his head.

"No way. If the lace isn’t perfect and you fall, your dad will bury me in the snow," he replied, his tone playful, but his hands focused as he carefully adjusted the laces.

When he finished, Dave leaned up and looked at you, his blue eyes shining against the white backdrop of winter. "All set."

"You didn’t have to do that," you said, but he shrugged, the smile almost embarrassed.

"I like taking care of you," he admitted, his voice quieter as his eyes briefly dropped to your lips. Before you could respond, he leaned in to kiss you, the gesture soft but full of affection, warming your heart.

"Now it’s your turn," you said, smiling as he sat beside you to put on his skates.

When he finished with the laces, you leaned in to steal a kiss on his cheek, the gesture so natural it felt like part of the winter around.

"If I fall," he started, holding your hand to get up, "you promise not to laugh too loud?"

"I promise I’ll save you before I laugh," you replied, squeezing his hand tightly before pulling him toward the lake. The ice gleamed beneath your feet, smooth as glass, and the air around was cold, but fresh, bringing an almost magical energy to the moment. You moved first, gliding with a grace that made Dave let out an involuntary sigh.

He was completely mesmerized. You looked so natural, so free, your hair swaying softly with the movement and your cheeks flushed from the cold. He knew he’d never be able to describe it properly, but in that moment, he was certain of one thing: you were amazing, and he was completely in love with you.

"Are you just going to stand there staring, or are you going to try to catch up?" you teased, a mischievous smile on your face as you spun lightly.

"I’m trying not to fall before I take the first step," Dave replied, nervously laughing as he tried to imitate what you were doing. He slid one foot forward, then the other, but the movement was awkward, and he almost lost his balance before you grabbed him.

"It’s okay," you said, laughing softly. "It’s easier than it looks. Trust me."

He huffed, his eyes full of affection as you pulled him, guiding him with patience. He was stiff at first, his shoulders tense and movements hesitant, but the touch of your hands seemed to ease any insecurity. Slowly, he managed to glide beside you, his steps clumsy but enough to keep up.

"Look at you, you’re doing it!" you exclaimed, pride clear in your voice.

"Of course," he replied, his tone ironic, "it’s easy when you have a girlfriend who looks like a pro."

But then, the inevitable happened. When he tried to take another step, his balance disappeared, and the world around him seemed to spin. He stumbled, pulling you with him, and the two of you fell with a soft thud onto the ice. He took most of the impact, cushioning your fall.

"Are you okay?!" he asked, panic evident in his voice as he checked your face. "I didn’t hurt you, right? Please tell me you’re okay."

You couldn’t help but smile at how worried he was. His expression was a mix of guilt and desperation, his brows furrowed and eyes wide as he waited for your response.

"Dave, calm down," you said, placing a hand on his face to reassure him. "I’m fine, I swear."

"Are you sure?" he insisted, his eyes scanning you as if looking for any sign of pain.

"I’m sure," you replied, laughing softly as you leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. "Actually, that was fun. Falling is part of learning, you know?"

"I’d prefer to learn without knocking you down," he murmured, but the worry began to give way to a shy smile as you laughed.

"You protected me," you said, your voice soft. "And besides, it was a pretty cinematic fall. You actually know how to do a good romantic scene."

"Smartass," he replied, but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

You stayed on the ice for a moment, laughter filling the cold air around you. Dave ran a hand through your hair, pushing a strand away from your beanie. "You’re so beautiful," he said, almost without realizing he was speaking aloud.

The unexpected comment made your heart race, and you blushed, but quickly leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was warm and gentle, a perfect contrast to the cold around. When you pulled away, he smiled goofily, just like he always did when he was near you.

"See? Falling wasn’t so bad," you said, caressing his face.

"Maybe not," he admitted, "but I only liked it because you were with me."

You laughed, leaning in to rest your forehead against his. "So, next time you fall, I’ll be here to catch you. Or at least, fall with you."

"Sounds like a good plan," he replied, his blue eyes shining with affection as he stole another kiss.

After a few minutes, you finally got up, with Dave still holding your hand as if he feared the ice might pull another trick. And even with the intense cold around, everything felt so incredibly warm and comfortable. After all, you were together, and that was enough to make any moment perfect.

[bowmagic]

snow baby ♡‧₊˚

[wintrsoul]

“Two of a Kind”

chapter v

Summary: You and James Potter were once intertwined, hearts beating for each other, but due to unforeseen circumstances, you decided to break up, taking Harold with you and Harry with him.

Pairings: James Potter x fem!reader

warnings: just some brief discussion of reader’s background, but nothing too specific.

series mastelist

chapter vi

True to his word, Harry apologized to Ron, who accepted with a dramatic roll of his eyes. The lingering curiosity and childish tension dissipated into the air as they recalled the heartfelt moment that transpired in their absence, their empty stomachs forgotten.

The rain outside showed no sign of stopping anytime soon; it had intensified as time dragged on. The group decided to enjoy the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth instead. Cards were strewn everywhere, chess pieces scattered across the floor, candy wrappers littered about, and a few pieces of discarded clothing lay around. It was a cozy summer afternoon.

Ron sat on the floor, playing chess with Seamus, who was now on his sixth losing streak since they started. Neville, on the far side of the cabin, was frantically searching for his toad, a gift from his grandmother. Harry and Harold had both tried to help him, but half an hour into the search, they collapsed on the floor, leaving poor Neville to continue looking on his own.

"Maybe Trevor just went outside," Harold said, offering Neville a small smile as he tried to move one of the beds. His words, however, didn't offer much comfort to Neville, who glanced at the window in horror.

The sound of thunder crackling in the dark sky, combined with the flash of lightning that illuminated the air, made the boy’s anxiety even worse than before.

"Gran is going to kill me," Neville muttered, looking slightly aghast.

"Come on!” Seamus’ voice was drowned out by the sound of the rain slapping against the thin windowpane as he, yet again, lost the game."

"Besides, toads love rain, you know," Harold said to the boy, who was now nervously picking at his nails, completely ignoring Seamus’ defeat. “It's usually their time to breed."

Harold's words were met with gagging sounds from the boys. He laughed at them before turning back to Neville with a comforting smile. "I'm sure he'll come back tomorrow."

...

Two hours after the onslaught of the rain, Harold and Harry, along with their friends, made their way to the dining hall. Their stomachs were grumbling despite having munched on their stashes of sweets while waiting for the rain to stop. They walked peacefully, their energy drained from being cooped inside the cabin for hours.

Harold took his time appreciating the stillness of the evening. Even though the rain had left some wet patches on the ground, which he carefully avoided, there was a certain tranquility after the rain that he found oddly comforting. The air was cold, and the smell of freshly wet soil lingered in the air.

But his serenity came to a halt when a cold splash of water and grains of soil hit his shirt. He gasped in disbelief, his mouth hanging open. The culprit was no doubt his bespectacled clone.

Harry and Ron laughed at the look of disbelief on his face.

"Will you stop that?" Harold muttered, annoyed. He glanced at Neville, who was a sputtering mess, running his hand over his wet, stained shirt—courtesy of a certain redhead.

"Loosen up, Harold," Harry called out, racing toward Ron, who was happily jumping in every muddy puddle they came across.

By the time they arrived at the dining hall, Harry and Ron were drenched from head to toe, laughing as one of the camp counselors reprimanded them for their appearances. Despite their not-so-appealing looks, they made their way to the food, the mouthwatering aroma in the air drawing them in.

When they reached the banquet table, a familiar figure greeted them. It was Remus, standing near the table as he piled food onto his plate. Harold noticed a certain restlessness in the way he moved. The bags under his eyes looked darker than they had been just a few days ago.

"Fancy seeing you here, Moony," Harry greeted him, unfazed by his uncle's appearance. Remus looked down at the sound of his nephew's voice, a smile stretching across his face.

"How are you this fine evening, good sir?" Remus asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He turned to Harold, smiling at the boy.

"And you, Harold?" he asked, his smile widening as he examined the muddy mess on the boy's shirt.

"I'm quite splendid, thank you for inquiring. And how does this fine evening find you?" Harold replied in a posh voice, making Harry giggle.

"Marvelous," Remus answered, giving Harold a playful wink.

Though he didn't show it, Remus was surprised by Harold's response. His voice was much more refined than expected for his age. He suspected it must be the way Harold was raised—elegance woven into his entire being, after all, you came from a well off family, so it’s no surprised if Harold had some poshness in him.

"So, Moony," Harry chimed in. Remus turned to look at him, eyes questioning. "Anything exciting for tomorrow?" Harry continued, his tone light and full of mischief.

Remus' shoulders tensed, his mouth hung open for a moment before he cleared his throat, composing himself.

"About that," Remus began, "I won't be here for a week, starting tomorrow," he added.

“Why?” Harold questioned, his eyes wide pure curiosity.

His question caught Remus off guard. Though he had expected the boy to ask about his week-long absence, it still didn’t make him feel ready to satisfy his curiosity

"There's an emergency back at home," Remus said smoothly. Though it wasn't entirely a lie, he still felt guilty for evading the truth with Harold.

Harold thought that the emergency might be serious enough for Remus to be gone for a week. He appeared satisfied with the answer and nodded, then turned to the banquet table to pile his plate with food.

The dinner went without further distractions. Despite the twins' request for him to sit with them, Remus politely declined and sat with the rest of the counselors.

...

It was late at night, probably close to midnight, as Harry tossed and turned in his bed—an idea kept running through his mind, determined not to let him rest. He had been willing himself to sleep ever since he laid on his bed that night.

With a frustrated huff, he threw off his blanket and sat up, his back resting against the soft pillows. He looked around the room, the soft glow from the light outside would have lulled him to sleep, but right, it only made him more awake.

His gaze was pulled away from the window when he heard a shuffle from across the room—the source of the noise coming from Harold’s bed. He squinted his eyes to see if there was any other movement, and when he heard Harold let out an exasperated sigh, a brilliant idea crossed his mind.

"Psst!" Harry whisper-shouted from across the room.

His bed faced Harold's, so it wasn't hard for him to bother his twin. Harold, who was also having a hard time sleeping, turned to face Harry, squinting his eyes.

"What?" he asked groggily as he slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes to adjust to the soft light spilling through the window.

"I have a brilliant idea," Harry said with an ear-splitting grin.

"Uh, should I be worried?" Harold asked, his words light and teasing— though his brows were raised in slight suspicion.

Standing up, Harry walked over to Harold's bed. "Come on! You'll like this," he said in a pleading tone.

Harry had discarded his glasses, and it was uncanny how much they truly looked alike. If Harold were to wear the glasses, he was certain their friends wouldn't be able to tell them apart.

Even though he knew where this so called idea of Harry headed to— he couldn't deny the fact that his curiosity was still piqued. So, with a little huff of exasperated breath, he scooted over to make room for his twin brother.

"As long as it's not flying," Harold muttered as he gave Harry a pointed look.

"It's better than that," Harry said with a smirk.

"Go ahead then," Harold urged with a nod, folding his arms.

"So—" Harry began, pausing to look at Harold dead in the eye, "you said you wanted to meet Dad," Harold tipped his head, suddenly cautious.

"And I want to meet Mum." Harry continued, his voice gentle. He pulled his gaze away and glanced around the room, taking note of their sleeping friends.

"How about we switch places?" Harry's face lit up as if he'd just suggested the most ingenious plan ever.

"I don't understand." Harold leaned back against his pillows, his face contorting slightly in confusion.

"What I'm proposing is that you go to Godric's Hollow, and I go home to Mum," Harry said sheepishly, his shoulders rising and falling.

Harold stared at him, mouth slightly ajar . "You mean I'll act as you, and you'll act as me?"

"Correct."

"That's insane!" Harold's voice was no longer a whisper, his eyes widening in disbelief . "Mum will figure it out immediately."

Harry glanced around the room again, ensuring their friends were still asleep, before leaning closer to Harold. His pleading puppy-dog eyes—no doubt inherited from Sirius—added to his desperation.

"Oh, come on," Harry said hopelessly. "We're twins, Harold. I'm sure she wouldn't."

Harold's lips twitched lightly, a small change that didn't go unnoticed by Harry.

"Besides," Harry continued, carefully watching Harold's expression, "it's our chance to finally make our dreams come true."

Harry watched as Harold mulled over the idea— his brows furrowing deeply in concentration.

"How do we even do that?" He asked.

Harry's eyes lit up like stars, his grin stretching so wide it looked almost painful.

"Easy," Harry said, getting up on his feet to pace."The only difference between us is that I wear glasses, and you don't."

"And you think you can survive without them?" Harold asked skeptically.

"I think I can."

"You're crazy," Harold muttered, shaking his head.

"If we switch lives right now, I doubt anyone would be able to tell us apart," Harry continued, glancing out the window. He turned back to Harold with a small smile. "Maybe we can even—" Harry stopped, hesitating whether he should continue or not. He looked at Harold with gentle yet mischievous eyes and softly said, "get them back together."

Though the plan sounded stupid to Harold, he couldn’t help the hope that blossomed in his chest. He had longed for his father all his life, often asking you questions about his existence, which you always avoided with practiced ease.

Silence enveloped them as Harold processed the idea. After a minute, he sighed reluctantly. "Fine," he muttered.

"Yes!" Harry fist-pumped the air, but Harold quickly raised a hand.

"But... should we tell Remus?" Harold asked.

"No!" Harry stood abruptly, startling Ron, who stirred lightly in his sleep. Harry froze, waiting for Ron to settle, before continuing in a quieter tone. "Are you crazy? He'll tell Dad!"

...

The morning after their conversation, the twins found themselves huddled in the corner of their shared cabin. Stacks of pictures were scattered across the table, alongside pencils and pens.

They were the only ones left in the cabin as the rest of their friends went outside to go look for the missing toad of Neville.

"First off," Harry began, slamming three pictures onto the table and pointing at a photo of a massive townhouse with his little finger. "This is what our house looks like."

It was a large house—its walls painted a pale brown color. Big windows adorned the house, with various flowers and plants littering the yard. Harold could tell that the house was well taken care of despite the fact that all the occupants were males.

He picked up another picture and shoved it toward Harold's face. "This is Dad." He pointed to the man in the picture, who was sitting beside a raven-haired man.

"And this is Sirius—or also known as Padfoot," he continued, motioning toward a man with striking grey eyes, his fingers were adorned with rings, and ears littered with various piercings. Harold also took notice of the tattoos that snaked along Sirius's arms.

"And this is Remus," Harry said, putting the picture down before plucking another one out.

"One thing you should know is that Uncle Sirius is an Animagus," he said to Harold in a serious tone.

"What's his animal?" Harold asked curiously.

"A dog—hence, Padfoot," Harry replied simply, reaching into his biscuit tin for another picture.

"And I know you already know who Moony is, but—" Harry leaned into Harold and glanced around before continuing in a sharp whisper, "This is a secret."

"He's a werewolf," Harry said, his words almost inaudible as he relayed the information to Harold.

The boy nodded in understanding, which surprised Harry. He had expected his twin to be either shocked or horrified by the revelation.

"That's it?" Harold raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You're not scared or anything?"

"No. Is that why he's leaving next week?" Harold asked.

Harry nodded nonchalantly. "Yes, and it's also why Padfoot and Dad are Animagi," he added.

"What's Dad's animal?" Harold's eyes lit up at the mention of James, his smile widening slightly.

"A stag," Harry replied simply.

"You didn't tell me that dad was this cool." Harold said under his breath, making Harry chuckle lightly at his words.

"Okay, now your turn," Harry said, pointing at Harold with gun fingers.

"So this is our house," Harold began, holding up a whiteboard with pictures pinned to its surface. Red markings and labels adorned each photo, which contained detailed information about his life.

"We have Auntie named Mary; she's super sweet and pretty," Harold began, pointing at a picture of a woman with curly hair. "And aunt Lily, but she's in France right now." He said, gesturing to a woman with fiery red hair.

Harry thought the woman looked familiar, especially the one beside Lily— "Is that aunt Marlene?" He asked, pointing at the blonde woman whose arms were wrapped around Lily's shoulders.

"Uh yes, but I haven't met her." Harold replied as he pointed to another picture on the board.

Despite knowing each other already, there were still some pieces of their untold lives that they shared between them. Harry told stories of his life in the Potter household—how he and Sirius would play outside while waiting for James to come home from the Ministry, and how every weekend was a barbecue weekend.

"We also play Quidditch during the afternoon," Harry said as he rummaged through his tin can.

A look of disbelief washed over Harold's face, his thoughts running a mile at the idea of having to mount a broom. Noticing the lack of response from his brother, Harry looked up, smirking at the faraway look on Harold's face.

"Don't worry, I will teach you how to fly," he said, offering him a smile. "Besides, we still have two weeks left."

"Absolutely not!" Harold said with a shake of his head, his arms crossed over his chest.

Harry rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. "How are we even gonna pull this off?" he tsked, looking at Harold pointedly.

The rest of their day was spent getting to know more about each other. Harold, with Harry's persistence, finally agreed to train on getting and flying on a broom. The mere idea made the boy slightly nauseous. He could not even bring himself to be excited at the notion, unlike his bespectacled clone, who was now rambling off his ears with flying tricks he had learned from their father and Sirius.

...

The rest of the days went by in a blur, their sun-kissed faces a testament to the time they spent training under the sun. Harold, after several failed attempts at mounting a broom, finally managed to find his balance in the air—this time without a look of sheer horror on his face.

Harry seemed eager to train him, often joking that their father would be livid if he came home (as Harry) not knowing how to fly. Despite the playful tone, Harold could sense the underlying determination in his brother's words.

The days bled into weeks, and before either of them knew it, the camp finally came to an end. Time does fly when one is having fun. Harold thought.

With heavy hearts, they packed their bags, the once lively campgrounds now eerily quiet in the early morning light. The looming separation weighed heavily on Harold as they made their way toward the steam engine. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though his heart sank further with every stride. Knowing he wouldn't see his twin brother for a long time made the moment almost unbearable. If only this wasn't their normalcy.

Meanwhile, Harry seemed to carry the opposite mood entirely. His ear-splitting grin made both Harold and their friends uneasy. He was no longer wearing his glasses, which, to Harold's perspective, made him look strange. Their friends didn't share the sentiment, however, pointing out that they looked the same anyway. Harold wasn't convinced—it was more than just the glasses, Harry seemed to radiate an unfamiliar energy that set him apart.

The rest of the train ride was spent playing Exploding Snap, their laughter echoing off the compartment as Neville’s card exploded three times in a row during their game. Deep into their fun, Harold had completely shaken off the uneasiness he felt earlier as he joined in the ruckus with his friends.

But it wasn’t for long as the train screeched to a halt. The beating of his heart picked up again, his palms grew clammy, and a lump formed in his throat. He instinctively pushed Harry's glasses up the bridge of his nose—a nervous habit he had developed since he started wearing them.

They all got on their feet, picking up the pieces of trash they had thrown in the fit of their laughter. Bags slung over their shoulders, they joined the crowd spilling out of the compartment. Children filled the train's corridors, their chatter mingling in the air. Normally, Harold found comfort in such noise, but today, it only added to his unease. The sounds blurred together, muffled under the weight of his own thoughts.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, his gaze lingering on Harold as he adjusted his glasses for the umpteenth time. Harry could feel the anxiety seeping into his twin’s bones just by looking at him. It was really hard to ignore.

Harold forced a reassuring smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Never better," he replied, but the familiar tug in his chest had become a sharp, aching pull.

"You'd better not chicken out," Harry teased, though his tone was gentler than usual. He pulled Harold into a hug, squeezing him tightly.

Harold chuckled weakly, returning the embrace. He closed his eyes, letting himself soak in his brother's warmth.

"I'm gonna miss you," Harry murmured softly into his ear. "Hug Dad for me, will you?"

Afraid his voice might crack, Harold only nodded. As he pulled away, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Seeing the look on his face, Harry tugged him back into another hug, this one tighter than the last. Harry wouldn't admit it, but Harold could tell he felt the same ache.

The sharp whistle of the train broke the moment. They pulled apart reluctantly, their hands lingering a second longer than necessary.

“Don’t forget to write to me.” Harold murmured, his eyes wide with sadness.

With a final nod from Harry, they turned and stepped forward, ready to set sail and journey onto uncharted waters.

Regardless of being separated once again, Harold and Harry carry pieces of each other—ones that they will carry on their own, but not alone.

happy christmas to those who celebrate it! i just want to thank each and everyone of you who supported this fic, i wish i could mention you all, but i know you know who u r. i hope y’all enjoy this chapter. have a nice day ahead :)

as always, let me know what you think!

[sweethingslast]

PART ONE OF A GOOD OL' WILD WEST TALE !

cowgirl x marauders !!! wild west au (wizarding west!!!) unedited.

tw: blood, cursing, robbing,

prologue chapter one chapter two chapter three

the sound of crickets were starting to fill the cool air by the time you made it to your ranch. the faint smell of hay and wood smoked the air as you dismounted your horse

you rolled your shoulders to stretch out the stiffness of the ride.

you turned back to get a better look at the travelers. they followed your lead, slipping from their saddles with practiced ease. you turned to get a better look at them now that you were closer, curiosity tugging at the edges of your thoughts. even with the bandanas covering the lower half of their faces, there was no mistaking it—they were handsome. that kind of movie-handsome the town’s children always dragged you to see at the picture shows, whispering excitedly about daring outlaws and chivalrous cowboys.

their arms were muscular, tanned from the sun and streaked with dirt and veins that twisted like roots. their clothes were worn, dusty, and patched in places that spoke to a life on the road. yet somehow, despite the grime, they pulled off an effortless charm that felt both dangerous and magnetic.

you shook your head at the thought, dragging your attention back to the task at hand. the thunderbird was no longer clawing at glasses’ shoulder but rested limply in his arms, letting out faint, aching whines that tugged at your heart. its feathers sparked faintly, the energy dimming as exhaustion took hold.

your lips pressed into a thin line. poor thing. you made eye contact with prongs who seemed to share your sentiment. you moved your eyes away, ignoring the unwelcome warmth prickling your neck with the way his large hazel eyes bore into you

no time for distractions, especially not pretty ones. striding to the barn doors, you unlatched them and gestured inside. "i'll get y'all some fresh water, and you can rest while i patch this sweet thing up. so, stay put." you said, pointing to the barn doors. then, almost as an afterthought, you turned back to the group. “and keep those bandanas on while you’re here. don’t need to know your faces to help.”

there was a moment’s pause, the air hanging heavy between you. you noticed the tall, quiet one—moony, was it?—exchange a quick glance with prongs. his amber eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he gave a small nod of agreement, as if silently communicating, let it be. you caught padfoot’s brow arching above his dark eyes, and glasses shifting uneasily before giving a short nod.

“got it, cowgirl,” prongs said, his tone light but laced with something teasing—something you weren’t sure you wanted to name. his hazel eyes lingered on yours a beat longer than necessary, and warmth found its way to your cheeks.

satisfied, you gave a quick nod toward golden, who had wandered over and plopped down beside the group. her tongue lolled out in what looked like a lazy grin. “golden here will keep an eye on ya,” you added, patting her head for good measure as you turned to leave.

“yeah, looks like a real enforcer,” padfoot muttered, his words dripping with sarcasm as golden immediately flopped onto her back, offering her belly for rubs.

moony crouched beside golden, running a hand gently over her fur. “smart dog,” he murmured, his voice soft.

“hm?” you asked, turning slightly as you were about to make your way to get the supplies.

“yeah,” he continued, not looking up. “she’s got good instincts. knows who to trust.” he glanced up at you then, his expression calm but thoughtful, and you felt an odd tug at his words.

“or she just likes belly rubs,” padfoot quipped, smirking as he knelt to join in the petting session.

prongs shook his head, his hazel eyes catching yours again. “you’ve got yourself a traitor there,” he teased, gesturing toward golden, who had now fully clocked out of her guard duties in favor of these handsome strangers attention.

you snorted, shaking your head as you stepped away. “some guard dog,” you muttered under your breath. still, there was something reassuring about the way moony’s voice had settled the moment,

moony watched as you made your way to your small house. “smart dog,” he muttered. a beat passed before he grimaced and whispered to the others, “was that creepy? i feel like i just scared her off—going on about trusting dogs. she’s probably bolting for the hills right now.”

prongs didn’t bother holding back his laughter, clapping moony on the shoulder. “oh, our sweet moons.”

padfoot smirked, folding his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “yeah, don’t sweat it, moony. if you scared her off, it’s only because you’re talking like you’re auditioning for the role of mysterious stranger with a heart of gold.” he raised a brow, letting the sarcasm settle for effect.

moony groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “y’all are insufferable.”

prongs grinned, crossing his arms. “look at this guy with his big words. you’re one dust storm away from performing a soliloquy.”

moony shot him a glare. “oh, so ‘insufferable’ is a big word, but ‘soliloquy’ ain’t?”

padfoot snickered. “you aren’t the only one with the brains here.”

moony scowled, and padfoot added with a teasing grin, “keep it up with this broody charm and ‘the dog trusts me’ nonsense. really, she’s probably halfway to thinking you’re some wandering poet-cowboy by now.”

the words hung in the air, a momentary lull filling the barn. the sounds of teasing faded into a peaceful silence, broken only by the faint rustle of hay.

the soft chirp of the thunderbird echoed through the space. it was nestled in a makeshift nest prongs had crafted out of some old cloth hanging by the stall. the bird stirred weakly, its feathers sparking faintly like embers struggling against the wind.

prongs crouched beside the tiny creature, brushing a finger gently over its sparking feathers. “easy there, rusty,” he murmured softly, as if the bird might understand.

both padfoot and moony froze mid-conversation, their heads snapping toward him in unison.

“rusty?” padfoot repeated, incredulously.

james glanced over his shoulder, completely unfazed. “what?”

remus raised an eyebrow. “you named it?”

“yes, i named him. he’s been latched onto my shoulder all day—what did you expect?” james shot back, defensive but not without a grin. “we’re practically best pals at this point.”

he shrugged, reaching out to gently adjust the cloth nest. “rusty suits him. and he likes it. don’t ya, friend?”

padfoot leaned against a post, arms crossed as he watched his friend fuss over the tiny creature. “you’re such a bleeding heart, prongs. you know that, right?”

james shot him a look but didn’t respond, his attention fixed on making the thunderbird comfortable.

“bleeding everywhere else too,” moony muttered, pointing at the dark patch spreading across prongs’ sleeve.

“don’t start,” prongs sighed, his tone somewhere between exasperated and amused. “it’s not that bad.”

sirius raised a brow. “not bad? you’re dripping blood all over her barn.”

"he's right. you’ll need stitches, or that arm’s going to be useless.” moony added pointedly.

“i'’ll manage,” prongs replied with a grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “we've got bigger problems than a little cut.”

there was another moment of silence between them as if just remembering the whole reason they had found themselves in this situation. the mood shifting at the mention of the problems they were running away from.

everything about the heist had been prepared to the letter, as it always was. the marauders prided themselves on precision—skillful, purposeful, and thorough. every detail had been accounted for, every escape route mapped out, every contingency planned. it should have been simple.

but then prongs heard the chirp.

it was faint, almost lost amid the rustle of papers and the clink of valuables being stashed away. he turned his head sharply, scanning the dimly lit room until his eyes landed on a rusted cage in the corner. inside was a tiny, bedraggled bird with feathers that shimmered faintly, like a dying ember struggling for life. its weak cries tugged at something deep in his chest.

james hesitated for only a moment before crossing the room, leaving the documents and stolen money half-forgotten in his bag. he crouched in front of the cage, his jaw tightening as he took in the creature’s fragile state. it didn’t belong here—not in a place like this, not with people like this.

"prongs, what the hell are you doing?" padfoot hissed from the doorway, his dark eyes flicking between his friend and the door they’d just blown open. “we don’t have time for this!”

james ignored him, pulling the cage door open. the small bird didn’t move, too exhausted or too weak to resist as he gently scooped it into his hands. its feathers sparked faintly at his touch, sending a soft jolt up his arm.

moony appeared beside padfoot, his expression both curious and exasperated. "james…”

“i couldn’t leave it,” james said, his voice firm. “they’d sell it—or worse. look at it.” he cradled the bird carefully, as if afraid it might break in his hands.

padfoot threw his hands up in frustration. “we’re not running a bally wildlife rescue, prongs! this is supposed to be a clean job. get in, get out. no attachments, remember?”

but the decision had already been made. when they fled the death rattlers’ base minutes later, their bags stuffed with loot, james had the thunderbird tucked safely against his chest.

it wasn’t until they were well into their escape that the full weight of what he’d done began to sink in.

“this better be worth it james,” padfoot grumbled as they galloped through the wilderness, the sound of pursuit growing fainter behind them.

remus shot james a sharp look, his amber eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve just invited into our lives?”

and truth be told the small bird did invite heaps of trouble., they’d underestimated the bird’s value—and the lengths the death rattlers would go to retrieve it. they hadn’t even made it a mile from the base before the gang’s reinforcements had begun to close in, forcing the marauders into a desperate chase through rough terrain.

by the time they stumbled upon the outskirts of your town, bruised, battered, and bleeding, the thunderbird was barely clinging to life after a day of riding nonstop. james’ arm was still dripping blood from a deep gash he’d taken during their escape, but he hardly seemed to notice, his focus entirely on the small creature in his care.

"reckon she has any idea who we are?" he muttered finally spoke, hands still gently brushing over the small creatures feathers.

"doubt it", padfoot answered shaking his head. "don't think she wants to know anything about us either way" he quipped, recalling the small quip she said about keeping the bandanas on.

"smart of her. wouldn't want to be involved with us either." moony said.

“we’ll do what we can to fix this,” prongs continued, his gaze drifting back to the thunderbird. “then we’re out of her hair. the death rattlers are sure to catch up with us soon, and I'd doubt shed be happy we dragged those bally devils to her town."

the barn door creaked open, and all four of them instinctively reached for their weapons.

“relax,” you said, stepping inside with a bucket of water balanced on your hip and a basket of supplies in your other hand. “ain’t nobody sneaking up on you. golden here might be useless, but i ain’t.”

padfoot smirked, lowering his hand. “you’re full of surprises, sweetheart.”

you shot him a look that could’ve cut through steel, and his smirk widened. you moved setting the bucket and cups down beside the group.

prongs gave padfoot a pointed look before turning his attention to you. “thank you,” he said, his voice soft but earnest.

you met his gaze briefly before looking away, busying yourself with unpacking the basket. “don’t thank me yet. you’re still bleeding all over my barn,” you muttered.

moony watched the exchange with a faint smile, his sharp eyes catching the way prongs’ shoulders seemed to relax whenever you spoke.

“here,” you said, pulling out a clean rag and tossing it to moony who was next to prongs. “keep pressure on that, and maybe i'll consider not kicking you out before sunrise.” you ordered.

padfoot let out a low whistle. "feisty and generous. what a combination doll."

you rolled your eyes, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at your lips. you worked on the bird patching up its small cuts.

james watched as you gently inspected the thunderbird, your brow furrowed in concentration. rusty let out a faint, pained chirp, and you murmured something soft under your breath, your fingers steady and delicate.

padfoot elbowed him lightly. “quit starin’.”

“im not starin’,” james shot back, a little too quickly. but he was. he couldn’t quite help it. there was something about the way you carried yourself—calm, determined, like nothing rattled you—that made it hard to look away. not to mention you were the most beautiful lady he'd ever seen. not just pretty nor cute, you were beautiful if james ever knew the definition to it.

you finished cleaning up the bird, and startled james when you met his gaze. "come, trouble” you muttered, pulling out a roll of clean bandages and a small bottle of antiseptic from the basket. your gaze flickered to prongs’ arm, noting the way the blood had soaked through the cloth you had offered and dripped onto the floorboards. you frowned at the sight. “let me see it.”

james hesitated for a moment, his hazel eyes searching yours as if weighing whether he could trust you. finally, he rolled up his sleeve, revealing a jagged gash that ran along his bicep. the edges were red and angry, and the sight of it made you wince.

you wet a cloth in the bucket of water, "this looks awful prongs.”

“oh, come on. don't make me blush cowgirl,” he replied, his voice light but strained as you pressed the damp cloth against the wound. warmness creaking at his neck at the way his nickname fell of your lips. he hissed through his teeth but didn’t pull away.

"this might sting,” you warned, not sparing him any pity, grabbed the bottle.

“sting? i’m sure it’ll be—OW dammit, woman!” james winced as you poured the liquor over the wound.

moony smirked quietly to himself but said nothing, content to watch the show while absentmindedly petting golden, who was now sprawled across his lap, utterly betraying you.

you knelt in front of james, carefully pressing the cloth against the wound to stop the bleeding. up close, his hazel eyes softened with something unreadable.it made your stomach flip, though you didn’t let it show.

“hold still,” you muttered, grabbing a needle and thread from your basket. “you're lucky i know how to stitch. could’ve left you leaking all over the place.”

james chuckled under his breath, though it was tinged with exhaustion. “wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

you glanced up at him briefly, your brow furrowing. “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

Hh shrugged lightly. “we're trouble, sweetheart. you said it yourself—you don’t need to know who we are.”

“don’t flatter yourself, prongsie-boy. i don’t care about who you are, only that you don’t bring any of your problems onto my ranch.”

the words were sharp, but something in your voice softened the blow, as though you knew better than to pry into the lives of men who wore secrets like second skins.

james held your gaze for a moment longer before looking away, his lips quirking into the faintest smile.

the barn settled into a quiet rhythm as you finished stitching him up. the thunderbird’s faint, steady chirps filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of hay or golden’s soft snoring.

when you finally tied off the thread and leaned back, you wiped your hands on a rag and sighed. “there. you’ll live, though I wouldn’t go waving that arm around anytime soon.”

james flexed his fingers experimentally, wincing as the stitches pulled. “you’re good at this,” he said, an almost boyish grin flashing across his face. “should I start calling you doc?”

“fix up animals and the occasional trouble maker all the time, it's no biggie. and the only thing you can call me someone who doesn’t put up with nonsense,” you shot back, though you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

sirius snickered. “careful there, prongs. she’s not falling for your charms.” said prongs nudged his partner with his other elbow.

you chuckled lightly, before turning your attention to the thunderbird, you crouched beside prongs and gently reached out to touch the bird’s feathers. they were soft and warm under your fingers, a faint spark zipping through your hand.

“you’re a tough little thing, aren’t you?” you murmured, your voice soft.

the bird chirped weakly in response, its head resting against james’ palm.

“do you think he'll be okay?” james asked, his voice low.

“i think so,” you said, glancing up at him. “It just needs rest and care. same as you.”

james smiled again, and for a moment, the barn felt quieter, the weight of the world outside its doors momentarily forgotten.

but the moment didn’t last. padfoot cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the group.

“so, what’s the plan, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone light but serious. “you gonna let us hole up here for the night, or should we start looking for another spot?”

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “you can stay in the barn, but only for tonight. I'll bring yall some blankets and a meal but come morning, i expect you all to be gone. I don’t need any trouble coming this way.”

“understood,” moony said, his voice calm. “we’ll be out of your hair first thing.”

you nodded, glancing at golden, who was still sprawled out on the floor. “and if my dog decides she likes you more than me, you can take her with you.”

padfoot grinned, crouching beside golden and scratching behind her ears. “hear that, girl? looks like you’re coming with us.”

golden thumped her tail against the floor, clearly unfazed by the prospect.

you shook your head, brushing the last bits of dust from your hands as you turned on your heel, heading toward the house. “y'all can get comfy while i grab some blankets and food.”

you’d barely made it a few steps when boots crunched behind you, quick and deliberate. you turned, eyebrows raised, as prongs fell into stride beside you.

“i’ll help,” he said simply, as if it were already decided.

you blinked, surprised but masking it well. “you don’t need to.”

“didn’t say i needed to,” he shot back, a small grin tugging at his lips. “i said i'll help.”

you stopped walking just long enough to level him with a look. “you tryin’ to earn points, prongs?”

he shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels slightly. “if I was, would I be winning?”

you huffed a soft laugh despite yourself and started walking again. “hardly.”

“good.” he fell back into step beside you, his tone light but his gaze more thoughtful than before. “wouldn’t want it to be too easy.”

the two of you walked toward the house in silence after that—him a little too comfortable, you a little too aware of it.

inside the house, the quiet wrapped around you both like a quilt—soft and well-worn but heavy in its own way. the floor creaked faintly beneath your feet as you led him toward the kitchen, where a pot of stew still simmered on the stove.

“blankets are in the sitting room,” you said, gesturing loosely toward the next doorway as you moved to heat up the stew. “if you’re so keen to help, you can grab a few.”

“your wish is my command, sweetheart.”

prongs shot you a playful salute before turning toward the sitting room. you didn’t need to look to know he’d be nosy—poking around just enough to seem innocent. you heard the soft shuffle of movement and the faint pause that told you he’d noticed the photos.

you sighed quietly to yourself, stirring the stew.

“nice place you’ve got here,” he said when he reappeared, arms full of blankets, his tone casual but his gaze a little too observant. “feels lived in.”

"it is,” you replied simply, ladling stew into a bowl

you caught sight of his lips peeking out through his bandana, the grin on his face almost boyish—like he wasn’t someone you’d just found in a barn, half-ready for trouble.

“you know,” he started, his voice light but loud enough to stop you, “most folks’d want a name for their hero.”

“hero?” you scoffed, turning halfway to face him as you reached for a ladle. “you’re not exactly damsels in distress”

“true,” he said, grin already tugging at the corners of his mouth. the light caught in his hazel eyes, turning them a shade warmer, sharper. “but i figure if you’re savin’ me, the least i can do is know who i owe.”

you rolled your eyes, though there was no real bite to it. “didn’t ask for debts. i'd rather you owe my dog.”

prongs chuckled, running a hand through his already-untamed hair. “she’s already got my loyalty. you, though? jury’s still out.”

the audacity of it made you snort softly, shaking your head. “then you better keep it out,” you tossed over your shoulder as you grabbed a few bowls. “i’m not lookin’ for loyalty—just lookin’ to patch up your trouble before it makes more of it.”

he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a teasing light still dancing in his eyes. “patchin’ us up, savin’ us, feeding us... starting to sound a lot like a hero to me.”

you shot him a flat look, pressing a spoon into his hand before he could get too smug. “better keep quiet, or I’ll start charging. and you know it’s best if you don’t know my name either, ‘cause i'm pretty sure your mother wouldn’t have named you, prongs.”

he grinned, taking the spoon like it was a trophy. “worth a shot, cowgirl.”

after the stew had warmed to perfection—and after prongs insisted on several taste tests to ensure it really was— an obvious attempt to get a few sips in before the other boys. he trailed behind you with his arms full of blankets and bowls. the two of you stepped down from the porch together, him unusually quiet.

“hey cowgirl,” he said after a moment, voice softer. he shifted, balancing the bowls in his hands as if giving himself time to pick the right words. “really, uh, thank you—for all this.”

it wasn’t just the food and blankets he meant, you realized. It was everything. patching them up, giving them a place to catch their breath. the weight of it sat between you, light but solid.

you blinked, caught off guard by how genuine he looked—how earnest. a beat passed, then another.

you shrugged, pushing past the sudden warmth curling in your chest. “don’t mention it,” you said, quieter this time.

his lips quirked up into a small smile, like he’d caught something in your tone that you didn’t mean to show. He fell into step beside you again, the steady crunch of boots on dirt feeling almost familiar now.

“blankets and food,” you announced, setting the pot of stew down near moony and a still-sleeping padfoot, who was now getting shaken gently by moony.

moony offered you a sweet smile, the kind that would melt hearts. the sleepiness in his eyes becoming more predominant with the smell of the stew and sight of the blankets in prongs hands seemingly lulling him closer to sleep. "thank you for this doll."

prongs, still at your side, dropped the blankets with a dramatic flourish. “delivered with love,” he added, far too pleased with himself.

“yeah, don’t push it, prongs,” you mumbled.

the others didn’t seem to notice the way he grinned at that—like he’d won something—but you did. You noticed the way his eyes lingered a little too long, the way he settled down into the dirt like he wasn’t a guest here, like this was just another moment in a long line of them.

“not bad for a hero, huh?” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

“eat your stew,” you muttered back, pressing a spoon into his hand for the second time that evening.

prongs chuckled softly, but he didn’t argue. For a little while, at least, he did as you told him.

as you turned to leave, the barn door creaked faintly behind you. "rest up," you said. "tomorrow’s a new day, and I don’t want any of you messing around while I’m trying to figure out how to keep my animals in line."

"wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart," he called out, his voice carrying that same teasing undertone.

“yeah, yeah- sweet dreams, darlin’,” a half-awake padfoot called after you.

you stiffled a giggle, feeling the warmth of his gaze follow you as you disappeared into the house, the familiar ache of laughter bubbling inside your chest.

you glanced back once—just once—as the door settled shut. Their laughter and the low murmur of voices lingered in the cool night air, along with something else. something dangerous and intriguing. handsome, yes. charming, absolutely. but trouble, you realized, had a way of making itself welcome.

[softspiderling]

✦ . * red hearts, red hearts - character intro | m.d

pairing: miguel diaz x reader

author’s note: hi a little intro for the “main” characters of the smau. also, very context clue heavy and reading between the lines… like it always is for social media aus. theses posts all take place before the plot kicks off! also sorry @anyone who likes Cody christian... he's NOT getting off well in this smau. also tagging @katcoquette bc she’s my only cobra kai girly and i’ve been so excited for her to see this!!! ❤️🤭 HAPPY READING!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

liked by torynchls, larussam, devlee and 1.721 others

migueldiaz yaya made me post this

view all 21 comments

larussam i love your grandma

torynchls framing this and putting it on my nightstand

➞ rob_keene pls don’t

liked by madelyncline, codychristian, gracieabrams and 1.443.655 others

youruser cozy time off w/ the bf 😚

view all 6.214 comments

prettylittleyn she’s so cute 😭😭😭

queenyn can cody fight?

codychristian 😍

madelyncline adorable😭 and ig cody’s there too

➞ maddyandyn diabolical

➞ clineclouds maddy’s never gonna beat the hating boyfriends allegations

jennaortega cute!!

gimmeyn THE MATCHING BIRKS😭

liked by migueldiaz, larussam, aishainthehouse and 1.137 others

torynchls raise your hand/finger if you can’t beat your gf in an one on one match

view all 11 comments

rob_keene this is slander

➞ torynchls it’s not slander when it’s true🤨

aishainthehouse loser

❤️ liked by torynchls and migueldiaz

➞ rob_keene ???

liked by larussam, torynchls, migueldiaz and 1.204 others

rob_keene took brandon and tory to disneyland… she said it’s lame but i’m not so sure

view all 13 comments

torynchls delete this

➞ rob_keene no, love you though

larussam aww this is adorable 🥹

liked by migueldiaz, demit, moon_river and 911 others

elihawk it was time to retire the mohawk

view all 9 comments

migueldiaz who’s this dapper guy

➞ elihawk who even still says dapper

↳ moon_river you are dapper!😍

↳ elihawk ❤️

demit think you need to change your user too, bro

➞ elihawk i know YOU are not telling me to change my user. you’re not even at MIT anymore DEMETRI

liked by torynchls, yasminevanderb, migueldiaz and 1.028 others

larussam in a silly goofy mood

view all 22 comments

moon_river cute!!!

elihawk @.migueldiaz it’s weird that you still like your ex gf’s pictures

➞ migueldiaz we’ve been friends??

➞ moon_river leave him alone eli

↳ migueldiaz yeah leave me alone eli

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author’s note: open for any questions before we really dive into the plot🤭

[souslarose]

one single thread of gold tied me to you: day three [ficmas 2024]

pairing: james potter x reader, established side jily

word prompt: mistletoe

he should be laughing too, joining in on the banter but his chest feels tight and his thoughts keep tangling, each more frustrating than the last. why does the idea of you kissing sirius bother him so much? it's a joke, a stupid bit of enchanted mistletoe, nothing more.

tags: female pronouns, alternate universe, marauders era, james pov, casual invisible string connection, exes reader and james, established jily, sirius and reader friendship, good friend sirius, platonic kisses (cheek/head), platonic physical affection, "flirting" (all jokes), nicknames (you use "jamie" for james), obliviousness, eventual realization of feelings, emotional infidelity, jealousy, minor crossing of platonic boundaries, mutual pining/yearning,

word count: 2.9k

notes: there are "moments" between sirius and the reader but it's all platonic. they're friends and it's not that serious (lol) but this is from james pov so yeah.

🔗 series masterlist ☆ previous part ☆ next part

James Potter loves Hogsmeade in winter. Or at least, he usually does. He loves the crunch of snow beneath his boots, the garlands strung across shop windows, and the way warm laughter spills into the frosty air. But right now, standing in the snow-dusted village square, James can't think of a single thing he likes.

The mistletoe is to blame.

It hangs above you and Sirius, suspended by some obnoxious enchantment, its silvery berries glinting in the pale afternoon light. The charm is unmistakable, those caught beneath it are stuck until they kiss. It's a typical Zonko's product, probably put up by some 5th year thinking it would be a good laugh. And it probably would have been if it wasn't you under it. 

Sirius, of course, is delighted. He leans against a lamppost with all the casual arrogance of someone who thrives on an audience.

"Guess there's no escaping this one," he says, his smirk as sharp as the cold wind nipping at James' face.

You stand opposite him, arms crossed and a single brow arching as you tilt your head. "Is that so? And what makes you think I'd help you out of it?"

James catches the hint of a smile tugging at your lips and something tugs at him too, a quiet ache he pretends he doesn't understand. 

"Because you're kind," Sirius replies with a playful wink. "Generous. A model Gryffindor."

Your laugh is soft, the sound drifting through the snowy square like smoke curling in the air. You turn, gesturing to your friends but James can barely keep up with the banter around him. Alice and Frank are whispering to each other with amused expressions, Dorcas and Marlene are pointing their wands at the mistletoe claiming they'll save you from the traumatizing experience of kissing Sirius while Peter and Remus laugh next to them. 

It's easy, carefree, the kind of moment James would normally revel in.

But not now. Not when all he can see is the spark of amusement in your eyes, how you seem completely at ease as you stand your ground against Sirius' teasing without missing a beat. 

He should be laughing too, joining in on the banter but his chest feels tight and his thoughts keep tangling, each more frustrating than the last. Why does the idea of you kissing Sirius bother him so much? It's a joke, a stupid bit of enchanted mistletoe, nothing more.

And yet.

"Just a peck on the cheek," Sirius speaks, straightening with mock solemnity. "For the spirit of the season. Call it charity."

"Charity?" you repeat, your voice bright with disbelief. "More like a hazard. Merlin knows where you've been."

More laughter, more lighthearted teasing but James hardly hears it. His gaze stays fixed on you, his heart pounding in his chest as though urging him to act though he doesn't know what for.

It's stupid, this feeling, this heat rising in his chest, this tightness in his throat. The sight of you with Sirius stirs something deep and unrelenting, something he refuses to name. James swallows hard, the icy air burning in his lungs. 

You step closer to Sirius, your movements are slow and tentative and James feels every second like a lead weight pressing against his chest. He tells himself it's nothing, just a harmless kiss on the cheek. 

Sirius is your friend. Sirius is James' best friend. This doesn't mean anything. It's not a big deal. 

But the moment stretches unbearably long and James can't look away. His focus narrows, locking onto how your lashes fan against your cheeks when you glance at Sirius, the slight tilt of your head as you lean in. 

Then it happens. Your lips graze Sirius' cheek, soft, fleeting, and over in a heartbeat. You step back, your laugh airy and unbothered as though it's nothing.

It should be nothing. 

But to James, it's something.

He forces his eyes to the snow-dusted ground but the moment is already etched into his mind, vivid and unrelenting. Before he knows it, the group is moving again now that the charm is reversed. They continue their trek through the bustling streets of Hogsmeade, the frigid December air biting at his face. 

Sirius walks ahead with you, his voice loud and animated as he leans closer to talk to you and James can't help but notice your laughter ringing out, cutting through the winter chill. He lingers back, his steps slower and hands stuffed deep into his pockets as though bracing himself against more than the cold but no amount of distance seems to quiet the sound of you.

Beside him Remus casts him a sidelong glance, his steps faint against the snow. "You're unusually quiet today," he remarks, his voice mild but probing like he's testing the waters.

"I'm fine," James replies swiftly, the words sharper than intended. 

His eyes are drawn to you again, your cardigan slips from one shoulder as you gesture animatedly while you speak, pulling it back into place without missing a beat. It's absurdly cold outside and yet, the cardigan is all you wear to combat the weather. He shouldn't be surprised though. It's the cardigan. The maroon one with golden threads woven into the ends of the sleeves and a warming charm that keeps the thick wool warm. He knows that cardigan like the scarf around his neck, a matching set that you knitted and charmed yourself.

The group pauses at the corner, waiting for everyone to catch up. 

You turn back towards him, your eyes narrowing slightly. "You all right?" you ask softly, falling into step beside him as the group resumed walking and it was just you two in the back.

"Fine," he responds automatically though the tension in his voice betrays him.

"Sure," your tone made it clear you didn't believe him.

The silence between you stretches but it isn't uncomfortable. It never is. You walk close enough that your arm brushes his occasionally and he catches the faint scent of your shampoo, one he used to know too well. 

When your cardigan slips down again he stops walking and reaches out instinctively, pulling it back over your shoulder before you could. "You're hopeless," he mutters, voice softer than intended.

"Thanks," you grin as if the gesture was the most natural thing in the world (it used to be).

Ahead, Marlene calls out to you but you glance at James first. "Come on, Jamie," you nudge him lightly, his heart thumping faster at the sound of the familiar nickname. "I can tell when something is bothering you." 

James hesitates, his gaze flicking between your face and the snow gathering on your lashes. Your expression is set on him, focused and attentive. You've always been good at noticing him, making him feel seen even when he's not making grandiose acts. 

Despite that, he didn't have an answer for you, or at least not one he wanted to say out loud. "Nothing's going on," he mutters and glances away from your curious eyes.

"You're terrible at lying," you remark, your voice soft but firm.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's stupid."

"Probably," you agreed with a small smile. "But tell me anyway."

He looks away, scuffing his boot against the ground before facing you again. "The mistletoe thing," he admits finally, embarrassment clear in his tone. "It was annoying."

Your brows furrow, head tilting as you appraise him. "Annoying how?"

He shrugs, his hand brushing the tassels of his scarf on instinct. "Dunno. Just was."

You study him for a moment, not saying anything. Eventually, you reach out to adjust the scarf on his neck, your fingers brushing his chin as you straighten it. "It's just Sirius," you state softly. "It didn't mean anything."

James swallows hard, his heart pounding against his ribs. Your brief touch on his skin warmed him more than the charm on the scarf could ever. "I know," his voice is delicate, a tone he feels has always been reserved for you.

Your fingers linger on the scarf's golden tassels, your gaze on him. The space between you felt smaller than it should have, the air warmer despite the snow swirling around you.

"Good," you whisper, releasing the tassels and stepping back, making space between you. "Now stop sulking. It doesn't suit you." You smile at him before gently bumping his shoulder as you guide him back to where the others are loitering outside the Three Broomsticks waiting for you and James to catch up.

"Took you long enough," Sirius comments in greeting when you reach them, his eyebrows raised curiously. Other than that, no one else commented on their impromptu conversation in the middle of Hogsmeade's square much to James' appreciation. 

The door to the Three Broomsticks swings open with a creak and a burst of warmth spills out, chasing away the bite of winter clinging to them. The group files in, the mood immediately shifting as laughter and chatter weave seamlessly into the pub's lively atmosphere. The smell of butterbeer and spiced cider hangs in the air, mixing with the faint and comforting scent of wood smoke from the hearth.

"First round of Butterbeer is on me," you offer with a grin, immediately earning a round of thank you's from the group and a (rather obnoxious in James' opinion) kiss to the crown of your head from Sirius. 

"I love you," Sirius teases, pulling back as you shove him off with a laugh before walking to the bar counter to order the drinks. 

James exhales sharply, his cheeks puffing in barely concealed annoyance. The coil in his chest tightens again, unrelenting and unwelcome. It's ridiculous, he knows that. Sirius has always been affectionate with you, draping an arm around your shoulders or tugging you into his orbit with that easy, magnetic charm of his. You've never seemed to mind, in fact, you usually laugh it off, brushing him away with a playful shove or a quip. It's just Sirius being Sirius and you being you.

Friends. That's all it is. That's all it's ever been. He repeats it to himself like a mantra but the knot in his chest doesn't loosen. 

He sighs internally, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering tension before trailing after the others to claim a table near the hearth. It's cramped but comfortable. It strikes him suddenly how much he's missed this. Seventh year has been busier than usual for him, his time with the group has dwindled and been replaced by quieter evenings and different routines. He doesn't regret it, he likes to keep himself busy but there’s something about this: the chaotic energy, the way everyone talks over each other, the scrape of chairs and clinking glasses that feels like home. 

His gaze drifts to you at the counter. You're chatting easily with Madam Rosmerta, your hands gesturing animatedly as you place the order. It's a simple scene, nothing out of the ordinary but your presence alone seems to anchor him in a way that has not changed since meeting you. 

Before he can linger too long on the thought, his eyes shift back to the table. Without hesitating, he pulls an extra chair from a table nearby and places it on his right, draping his scarf over the backrest. The action feels casual, just practical enough to pass unnoticed but the intention behind it is anything but. 

It's only when he notices Sirius raising an eyebrow at him that James realizes what he's done. He saved a seat for you like he used to when you were together, a habit he wasn't aware he still harbored. 

"Still saving her a seat, huh," Sirius acknowledges, snickering as he leans back in his chair on James' left, stretching his arms lazily over the backrest. 

"Shut it," James mutters, his ears burning though Sirius' teasing doesn't carry its usual bite.

The group falls into comfortable conversation as they wait for you but James barely registers any of it. His thoughts stray, latching onto the events from earlier and pulling him under like a tide he can't fight.

The mistletoe kiss, your furrowed brows when you checked up on him afterward, and your faint touch on his skin as you adjusted his scarf. It's all so inconsequential and yet, he can't help but fixate on these moments or more specifically on you. 

"Still brooding about it, mate?" Sirius cuts through his thoughts as he leans closer, his voice pitched low so the others won't overhear.

"I'm not brooding," James grumbles, keeping his eyes fixed on the scuffed tabletop and disregarding that he knows exactly what the 'it' in question is. He's always been an open book with his emotions so it's not surprising Sirius caught on to him sulking over the mistletoe kiss. 

"You're definitely brooding," Sirius tilts his head with an almost imperceptible smile. "It's not that deep, Prongs. It's me. You know that."

"That's the problem," James snaps before he can stop himself. Sirius raises an eyebrow and James sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Sorry, I-" He falters, struggling to articulate the knotted mess in his chest. "It shouldn't bother me but it does and I don't even know why."

Sirius studies him, the teasing slipping away to reveal something more understanding. "You're not as oblivious as you think, James," his voice quiet, cautious. "Well, maybe you are but not when it comes to her. You're here, aren't you?" He gestures vaguely to the table, to the warmth of their group, to you at the bar.

James frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Sirius says slowly, choosing his words like he's handling something fragile, "you're not just tagging along for the company. You've been doing that a lot lately, hanging around. Laughing more. Staying back." He pauses, letting it sink in before adding, "With her."

James blinks, the weight of Sirius' words settling heavily on his chest. He opens his mouth to protest, to deflect but Sirius doesn't let him.

"And before you start spouting something about Lily," Sirius continues, a hint of humor returning to his tone, "just think about it for a second. You're here with us because of her. It's okay to admit it. To yourself, at least."

James feels his stomach churn, a mix of guilt and something he can't quite name. "Lily and I are-"

"Don't," Sirius interrupts gently. "You're a good bloke but don't lie to yourself. It's messy, yeah. Feelings always are. Just... figure it out. Before it gets worse."

The words hang in the air between them, heavy and unspoken. James swallows hard, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table as his gaze flickers to you again, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. 

He notices then how the drinks line up neatly on the counter, foam from the butterbeer spilling over the rims. Without a word, he pushes back his chair and stands, brushing off Sirius' exasperated and amused expression as he makes his way over to you. 

Crossing the room, he reaches your side just as you struggle slightly trying to gather all the mugs at once. "Need a hand?" he offers, voice casual despite his pulse racing when you glance at him.

You blink at him, startled then smile at him gratefully. "Thanks, Jamie." Your tone is sweet-sounding like a gentle whisper for his ears only. 

He picks up most of the drinks, leaving you with only one (your own) to balance. "Can't have you doing all the heavy lifting," he teases, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"You're just showing off," you counter, amused but your tone lacks any real bite.

"Maybe," he admits, grinning as you walk back to the table together. 

Your shoulders brush as you walk and James is acutely aware of the warmth radiating off you, the easy cadence of your steps syncing with his. 

He tells himself to focus on not spilling the drinks but his eyes drift back to you. You're just a step ahead, moving easily through the bustling crowd. It happens when you glance over your shoulder, just a quick check to make sure he's keeping up.

Your gazes meet.

It's nothing. And yet, it's everything.

Something sparks in the space between you so subtle and fleeting it's hard to define. You hold his gaze for a moment longer than necessary. There's a hint of amusement in your gaze like you're in on some secret he doesn't yet know but it's the subtle warmth beneath it that undoes him. The corner of his mouth quirks up, entirely unbidden, and there it is again, the ease you bring him, the comfort he doesn't feel with anyone else.

Then to his surprise, you smile back. It’s fleeting, soft around the edges but undeniably intimate, a smile meant just for him. 

James falters mid-step, unsure what to make of it, unsure what to make of you. But before he can say or do anything, you turn back around and the space between you stretches again.

It's maddening how you make him feel this way without even trying. And the worst part? It's mutual. He can see it in your gaze, hear it in the way your voice softens ever so slightly when speaking to him, and sense it in the lingering warmth of your touch no matter how brief.

As you both turn back toward the table, the moment settles between you, delicate and fragile but undeniably there. 

Hope, he thinks. It feels like hope.

[sweethingslast]

begging for some maradures zombie au pls pls !!!! seeing the trailer for 28 years later has fueled my need for james in the apocalypse with little harry (remus and sirius are there too of course) and reader 😭 !

[souslarose]

one single thread of gold tied me to you: day one [ficmas 2024]

pairing: james potter x reader, established side jily

word prompt: scarf

she wonders if you notice. if you feel the way he still seems tied to you, as if the golden threads of that scarf are more than threads, as if they're something invisible and unbreakable, pulling him toward you even when he doesn't realize it.

tags: alternate universe, marauders era, lily pov, casual invisible string connection, implied gryffindor reader, exes reader and james, established jily, sirius and reader friendship, no bashing whatsoever, lily deserves better, minor angst, obliviousness, insecurities, slight jealousy

word count: 1.5k

notes: originally, this was meant to be a oneshot based on olivia's song obsessed but it spiraled.

🔗 series masterlist ☆ next part

The Three Broomsticks buzzes with the infectious energy of the winter holidays. Warmth radiates from the crackling fireplace, blending with bursts of laughter, cheerful chatter, and the clink of glasses. The butterbeer's cozy and familiar aroma fills the air, sweetened by hints of cinnamon and the faint tang of pumpkin spice. Students with flushed cheeks pile into booths, unwinding scarves as the pub hums with life.

Lily sits at a table near the door between James and the wall with Sirius and Remus across from them. A half-empty butterbeer rests in her hands, the warmth seeping into her palms. While the other three chat easily, her gaze drifts to the scarf draped loosely around James' neck. One end is a deep, solid maroon but as her eyes trace the fabric, golden threads emerge; subtle at first, then blooming into a radiant ombre that glimmers faintly under the pub's warm light. The golden tassels at the very end sway gently as he shifts and for a moment, she feels the care woven into it; the even stitches, the brilliant blend of colors, the charm that keeps the wool comfortably warm when the temperature drops.

It's beautiful and practical, yet deeply personal.

He's worn it every winter since their fifth year. She notices it more now because she knows it's not just a scarf. It's not store-bought and it's not his.

It was yours.

Across the room, you're seated at a crowded table near the fireplace, surrounded by the familiar faces of their shared circle. They're not quite your friends alone nor are they entirely Lily's, just a tangle of connections, mutual and overlapping.

You're wearing a maroon cardigan, the soft wool catching the firelight's warm glow. The cuffs fade into a delicate golden ombre, the threads glimmering faintly with each subtle movement, from rich maroon to radiant gold. It mirrors James' scarf exactly; the same hues and the same careful stitching. Of course it does, you made them to match. Lily notices how the cardigan and scarf are two pieces of the same whole, intertwined in a way that feels deliberate.

Together, they form more than a set—they're a quiet tether, a golden thread tying James to something, or perhaps someone, he hasn't let go of.

The easy, infectious joy in your corner of the pub lights up the space around you. Your voice rises above the hum of the crowd, weaving its way through the clamor like a thread of light. Lily catches the way James' head turns at the sound, almost without thinking. He looks for a moment too long, it's subtle but enough.

"Oi, why are we sitting here when the real fun's over there?" Sirius grumbles, jerking his thumb toward your table. "Even Peter's ditched us for them."

Remus snorts, shaking his head. "Because some of us prefer a quiet drink without being the center of a spectacle."

"Speak for yourself," Sirius retorts, leaning forward to nudge James. "Mate, back me up. Let's liven things up a bit, yeah?"

James shakes his head, smiling faintly. "Go on, Sirius. You don't need me for that."

Sirius groans dramatically, throwing himself back into his seat. "You're no fun anymore," he complains but he's already on his feet, grabbing Remus by the arm.

"Don't drag me into this," Remus protests but Sirius ignores him completely, tugging him toward your group with all the enthusiasm of a man on a mission.

The table feels quieter without them though the pub remains alive with the hum of laughter, clinking mugs, and the festive music of an enchanted gramophone in the corner.

Lily glances at James, expecting his usual cheeky grin but he's not paying attention.

He's looking at you again.

You're mid-laugh, head thrown back like a little kid as Dorcas finishes some over-the-top story. The flames of the fireplace nearby flicker across your face, catching on the warmth in your eyes and the curve of your smile. The air between your group practically hums with energy that makes people lean closer, eager to be part of it. Marlene grabs your hand, dragging you to your feet with a smile, urging you to join her in an impromptu dance. Your friends cheer, clapping along to the jaunty tune from the gramophone as Marlene spins you in a wide, exaggerated circle.

Sirius finally arrives, sliding into Marlene's spot and spinning you effortlessly under his arm, a playful grin on his face. Remus trails behind, shaking his head but smiling as Mary and Dorcas pull him into the growing crowd. Back at your table, Alice and Frank clap along as they lean in close with matching grins, taking in the scene. Even Peter joins in, hovering near the edge with awkward but earnest attempts at dancing.

James leans back in his chair, his gaze flickering briefly toward the makeshift dance floor before settling on the rim of his butterbeer. He's not smiling, not fully but there's something distant in his expression, a subtle sort of yearning that makes Lily's chest tighten.

"You're quiet," she remarks, her tone nonchalant as if the words mean nothing but they do.

"Hm?" James blinks, turning to her like he's been caught off guard. "Oh. Just... thinking."

"About anything in particular?"

He pauses, the moment stretching just a little too long before shaking his head. "No, just Sirius being ridiculous, as usual."

It's a flimsy excuse and Lily knows it but she doesn't push.

"Are you sure you don't want to join them?" Lily questions, tilting her head toward the chaos in which Sirius and Remus are fully immersed.

James hesitates, his fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against the table. His gaze shifts, looking past Lily before settling across the room near the fireplace again.

You're there, long moved from the makeshift dance floor to being wedged comfortably between Sirius and Remus, the fireplace flames casting a faint glow over the group. Sirius leans close, his arm draped easily over your shoulder, his grin wide as he says something Lily can't quite make out. Whatever it is, it earns a quick shake of your head and an easy smile; unforced, genuine, the kind that brightens without trying.

At the center of the pub, Alice and Frank are caught in a clumsy attempt at dancing. Frank stumbles, nearly knocking over a chair and Alice's laughter rings out, trying to steady him while she's barely upright herself. Sirius seizes the moment, cupping his hands around his mouth to call out a teasing remark. Frank shoots him a look, his cheeks red but his grin unshaken, even as he trips again.

You pinch Sirius' arm in mock disapproval, a playful warning that earns a dramatic yelp from him. He clutches his arm as if gravely wounded then bumps you with his elbow, obviously unbothered. You shake your head, smiling and the exchange settles into an unspoken cadence, unassuming and effortless.

James doesn't move but his focus lingers, drawn to you like a thread pulled taut. He doesn't react but Lily sees it; the subtle way his gaze softens, his shoulders ease. There's a stillness to him, a restraint that speaks volumes more than words ever could. He's careful and deliberate, trying not to make his attention too obvious.

But it is.

His gaze flickers to you again, just for a beat; quiet, restrained but undeniably drawn. There's a softness in how he looks at you, a kind of yearning he seems determined to keep in check as if holding it back will somehow make it less real.

"Nah," he answers eventually, his voice steady. "I'm good here."

Lily sips her butterbeer, her grip tightening slightly on the handle. She doesn't comment on his eyes lingering for half a second longer than they should or how his fingers brush the edge of the golden tassels of his scarf before falling still. She only observes, feigning not to see what she already knows.

It's not as though James and you don't talk anymore. He still waves when he sees you in the corridors and flashes you a polite smile when you're in his vicinity (which is often). You're friendly with everyone; of course you are, you're that kind of person—even with her. But there's something else, something natural that lingers between you and James.

Lily feels it when his gaze redirects to you when he thinks no one's paying attention. It's how he always seems to know where you are in a room, the instinctive tilt of his head whenever you speak, even from a distance. Then, of course, there's the scarf; it feels as much a part of him now as his glasses or his unruly hair.

He's never explained the origin but Lily knows.

She wonders if you notice. If you feel the way he still seems tied to you, as if the golden threads of that scarf are more than threads, as if they're something invisible and unbreakable, pulling him toward you even when he doesn't realize it.

It's not your fault nor his either though part of her wishes it were so she'd have someone to blame for her insecurities. Whatever ties James to you feels ancient, like folklore—woven into the fabric of who he is. Like the golden threads in that scarf, it pulls him toward you: effortless, timeless.

Lily exhales softly in acknowledgment. James is here with her, his body still, his chair planted firmly at her side. But part of him, a part she can't touch, is already somewhere else.

And she knows exactly where and with who.

[wintrsoul]

“Two of a kind”

Chapter II

Summary: You and James Potter were once intertwined, hearts beating for each other, but due to unforeseen circumstances, you decided to break up, taking Harold with you and Harry with him.

Pairings: James Potter x fem!reader

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, his voice tinged with concern as he studied Remus. The older man looked ashen, his mouth slightly ajar, as if he were waiting for a fly to wander in. “You look ghostly,” Harry added, tilting his head.

“It must have been the heat,” Remus said, shaking his head as though trying to shake off an invisible weight. He forced a nod and offered a tight smile to Harold.
“This is my friend Harold,” Harry said, gesturing to the boy beside him.

“I know.”

“You know?”

“I mean—it’s good to see you, Harold!” Remus exclaimed, his voice a pitch higher than usual, betraying his unease.

If only he could apparate and disappear off the face of the earth, he would have done so without hesitation. Meeting his other nephew after eight long years filled him with dread, a gnawing anxiety that he couldn’t quite shake.

Clearing his throat, Remus shoved his hands into his pockets, as though hiding the fact that they were trembling—and clammy. He plastered on a gentle smile, hoping neither boy would notice the unease radiating off him. It was a relief they hadn’t picked up on the striking similarities between them. The thought of explaining the truth to Harry made his throat tighten, though he knew it wasn’t his place.

Harry watched him closely, a flicker of confusion crossing his face at how out of character Remus seemed. He let it go, however, when Harold spoke up.

“You must be one of Harry’s uncles!” Harold said brightly, his tone warm and inviting.

“That I am,” Remus replied, forcing his nerves to settle as he returned the boy’s smile. “I practically raised him—with his dad, of course.” He nodded, his voice steadying.

Harold’s grin widened, and for a fleeting moment, Remus could have sworn he was looking at James Potter himself. It was uncanny—the mischievous sparkle in his eyes, the way his smile seemed to light up the room.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr.—”

“Remus. Just call me Remus,” he interrupted quickly, catching Harold off guard.

“Or Moony,” Harry chimed in, a playful bounce in his step.

“That works too.” Remus pointed at Harold, a flicker of amusement breaking through his discomfort. “Moony will do.” He winked, earning a grin from Harold that was far too familiar.

“Alright, then,” Remus said, clapping his hands together in an effort to steer the moment elsewhere. “How about you two get in line, and we’ll catch up later?”

…

The Potter Manor was unusually quiet. The laughter that always bounced off the walls of the house had been replaced with a silence that was deafeningly loud. It was strange not hearing Harry’s laughter in the living room as his Uncle Sirius played with him. It was strange not seeing his toys scattered all over the floor.

It was weird, to say the least, but James wasn’t paying much attention to the state of the house. His eyes were fixed on the piece of ripped parchment in his hands—the messily written numbers seemed to glare at him.

James had begged Sirius to ask Marlene for your number, knowing that if he were the one to ask the blonde girl, he would probably end up with a bruise on his beautiful face. He could already imagine it—Marlene’s fist raised in the air, a snarl painted on her face as she told James to bugger off. The thought made him shudder. So much for being a Gryffindor.

He was sitting in the living room, sunlight pouring through the large windows, the warm glow highlighting his features. Once soft, they had now sharpened with time. He was no longer the boy he once was. Well, maybe he still was—but there was a certain look on his face that was so distinguished from his younger self. Perhaps it was the years that had passed, wisdom and experiences woven deeply into his features.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts, his heart skipping a beat at the thought that Sirius might have caught him again staring at your number instead of calling it. But knowing Sirius, he probably already knew that James was once again stalling.

“Prongs,” Sirius called as he shut the door, his eyes narrowing as he watched James not-so-carefully fold the piece of paper.

He let out a sigh, walking toward where James was sitting. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t called her?” he deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest as he scrutinized James with a scowl.

“I—” James seemed at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Merlin,” Sirius muttered. James knew Sirius was irritated by now—he had been trying to avoid calling you, opting instead to just stare at the hurriedly scrawled number.

“My ass did not just get hexed by McKinnon for you to chicken out, Prongs!” the raven-haired man exclaimed dramatically, with his hands thrown in the air— as if the very action would make James understand.

“It’s not easy!” the bespectacled man said in a hurry to defend himself, feeling rather small under Sirius’s piercing gaze. James was usually the sensible one between them—except when Remus was around. But right now, he certainly was not.

“She might not even want to pick up!” he added, his voice tinged with sadness. James looked down at the floor. “And I’m not ready,” he whispered, embarrassed by the vulnerability in his voice.

“You’re scared,” Sirius said simply.

James scoffed. “Am not,” he defended quickly.

“You so are.”

“Scared and not being ready are two different things,” James countered, sounding like a petulant child. He even pouted slightly, but his expression didn’t deter Sirius. If anything, it only made Sirius more determined to make James see reason.

“They are!” Sirius exclaimed, stepping closer. “But you not being ready just tells me that you’re scared.” He crossed his arms, standing in the most Sirius Black fashion imaginable.

“You’re impossible,” James muttered, rolling his eyes as he stood to leave.

He stopped, however, when he heard Sirius sigh in exasperation.

“Just consider it, you know?” Sirius almost sounded like he was pleading, something James wasn’t accustomed to.

“It’s not like she’s going to kill you,” Sirius joked weakly, though it didn’t even make James twitch.

“The worst that could probably happen is her telling you to fuck off,” Sirius added. The thought alone almost made James nauseous.

“Which is still the worst,” Sirius admitted, flopping into the chair James had just vacated. “But it’s better than being dead.”

The tension seemed to lift slightly, dissipating into the air. But James was still riddled with anxiety at the thought of talking to you again.

“Get your shit together, James,” Sirius said finally, standing and heading toward the stairs. He stopped halfway, looking James dead in the eyes. “The house isn’t going to sell itself.”

alexa play the apartment we won’t share by niki :)

let me know what you think!

[mistysconcilium]

miguel diaz - ఇ - instagram au

dec 6th

yourusername

yourusername wish us good luck!

liked my migueldiaz and 37 others

view all 12 comments

shiningmoon02 good luck guys!!

- ఇ -

yourusername

yourusername happy international boyfriend day !!

liked by migueldiaz and 43 others

view all 15 comments

migueldiaz love you 😊

senseijohnnylaw why does he look like that in the first photo

- ఇ -

note - first ever post for the ck fandom lowk scared lol 😖

love, elisabet

[latenightreadingpdf]

Behind the Scenes - Tom Ryder

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: When notorious actor Tom Ryder gets a new makeup artist, he’s unprepared for Y/N’s sunny attitude and refusal to tolerate his usual antics. She’s determined to break through his tough exterior, no matter how difficult he makes it.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The hair and makeup department was buzzing with the usual morning chaos, with stylists and artists weaving between racks of costumes and shelves of beauty products. Tom Ryder, the lead actor of Metalstorm, was, as always, taking his time. His co-stars had already been prepped and were ready on set, but Tom? He was still in his trailer, lost in what he called his "mental preparation."

In her corner of the makeup department, Kendall paced anxiously, phone clutched to her ear. “No, seriously, if he doesn’t get here soon, I don’t know what we’re going to do. They’re already way behind schedule—"

The door swung open just then, and Tom strolled in with a lazy grin, a relaxed contrast to Kendall's obvious frustration. Her eyes widened as she took in his calm expression. “Oh my god, he’s finally here," she muttered to the person on the other end of the line before abruptly hanging up. She took a steadying breath, then turned to him with a stern glare. “Tom, where were you? You’re insanely late. We’re super behind schedule, and—”

Tom rolled his eyes, waving a hand as if shooing away a fly. “Relax, Kendall. Stop freaking out. It’s not like they’re filming anything important without me.” He leaned back in the chair, tilting his head slightly toward his phone and scrolling through his messages, barely paying attention to her.

Kendall bit down on her lip, holding back her retort as her hand subtly tightened around a makeup brush. She didn’t want to cry in front of him—she refused to give him that satisfaction. Instead, she got to work, brushing powder over his skin and dabbing concealer under his eyes, all while he stayed glued to his phone.

“Tom, can you tilt your head up a little, please?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm. He sighed, tilting his head barely a fraction of an inch, as if she’d just asked him to climb a mountain.

Eventually, she finished, releasing a breath of relief as she set down her brush. “Alright, you’re good to go.”

Without so much as a glance in her direction, he stood up, adjusted his jacket, and strode out of the makeup room, leaving her standing there in stunned silence. As the door swung shut behind him, Kendall muttered under her breath, "I can't do this anymore."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Tom strutted onto the set with his usual air of invincibility, his chin high and a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. As usual, his tardiness had disrupted the flow of the morning, and the rest of the cast and crew had spent the last half hour impatiently waiting on him, trying to film some scenes without him. Jody, the assistant director, spotted him right away and stormed over, her frustration etched into every line of her face.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded, her arms crossed so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Tom looked at her with a lazy smile, as though amused by her annoyance. “The makeup artist took forever. Honestly, she’s just not great at her job. Slowed the whole process down.”

Jody’s eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t even try it, Tom. I know you were late getting to makeup. Everyone else was ready on time, and you were in your trailer. You can’t put this on her.”

Tom sighed dramatically, as if he was a child. He rolled his eyes and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “I needed a bit more time this morning. Had to mentally prepare for today’s scenes, you know? Takes a little more than just rolling out of bed.”

“Whatever. Just get in position,” she said, exasperated, gesturing to his mark. Tom rolled his eyes and sauntered to his spot, transforming into his character effortlessly as the cameras began rolling. By the time he was done, everyone knew why he was still around—he might be a colossal pain, but he was a damn good actor.

Later, after filming wrapped for the day, Tom returned to his trailer, going through his nightly skincare routine with meticulous care. He was just about to apply his favorite serum when there was a loud, insistent knock at the door. He frowned, feeling an unwelcome stab of irritation. Who has the nerve to interrupt my nightly routine? I’m Tom Ryder, for god’s sake.

Ignoring it at first, he dabbed another dot of serum onto his fingertips, but the knocking continued. Huffing, he finally set the bottle down and opened the door, only to find Jody standing there, looking furious.

Before he could say a word, she stormed inside, barely looking at him as she shut the door behind her. “What did you do to Kendall?”

Tom arched an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with a look of nonchalance. “What do you mean? I did you a favor. She wasn’t very good. Slow, whiny—she couldn’t keep up with what I need on set.”

Jody clenched her jaw, clearly biting back a retort. She took a slow breath before speaking, her voice tight. “Well, you got what you wanted, Tom. Kendall just quit. She walked out.”

He shrugged, entirely unaffected. “Good. Find someone who can handle it, then. It’ll be better for everyone.”

Jody’s gaze was icy. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re not doing anyone any favors here. Now I have to find a replacement, someone willing to put up with your attitude, before we start filming tomorrow.” She shook her head, almost as if she couldn’t believe his arrogance.

She muttered to herself as she paced in front of him, running her hands down her face. “I’ll call Y/N… she’s great at makeup, and she’s always there when I need her. I just hope she’s free.”

Tom watched her with mild curiosity, his arms crossed. Y/N? He couldn’t remember her, but that wasn’t surprising; he barely noticed anyone on set who wasn’t directly involved in his scenes. Still, he couldn’t resist a slight smirk as Jody turned back to him, her face set with determination.

“You will treat her better than you did Kendall. Y/N is a close friend of mine, and she’s a damn good artist. She doesn’t deserve to deal with your crap.”

Tom gave an indifferent shrug, his expression one of practiced disinterest. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, barely listening as Jody stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

As soon as she was gone, he rolled his eyes and turned back to his vanity, the conversation already fading from his mind. With a satisfied hum, he returned to his skincare routine, dabbing the serum across his skin, already envisioning how he’d command the set the next day—new makeup artist or not.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The next morning, Jody waited outside Tom’s trailer, tapping her foot impatiently as she watched him emerge with his phone already glued to his hand. He didn’t even notice her as he strolled out, scrolling with a lazy smirk, clearly thinking he’d have another leisurely morning to himself.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Jody muttered, stepping in front of him. She grabbed his arm and steered him toward the makeup trailer, ignoring his grunt of protest.

“Jody, come on, what’s the rush?” he drawled, barely lifting his eyes from his phone.

“The rush,” she said, pulling him close as they walked, “is that you’re meeting your new makeup artist, who I personally asked to cover for Kendall. So you’re going to be nice, polite, and actually cooperate this time. Got it?” Her voice dropped to a whisper-yell. “Don’t blow this.”

He glanced sideways at her, giving a half-hearted smirk. “Alright, alright. I’ll play nice. It’s just makeup, Jody.”

Jody rolled her eyes, unconvinced. As they reached the makeup trailer, she took a deep breath before opening the door. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and welcoming, the lights soft and cozy. And there you were, arranging your supplies with an infectious energy that radiated through the room.

As soon as you spotted Jody, a wide smile lit up your face, and you squealed, “Jody!” practically bouncing over to hug her.

Jody laughed, hugging you back tightly, though she felt a small pang of guilt for what she was about to put you through. You were a bright spot on any set, always bringing kindness and positivity wherever you went. And now… she was introducing you to Tom.

You pulled back from the hug, and Jody cleared her throat, gesturing to Tom. “Y/N, meet Tom Ryder.”

Tom didn’t stop scrolling on his phone, muttering, clearly uninterested in the conversation.

Jody’s eyes narrowed as she jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, forcing him to lift his gaze for a moment. He looked at you for barely a split second, giving the faintest of nods. “Hey.”

Your smile didn’t waver, you shrugged off his lack of enthusiasm, unfazed, and turned to Jody who’s giving you a look that says I’m so sorry about him.

“Don’t worry, Jody. I can handle him.” You winked.

Jody raised an eyebrow. “If he gives you any trouble, be as mean as you want. Seriously.”

“Oh, it’ll be fine,” you said, your tone light and bubbly as always. “But thanks for the permission.”

With that, Jody gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and headed out, casting one last warning glance at Tom as she left. The door clicked shut, and suddenly, the quiet felt heavier.

Tom settled into the chair, his attention fully on his phone as you gathered your brushes and supplies, humming a soft tune to yourself. You glanced at him, trying to figure out the best approach to doing his makeup.

“Alright, Tom,” you said in a cheerful tone. “Can you lift your head for me?”

He sighed, tilting his head up just enough for you to start working, his eyes still glued to his screen. Within seconds, though, his head started to drift back down as he got absorbed in whatever he was reading. You gently reminded him, “Head up, please?”

Another sigh, this one more exasperated. He tilted his head up again, only for it to droop a moment later.

You paused, trying to stay patient, but it was clear this was going to be a pattern. Your gaze flicking to his phone as he scrolled, oblivious to how difficult he was making it to do your job. You cleared your throat and, keeping your tone light, asked, “Could you maybe put your phone down for a minute? Just so I can work a little easier?”

He didn’t look up, only muttering, “No. Just stop talking to me and do your job.”

Alright, time to switch tactics. You stepped back slightly, still using your sweetest voice, you say, “How about this: if you put down your phone until I’m done, I won’t tell Jody you’re being a complete pain in the ass.”

His head shot up, a flash of surprise crossing his face. He looked at you, almost like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. No one, aside from Jody, ever spoke to him that way—certainly not someone on the crew. He stared at you, trying to figure out if you were serious, but the gentle challenge in your gaze made it clear you weren’t backing down.

After a moment, he shrugged and set his phone down on the counter, folding his hands in his lap with a small scowl. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but the idea of Jody getting on his case wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Thank you,” you said, your smile brightening even more, as if he’d just given you a bouquet of flowers. Tom blinked, caught off-guard by the warmth in your expression. Pretty, he thought, the word popping unbidden into his mind. He almost felt the edges of a smile tugging at his own lips, but he quickly shoved the thought away, settling into a blank stare instead.

You wanted to talk with him but decided against it, not wanting to push your luck, focusing on your task with quiet dedication. You moved with practiced ease, brushing powder over his skin, blending and smoothing each line with a gentle touch. Occasionally, you would hum a bit, a soft melody that filled the silence without overwhelming it. Tom found himself oddly… relaxed.

When you finally set down the brush and stepped back, “All done! I’ll see you soon,” you said with a gentle smile, already moving to tidy up your station.

Tom looked at you, barely giving a nod. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, snatching his phone up as he got out of the chair. He didn’t look back as he walked out the door, but even as he strode down the hall, your voice and your warm smile lingered in his mind more than he cared to admit.

Back inside the trailer, you sighed, leaning back against the counter as you watched him go. You smiled to yourself, determination growing. I’m going to get you to open up eventually, Tom Ryder. Just you wait.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N ~ so sorry for not posting as much, exams are taking up most of my time. hopefully ill be back to writing more over the Christmas break!

[ticifics]

Love Bites

vampire!James Potter x human!reader

Summary: You never thought a coffin could be so comfortable, until you curled up in James Potter's arms.

Warnings: Gothic romance, intense sensuality, classic vampires (bites and blood), tones of possessiveness, suggestive scenes, mention of pleasurable pain.

Materlist

You never thought a coffin could be so comfortable.

The velvet beneath your body was soft, an almost cruel contrast to the weight of being in such a narrow, pitch-black space. But it wasn’t the coffin that brought you comfort. It was him. James.

Curled against his body, you felt the cold of his skin and, at the same time, the feverish heat that their presence conjured together. Your breathing was ragged, still trying to recover from the kisses you had exchanged moments before, intense and desperate, as if they were the first and the last at the same time.

“Your heart,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive, so close you could almost feel it run over your skin like a shiver. “It’s so fast.”

He paused, and you knew he was listening. The sound of the beats pulsed against your own ears, but for him, for James, it was different. It was a melody, a promise of life, as sweet as it was dangerous.

“Every beat,” he continued, as if savoring the words, “is delicious. So alive. So human. And now you’re here, in my coffin, with your scent intoxicating everything around me. How do you expect me to resist?”

You felt his smile against your hair, a gesture filled with something that bordered on absolute satisfaction. It wasn’t just the fact that you were there. It was what it represented. You had chosen to be here. With him. For him.

“I’ve always been drawn to the night,” you murmured, the words sounding like a confession. “The silence, the mystery, the promise of something more… When you came, James, I knew. There was no other place for me. There couldn’t be.”

He leaned in slightly, the space between you so nonexistent that it seemed impossible for you to be separated by bodies. His fingers brushed your cheek, cool but with a touch that made your skin burn.

“You belong to the night,” he whispered, his voice deepening, almost possessive. “And now… you belong to me.”

The shiver that ran down your spine was pure delight. There was something forbidden, dark and sublime in his words. An inescapable truth that you accepted without question. The world outside the coffin seemed like a distant memory, dull and unimportant. All that mattered was here, in that cramped space, in that moment where time and morality seemed to have no meaning.

He moved closer, his lips hovering close to your neck, and you felt his cool breath against your skin. There was no fear. Only surrender. Only desire. Your fingers found his, intertwining, and you felt the firm grip that said as much as any words could.

“You’re torment,” he chuckled softly, the sound reverberating in the enclosed space. “So alive, and yet so mine. I shouldn’t… but I can’t help it.”

His lips found yours again, and the world, completely, disappeared. There was no more room for doubt. You knew that the night would always be your place. And that James would be the darkness where you would lose yourself forever.

The kiss that began as a subtle touch of lips soon became something more. The intensity between you grew like a storm about to break, and the feeling of his fingers tracing invisible lines across your skin made you burn inside. He was meticulous, as if every movement, every touch, was planned to leave you utterly vulnerable.

You noticed when he paused for a moment, just long enough to let out a sigh between his teeth, as if he was absorbing something that only he could feel.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” He asked, his voice hoarse and filled with a control that seemed about to crumble. “Every little reaction of yours… every tremor, every quickened beat of your heart. I feel it all.”

His eyes, even invisible in the darkness, burned against you like embers. It was as if he were peering directly into your soul, stripping away all your secrets, savoring your surrender with an almost cruel satisfaction.

Before you could respond, his lips met yours again, hungrier this time. And then, you felt it: the light touch of his fangs, sharp and relentless, brushing against your lower lip. It was a brief, almost tender gesture, but when the cut came, it was as deliciously painful as it was unexpected. A warm trickle of blood slid across your mouth and flowed into his, James groaned softly, a sound that was half pleasure and half despair.

He tasted the blood as if it were a rare nectar, leaving you breathless and completely at his mercy, sucking on your lip until he squeezed out the last drop of blood. The sensation was so intense, so maddening, that a shiver ran down your spine, followed by a feverish heat that seemed to consume every fiber of your being. Your heart beat in an uncontrolled rhythm, so loud that you could almost hear it echoing in the small space, and each pulse was like a melody that James seemed to absorb with cruel pleasure.

“James…” your whisper escaped, full of desperation, a plea that barely seemed yours. “Please… I need you.”

He pulled away just enough so that you could feel his smile hovering over your lips, teasing and satisfied. His cold fingers moved along the curve of your neck, slowly descending to your shoulder, tracing invisible paths on your feverish skin. The touch was icy, but it set you on fire in a way that no worldly heat could.

“Do you need me?” His voice was a whisper, but it was filled with something dark and devastating. “I can feel how much you want me, my sweet mortal. Your pain, your surrender… I can hear every delicious beat of your heart begging for me.”

His words were both poison and balm. You were dizzy, numb from his proximity, from the fangs that had touched your lip moments before and now hovered dangerously close to your neck. Your entire body was shaking, not from fear, but from an absurd urgency that seemed to tear away every shred of control you might have had.

“Please, James…” Your voice faltered, but the fingers that gripped his shoulder left no doubt about your plea. “Bite me. I need to feel you… I need to be yours.”

He chuckled softly, a deep sound that reverberated in the enclosed space, and the sound made something inside you clench painfully, as if the anticipation was too much to bear. “So impatient,” he murmured, an almost sadistic pleasure in his voice. “So delicious in your need… You’re my undoing, you know that?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were lost in the way his hands explored your body, moving down the curve of your waist, settling there as if marking that moment. Each touch was deliberate, each movement seemed charged with a power that left you on the edge of the abyss. And he knew it. He felt it.

When his fangs finally broke the skin of your neck, it was as if the whole world collapsed around you. The pain came first, sharp, cutting, but it soon gave way to an overwhelming pleasure that made you gasp, your fingers closing tighter against him. Your heart seemed to explode inside your chest, and the feeling of having James there, feeding on you, was so surreal and intimate that it made tears appear in the corners of your eyes.

He drank slowly, savoring every drop as if it were the best thing he had ever tasted, and when he finally stopped, wiping your skin so that not a single drop escaped, you were powerless, but not weak. You were completely, irrevocably alive.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered, a mix of devotion and cruelty on his lips, caressing your face as he watched you gasp. “Hungry for me. Lost in me. And I couldn’t want anything more.”

His eyes gleamed in the darkness, and the smile that played on his lips was both a warning and a promise. His face moved closer to yours again, close enough for the scent of blood—your blood—to rise to your nose. You felt his fingers curl around your neck, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp.

“Now, my sweet mortal, tell me again,” his lips brushed yours. “To whom do you belong?”

“To you,” you whispered, without hesitation, because you knew there was no other answer. There never had been.

And the way he looked at you after that made your heart falter one last time, before you were completely plunged into the darkness he brought.

[fbfh]

Do you still write for Dave Lizewski? I loved what you've written for him so far!

FUCK yes I do. Listen there's a lot I could say about Dave, but one thing that is NEVER addressed is how deeply rooted and repressed his mommy issues are. I'm sorry, your mom dies in front of you and you're just... not affected by it??? bullshit!!!!!!! Dave CRAVES a soft gentle touch, a divine feminine aura. Even if you're not a girl, if you just take care of him gently and look at him with a soft fondness he will fold SO fast. and yes having a nice rack (while not necessary) will help with this a lot. and by a nice rack I mean literally just having anything on your chest. flat tits, huge tits, lopsided tits, fake tits, real tits, literally ANYTHING. even if your tits are practically nonexistent he WILL still be trying to grope and suck on them. and he WILL succeed. nothing in this world can stop this boy from drooling over you.

after a particularly long night full of stopping some muggers, making sure the town drunk doesn't fight anyone, and helping some college girls get home safe, he shows up at your place, a little bumped and bruised but not majorly injured. you greet him with this soft, understanding smile and bring him up to your bathroom. It's all clean and soapy and smells like you, and he immediately starts to relax. you help him take off his suit and he tries not to get hard from the feeling of your warm hands getting him out of his suit and exposing his skin to the cool air. you start inspecting him to see how bad he's hurt - because of all his nerve damage he doesn't always notice how bad his injuries are.

you smooth his hair and praise him, listen to him talk about his night patrolling the neighborhood. worry flashes across across your face as you see the scratches all over his face and arms.

"Oh, uh, Mrs. Landsberg's cat got stuck..." He trails off sheepishly while you smile and put disinfectant on his nicks and scrapes.

"Look at you, helping little old ladies and rescuing cats from trees." you coo playfully.

"Well, she got stuck in the attic crawl space, but..." he shrugs with another blush, feeling all proud and sheepish from your praise.

"Close enough."

you press a kiss to his nose.

"now all you need is a job at the daily planet."

Dave was so sore and tired after tonight that he felt like he'd need days to recover. but after 10 minutes with you, you already have him laughing and feeling like himself again. Dave doesn't know what he did to luck out and have you in his life, but he thinks about you all the time. If he's not physically with you (or texting you or calling you or snapping you or lurking on your social media accounts or reading through your old texts or looking through the folder of pictures and videos he has of you saved in his phone or-) he's thinking about you all the time. he even dreams about you every night. no matter how much time he spends with you, he always wants more. Dave is definitely in the sex isn't enough I need to crawl inside your skin club.

[cute-sucker]

can’t stop thinking abt s1 rafe x shy!pogue!reader where he’s so mean to her but she has the fattest crush on him 😢😢

your crush on rafe cameron is almost degrading. it was exciting for him because it made him wonder how much he could push you. how much he could push you, and you'd still look at him with those adoring eyes of yours. how long you would offer up your body, innocent with your pouty lips.

it didn't matter if rafe dismissed you, or if he acted as if you didn't exist—you stayed there, trailing after him like a lost puppy. he liked it too, the thought that no matter what he did, you would still be there.

really, it was sickening how much you liked rafe. he'd push you away, cold mask on his face, the words, 'dirty pogue,' already on his lips—yet you would come back to him. with your soft words, and little gifts. sometimes you left him a small snack, a glittery pink pen etching your initials. sometimes he'd try not to notice the way you'd always be hopeful during parties with your tiny clothes, almost ready to talk to him.

see, he was nice to girls. how could he not be? but you. you defined every rule in the book. you were way to nice, you were a pogue, and lastly, there was the persistence. you wanted a boyfriend, not a hookup. but you were testing every limit he had with your presence.

he could barely control himself with you around, groaning softly when he saw you coming his way. there was a meekness to you, almost as if you were surprised you were even talking to him.  

"rafe?" you'd call, and when he turned around. of course, you were already blushing, pursing your lips to hide your smile, "um...would you mind signing this?"

rafe looked at you again, licking his lips before regarding your pleading look, "yea, why not. what's it for?" then he looked down at you, holding eye contact for a little longer than usual. quickly you got flustered, blinking down as you tried to hold eye contact back.

"uh—it's just for something."

"something? tryna be mysterious and shit?"

"oh no rafe! i—"

finally, he snapped, "alright listen. i know you like me, but uh, i don't do that girlfriend or boyfriend bullshit. especially not with a pogue," he drawled as he gave you a once over, before giving you slight look, "now, either we hook up or nothing."

you gulped, shocked at his outburst, but you couldn't help but pout. wasn't this what you wanted? all dressed up in your cute jumpsuit, all dolled up for him. so he could look at you, so he could appreciate you. at this point all you just wanted was him. but you couldn't give yourself up that quickly. all the blood rushed up to your head, and you knew you were blushing. hard.

"i don't know what you're talking about!" you blubbered, taking a step away from rafe. he laughed, cocking his head.

"oh shittt, don't give me those pretty eyes and tell me you don't want to fuck me?"

suddenly you bit your lip, feeling shy. this was the most you had ever said to him. of course it had to go this way. so you did what every normal person did; murmur something softly that was hard to pick up. but rafe was rafe, he perked up, eyes full of glee. as if he was enjoying your torment.

"c'mon doll, spit it out."

"i..."

"yeah? do i need to draw it out of you?" he whispered, stepping closer to you. your lashes fluttered, feeling like a deer in headlights. now or never. heat went through your body before you looked back up at him. you blinked slowly, a shy look on your face, taking a deep breath.  

"i...i do."

with his tongue tucked in his cheek, rafe leaned back, and signed the paper radiating smug satisfaction, "good. good. now that's settled, lemme finish something here before we get to that."

then rafe gave you a once over as if he knew the effect he had on you, before rising to leave, "see you tonight."

[ticifics]

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: When you saw a photo booth, you never imagined that you would end up kissing Dave

Warnings: fluffy, first kiss, cute little things

A/N: we urgently need more Dave Lizewski fanfics!

ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı

“We have to take a picture!” you exclaimed, bouncing slightly with excitement upon spotting the photo booth. It was a matter of life and death—seriously—that little strip of pictures was one of the most adorable things in the whole world, and having one for yourself would be the ultimate souvenir.

Beside you, Dave shrugged, diverting his vibrant blue eyes from the small booth to look at you, his dark eyebrows furrowed as he asked, “Are you sure? You’ve got a camera—you can take as many pictures as you want.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “It’s not the same! It’s a booth, Dave. C’mon, we have to take a picture!” Sweetly, you batted your eyelashes slowly, leaning slightly closer to him, your voice syrupy as you spoke: “Please, don’t make me beg!”

His face flushed the most adorable shade of pink, his lips slightly parted as he stared at you. Pupils dilated, swallowing the blue of his irises—you loved it. It wasn’t the first time he had reacted like this in your presence. You’d caught him staring at you a few times when he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes devouring every detail they could find. And maybe, just maybe, you’d taken to wearing tank tops and summer dresses a little more often since then.

You’d been friends for years, but neither of you had ever made a move. Not until now.

He cleared his throat, looking away before nodding. “Alright,” he murmured so quietly the words barely left his lips.

You beamed, a wide grin lighting up your face. “Thank you, you’re the best!” Wasting no time, your fingers wrapped around his bicep—and no, you definitely didn’t get flustered at how firm the muscle felt—pulling him in your direction. “Come on, we have to get there before someone else gets the same idea!”

Dragging him through the department store gallery, you ignored his comment about how no one cared about photo booths these days.

When you stopped in front of the booth, you reached into your backpack, rummaging for loose coins in the outer pocket. You were surprised when Dave slipped a bill into the slot instead.

“Hey,” you exclaimed, giving him a questioning look, “I was going to pay—it was my idea, remember?”

He huffed. “Just say thank you. How about that?”

Reluctantly, you smiled, thanking him sweetly before turning your attention to the instructions. The photos were taken in ten-second intervals, and you could add decorative frames to them. Meanwhile, Dave pushed the curtain aside to assess the inside of the booth. When he turned back to you, his face was red, his lips pressed into a tight line, visibly tense.

“We have a problem,” he said.

“What?” you asked, still focused on the instructions. There were so many frame options!

He scratched the side of his neck, wincing as he spoke. “Uh, well… the booth doesn’t… um, it doesn’t have much space.”

“Really?” You looked up, peeking into the cramped interior. There was only a tiny bench inside—it was unlikely two people could sit side by side. Placing a hand on your chin, you swayed back and forth. “Well, we already paid. I’d feel awful wasting money—your money. Wouldn’t you?”

“M-me? Uh, I… don’t know?” He bit his lip, visibly flustered as he adjusted his glasses. “We could… we could get in and figure it out—”

You cut him off quickly. “I knew we’d find a solution!” Without giving him time to process what you meant, you pushed him into the booth, making him sit down before settling yourself on his lap.

As much as you loved teasing him, being seated on your friend made your heart pound painfully fast. His hands instinctively went to your waist to steady you—they were large and warm, keeping you securely in place. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that beneath those clothes, Dave had gotten stronger. His legs were firm beneath your body.

“Y-you okay?” you stammered, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Are you?” he asked, his face so close that his breath tickled your cheek.

You nodded shyly, turning your attention to the small device used to start the photos. Quickly, you explained how the system worked, mentioning the ten-second intervals between each shot. “Can we start?” you asked, glancing at him.

Dave blinked, dazed. He hadn’t caught a single word you’d said, too focused on the way your lips moved as you spoke. He wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

“Dave?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your breath catching in your throat.

He shook his head, forcing himself out of the trance you’d put him in. “H-how? Oh, yeah, sure. Whenever you’re ready.”

Forcing a smile, you started the device, quickly striking a cool pose. Leaning against his chest, you felt his fingers trace half-moons against your ribs, sending shivers up your spine. You hoped you weren’t making an embarrassed face when the first flash went off.

Ten seconds until the next photo.

Looking up, you were horrified to see that his curls nearly covered his eyes completely. “Dave! I can’t believe it!”

He widened his eyes, startled by your outburst. “What is it?”

“Your hair! Your eyes won’t even show like that!” Your hands lifted, gently brushing the dark curls away from his face. “I love your curls, but I also love your eyes, and I’d hate for them not to show in the pictures.”

His hands tightened around your waist. “You love my curls?” he asked, his gaze fixed on yours, his voice soft. “And my eyes?”

You froze, only then realizing the words you’d used. Biting your lip, your fingers slowly withdrew from his curls, resting on his shoulders as a blush spread across your face. “Y-yeah…? I must’ve said that, like, a hundred times before, right?”

“No.” He shook his head, his face dangerously close to yours. “You’ve never said that.”

You swallowed hard, uncomfortable with how bold he seemed. He wasn’t usually like this, and he was so close. “Well, it doesn’t matter, right?” you tried to deflect.

The flash went off again, startling you. The camera captured the moment with your hands on his shoulders, your faces so close it could’ve been the start—or end—of a kiss. Neither of you moved, Dave staring at you intently, his gaze flickering between your bright eyes and your soft lips.

“It matters,” he said, leaning in a little closer. “It matters a lot.”

“Dave…” you whispered, glancing at his mouth and wondering what it would taste like. The closeness made his scent intoxicating, butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach as your senses sharpened.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but when your mouths met, a sigh escaped you. At first, it was just a timid, awkward brush of lips, but within seconds, his tongue slid across your lips, gently seeking entrance. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Your hands clutched his chest, kissing him back just as eagerly as the third flash went off.

Reluctantly, you pulled back, your lungs burning from lack of air, your face still pressed against his, eyes closed as his curls tickled your temples.

Dave whispered your name, following your movement to capture your lips again. The fourth and final flash went off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care—not when his mouth moved against yours again.

The kiss was different this time, more intense, hungrier. It made your legs shift in his lap. Your fingers buried themselves in his curls, delighted when he let out a low noise from the back of his throat.

“Dave—” you gasped, barely pulling away before he kissed you again. Laughing, you cupped his face, grinning at how his lips were redder than ever, shiny and swollen. “Dave, the pictures, remember?”

“Fuck the pictures,” he muttered, staring at you intently. “Can we take more later? I really want to go back to kissing you now.”

“Oh God, yes, please.”

[swfpoetry]

# THE ALCHEMY, ㅤㅤ MIGUEL DIAZ

ㅤㅤ★ SUMMARY !

× At the height of the Sekai Taikai in Barcelona, the Miyagi-Do dojo faces off against the Panther Fury team. Miguel proves that even amidst the world competition, his greatest trophy is you.

ㅤㅤ★ WARNINGS !

× Nothing.

ㅤㅤ★ NOTES !

× I had to bring a oneshot from Miguel, I wasn't finding new ones and I had an idea while listening to my queen Taylor. Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog to help with visibility! I’d also be thrilled if you followed the account 💗

word count: 1.822

where's the trophy? he just comes, running over to me

The Sekai Taikai was in full swing, every moment charged with electrifying tension. The elevated platform, bathed in bright spotlights, felt like a stage that captured the undivided attention of everyone present. The stands were packed with fans from around the globe, their voices blending into a deafening roar that vibrated in the air. The spectacle was grand, but the weight of the moment seemed to fall entirely on the fighters.

The Panther Fury, known for their relentless strategy and aggressive style, were dominating the platform. The Miyagi-Do had faced significant challenges before, but nothing compared to the pressure and intensity of the world championship.

You stood there, side by side with your teammates, ready to defend the dojo that meant so much to you. Miguel had a determined look as the team fight began. It was a synchronized chaos—punches, kicks, dodges—a violent and precise dance between the two teams.

However, the tactical superiority of the Panther Fury soon became evident. They were fast, cunning, and determined to exploit every weakness. Sam was the first to be destabilized, stumbling and falling off the platform. Hawk followed shortly after, along with other members of Miyagi-Do, including you.

When a precise blow struck your side, you felt the impact launch you off the edge. The fall was quick; the cushioned mat absorbed part of the shock but couldn’t entirely shield you from the pain radiating through your body. From the side of the platform, you looked up, your breathing heavy and your heart tight.

Miguel was alone now.

Before him stood two formidable opponents, both larger and stronger. But Miguel didn’t hesitate. He positioned himself, fists clenched, eyes fixed. Determination burned in his gaze.

“You’ve got this, Miguel…” you whispered, your heart racing as you watched his every move on the elevated platform.

The first opponent attacked with a flurry of rapid strikes, trying to wear Miguel down to exhaustion. He dodged with mastery, as if predicting each attack before it happened. With a precise spinning kick, Miguel unbalanced the opponent, sending him to the ground of the platform.

The second fighter wasted no time. He advanced with powerful punches, landing one on Miguel’s side, causing him to stagger. For a moment, you held your breath. But then, as if fueled by the crowd’s energy and the weight of representing all of you, Miguel recovered, his movements growing faster and more precise.

The audience was in a frenzy, each exchanged blow keeping everyone on the edge of their seats. Miguel seemed unstoppable, his technique and strength outmatching his opponent’s. Finally, in a flawless move, he delivered a kick that sent the last opponent off the platform.

For a fraction of a second, silence fell over the arena, as if the world were holding its breath with you. Then, the announcer shouted:

“Victory for Miyagi-Do! With Miguel Diaz!”

The crowd erupted into applause and cheers. Flags waved in the air as Miguel’s name was chanted in unison. But at the center of it all, he didn’t seem focused on the crowd. Miguel walked to the edge of the platform, raising his arms in celebration before letting out a shout that echoed through the stadium:

“Let’s gooo!”

He seemed invincible at that moment, as if the universe had conspired to place him in that instant of glory. Sweat glistened on his skin under the intense lights, every drop a testament to the effort and passion he had poured into the fight. His disheveled hair fell casually, and his eyes shone with the intensity of someone who had achieved the impossible. When his victory cry escaped his lips, it wasn’t just a celebration; it was a silent vow that he would fight the world if necessary to protect what mattered.

As he descended from the platform, time seemed to slow. His eyes found yours with almost hypnotic precision, as if he were being guided to you. In that moment, you were sure he wasn’t just celebrating his victory in the ring—he was coming to you, every step laden with meaning.

The smile on his lips was more than contagious; it was devastating. There was something wild and pure about it, a mix of pride and vulnerability that made your heart race in a way that was almost painful. There was unparalleled beauty in the way he walked, like a warrior returning from the battlefield, every movement purposeful.

When he stopped in front of you, Miguel didn’t hesitate. His fingers found yours in a touch that felt simultaneously casual and profoundly symbolic, as if silently saying that everything he had achieved was meant to be shared with you. Before you could react, he pulled you into his arms with an intensity that made the world around you disappear.

It was a gesture as impulsive as it was genuine, so charged with emotion that you could barely breathe. But it didn’t matter. In that moment, wrapped in his embrace, you knew there was nothing in the world more right than being there, in Miguel’s arms, celebrating not just his victory, but what the two of you represented together.

“That was for you, you know,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from the effort of the fight but filled with emotion. His eyes, still glowing with the adrenaline of victory, seemed clearer, more intense, as if he were trying to communicate something words couldn’t express.

You tried to respond, but the lump in your throat made it difficult. You felt his warmth, the faint woody scent mixed with the sweat and exertion of the fight, and it was enough to leave your mind in complete chaos. Still, you found the strength to say:

“Miguel, you were… incredible.”

The words came out softly, almost a whisper, but they were true. He had been more than incredible; he had been extraordinary, showcasing not just his skill but his resilience and heart.

Miguel let out a soft laugh, leaning slightly closer so only you could hear him amidst the crowd.

“No, you don’t understand,” he said, his expression softening, but his eyes remaining locked on yours. “I fought for all of us, for what we believe in… but deep down, all I wanted was for you to see what I’m capable of.”

The impact of his words made your heart race even more. He seemed so vulnerable at that moment, even after such a grand victory. You felt his hand tighten around yours, as if seeking some kind of reassurance, a sign that you understood. And you did.

“I saw, Miggy. I saw everything.” Your voice trembled slightly, but the sincerity was undeniable.

For a moment, time lost its importance. The cheers and shouts around you became a distant echo, a muffled melody that couldn’t compete with the rapid rhythm of your heart. Miguel’s gaze remained fixed on yours, and you saw something in him you had never noticed before: an overwhelming intensity, a flame burning with pure, disarming emotion, as if he were revealing a part of himself he had never shown anyone.

Without hesitation, he leaned closer, the world around you dissolving completely. When his lips finally met yours, it was as if everything made sense. The touch was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if he wanted to make that moment last forever. But quickly, the kiss deepened, filled with passion and feelings he couldn’t put into words. It was more than a gesture; it was a confession, a silent promise that you were, at that moment, everything to him.

For a moment, time lost its meaning. The applause and cheers around you became a distant echo, a muffled melody that couldn’t compete with the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat. Miguel’s gaze remained fixed on yours, and you saw something in it you had never noticed before: an overwhelming intensity, a flame burning with pure, disarming emotion, as if he were revealing a part of himself he had never shown anyone.

Without hesitation, he leaned in closer, the world around you dissolving completely. When his lips finally met yours, everything seemed to fall into place. The touch was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if he wanted to prolong the moment forever. But soon, the kiss deepened, charged with passion and feelings he couldn’t express in words. It was more than a gesture; it was a confession, a silent promise that, in that moment, you were everything to him.

The crowd erupted in applause and whistles, but you barely noticed. Miguel was all that existed – the warmth radiating from him, the firmness of his hands holding you with a determination that seemed to say, 'I’ll never let go.' Each second was an eternity, and the entire world seemed to shrink until it held only the two of you.

When he finally pulled back, the smile on his face was both teasing and sweet, but his eyes told a different story. They shone with something raw, something he usually kept hidden, but which now spilled over in his expression – a vulnerability so sincere it made your heart race even faster. In that gaze, you found more than passion; you found the certainty that, to him, you were the center of everything.

"You’re my trophy," he declared, his tone light, contrasting with the sincerity in his eyes. The smile on his lips carried a mix of playfulness and tenderness, but the words, though teasing, held a weight you could feel in your soul.

You laughed softly, an attempt to ease the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm you, but you couldn’t look away. Your cheeks burned, and your heart felt like it was running a marathon, but none of it mattered. Because, in that moment, he was all that existed – and the certainty that this victory was far more than a medal or a title. It was something that transcended the mat and the applause.

Reality, however, began to seep back in. The cheers and applause of the crowd filled the air, and the arena’s energy seemed to double in intensity. You blinked, realizing that everyone had watched the scene – every glance, every word, and, most importantly, the kiss that seemed to have stopped time.

Miguel, however, seemed entirely unaware of the attention. He didn’t seem to care about the hundreds of eyes fixed on the two of you. On the contrary, there was a carefree confidence in him, as if he were telling the whole world that this was exactly where he wanted to be.

"Let them talk," he said casually, winking at you with a charm that made your heart leap.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. It wasn’t just about the victory on the mat, but about the silent, powerful connection you had built – something that transcended any trophy or applause. The real victory was there, reflected in the shared glances, the smiles that spoke louder than words, and the certainty that, together, you had found something infinitely more valuable.