dividers by @saradika & @bernardsbendystraws ; images on any posts are from pinterest!
hiiii i'm bethia; i'm 22 years old; a virgo; a ravenclaw and i use she/her pronouns
this is a safe space for me and my friends and followers so any comments or posts that are racist, homophobic, transphobic, islamophobic, antisemitic, fatphobic, xenophobic or just overall negative, hateful and unnecessary, are unwelcome and will be blocked immediately!
who do i write for?
here's a link to my masterlist!
im a fan girl at heart so once i hyperfixate on a fandom or tv/book/film series, best believe my mind is cooking up fics galore!!!! currently obsessed with mattheo riddle (writing a wip which is linked below if you wanted to check that outπ) and fourth wing (haven't written anything for this yet though)
drop me an ask or message me privately if you have any requests and i'll do my best to bring your ideas to life π₯°
i write in the perspective of fem!reader as that is what i am most comfortable with, but feel free to ask for gender neutral pronouns! each of the main characters, of the longer series works, have a nickname (i.e Meadow) so that i avoid using Y/N in my works, which are all in first or second person
what i won't write about.
sexual assault, eating disorders, self harm, domestic violence, grooming or pedophilia, incest, cnc
what i will write about.
fluff, angst, hurt no comfort, smut, smoking, drinking, drug use (nothing crazy though), physical fighting, anxiety/depression, family conflict, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers
taglists.
i only do taglists for an ongoing series β not on standalone oneshots/drabbles etc, unless they are part of a specific series. message me privately, in my ask box or comment on the chapters to be added to any ongoing taglists i haveπ
current/ongoing works:
serendipity (mattheo riddle x ravenclaw!reader) RM
β most recent chapter (13.09.25)
safe in your arms tonight (fred weasley x fem!reader) (25.11.25)
summary: you know what they say about newlyweds, the honeymoon phase. but there was no one quite as obsessed with their wife than the newly married dark lord's heir, mattheo riddle.
warnings: voldemort wins au (although not focused on), mattheo being obsessed with reader, SMUT, pet names, praise, p in v, unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving) in front of someone else. (mattheo so obsessed he does not GAF). light choking, cockwarming ig (?)
authors notes: is it proofread? of course not. but it's my accounts 6th birthday so happy birthday guys!!!
word count: 3.8k
masterlist
the ball was in full swing by the time you got there. grand chandeliers glittered above your head, the ceiling enchanted to look like the night sky. the room was packed with powerful, rich pureblood men and their wives, standing beside them, smiling politely, waiting to be spoken to.
this was what life was now, after the war. lord voldemort, mattheo's father, had ruthlessly crushed the wizarding world, moulding it into exactly what he had always dreamed of. society's elite stood in front of you, participating in their little events. balls, galas, charity events, dinners. all stuff you had never cared for.
"you say the word and we're leaving," mattheo murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as you stepped into the room beside him with a nod. his hand tightened on your waist as every eye turned to you two.
it was quite the spectacle: mattheo, the dark lord's heir, and his new, blushing, perfect pureblood wife. you had married a month and a week ago today, and mattheo had done everything in his power to keep you away from the spotlight. but there was only so much privacy you could have when you married the heir of the dark lord, really.
you remembered the newspapers erupting with the news that mattheo had finally taken his wife. he had been the last of his friends to take a wife, some believing he may never take one. after all, he was incredibly busy with all his ministry work.
he had done his best to hide you, especially given you had been together since before the war. that was six years ago.
"that's her, his wife-"
"-she's a pureblood, of course."
"-very pretty, lord riddle has always had good taste-"
mattheo moved you through the crowd, giving brief introductions and hellos, curt nods as he weaved you through, his hand never leaving your back. he hated these events with every ounce of his being, you knew that.
after all, he had done nothing but complain the last two days, face buried in the side of your neck, groaning about how boring they are, and how he hates everyone that goes. about how he wanted nothing more than to board up the manor with you and never leave.
"we haven't left in over a month, matt," you had said softly, laying down on the bed with him, brushing a curl away from his forehead as he pulled back to look at your face.
"not long enough."
but eventually, he did have to make his return to society. his job and responsibilities required it. he was now basically royalty in the wizarding world, for better or for worse, and the people wanted to see their new princess. you.
you knew he didn't like these galas, but as you looked at his face, he seemed unbothered, calm. you, on the other hand, were not. you could feel every stare, every whisper prickled against the hair on the nape of your neck.
their gazes traced every aspect of you, your hair, your face, your dress. your hands curled into his sleeve imperceptibly. you let out a shaky breath, doing the only thing that made sense for you. the one thing you knew this society desired: you bowed your head, eyes trailing to the ground as you stood by mattheo.
it was graceful, perfect. like a proper pureblood wife.
his eyes flickered to you immediately, noting your position. he hated it, you hated it, but it was the only thing that felt acceptable under the weight of their gazes. from your peripheral vision, you saw the way his jaw ticked, the way his mouth opened as he was about to tell you to stop.
but he didn't get the chance. it wasn't long before you were intercepted, as expected.
"lord riddle." mattheo's gaze snapped from you to the woman who stood in front of him now, giving a practiced curtsy only years of experience in this society could give, "what a pleasure. you've been sorely missed."
she stood from her curtsy, head still bowed slightly as she awaited mattheo's response. she held a sharp smile on her face, one that mattheo did not return, "have i?"
his tone was mild, in a way that made it clear he was completely uninterested and did not wish for an answer. the woman's eyes were quick to flicker to you, assessing, calculating. her gaze wasn't warm, but wasn't necessarily cold, either. just that signature detached look all powerful purebloods seemed to have.
"you must be the bride."
"a pleasure."
"yes," mattheo spoke, his hand that had lay gently on the small of your back tightening, "my wife."
he didn't introduce you the way he was supposed to: yes, this is my wife, or allow me to introduce-. just, my wife. final. he was lucky he could get away with that, his power allowing him to bypass some pleasantries he did not wish to give.
the woman noted it, immediately. her smile didn't falter, but something in her posture shifted, her gaze flickering back over to mattheo, "well, we were beginning to think you'd abandoned us, lord riddle. such a long...honeymoon."
this time, a smile broke out onto mattheo's face. a real flicker of amusement, something normally saved for your private moments, or with his friend. his gaze flickered down to you as he spoke, "some things are more important than balls."
your breath caught. a faint blush creeped up your neck as you bowed your head again, trying to hold the smile that begged to break out onto your lips at his words.
the woman excused herself not long after, but you weren't granted much respite. it turns out, that when someone as prominent a figure as mattheo drops off the face of the earth for a month, suddenly when he returns there is much to discuss.
lords, ladies, ministry officials. all smiles and pleasantries and carefully chosen words, assessing glances trying to figure out the union between him and his new bride, the power shift it represented. that it represented that he would eventually sire an heir and the riddle line would continue.
mattheo endured it. barely. his responses were clipped, efficient, clearly laced with a perfected mixture of disinterest and calculation that reminded everyone exactly who held power in that room, even when he had been gone.
every so often, his fingers would brush your arm, his hand would tighten at your waist, his gaze would soften when it landed on you on the few seconds you got between people who seemed to be lining up to be introduced to you.
the night passed somehow both agonisingly slow and incredibly fast, a weird warp of time, until music started to build for the final waltz. the last dance of the night.
his body went rigid beside you as he watched all couples begin to gravitate towards the dancefloor. his gaze flickered down to you, a small shake of his head, "we don't have to."
you gave him a soft smile back. because yes, technically you did not have to. but it was expected. you should do it. you knew that, he knew that. your voice was soft, "it's just a dance, matt."
his posture shifted just slightly, eyes warming once more as he took a small step forward, turning around. then, he offered his hand out to you, brown eyes catching yours as his lips quirked into a small, private smile.
you put your hand into his as he led you to the dance floor, letting out a soft breath as he turned around to face you, hand settling on your back, eyes focused on you.
the music began to play, and you moved in a practiced, flawless, fluid movement. the second the music started and you began moving, all the other noise faded, the feeling of their burning gazes, the whispers, all you could focus on was the way his eyes, your husband's eyes, warmed when he looked at you.
"stop looking at the floor," he said, and you knew he wasn't talking about now, not when you two had been staring at each other like the other had hung the moon. he meant before, when he was talking to those other lords and ladies.
"i thought that's what a good pureblood wife did," you responded softly, teasingly, as he spun you, before his hand settled back onto your back.
"i didn't marry a proper pureblood wife, i married you," he said, eyes never leaving yours as his hold on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, "and i want them all to see your face, see the beautiful face of my bride."
the music swelled and came to an end, murmurs filling the room as women curtsied to their partners. you held mattheo's gaze for a second more before a smile pulled onto your features, leading down to curtsy.
mattheo was quick to lead you off the dancefloor. the gazes and whispers returned, but this time, neither of you noticed. you were too busy focused on each other.
he leaned in, mouth brushing against your ear, voice low as his arm snaked around to the small of your back again, "come on, time to go."
the second the doors to his study shut behind you, the outside world ceased to exist once more. there were no whispers, no watching eyes, no expectations.
just him.
mattheo didn't even bother with decorum, he took his suit jacket off, throwing it on a heap on the floor and his hands were on you immediately, firm at your waist as he guided you backwards a step, then another until he found his desk chair, sitting down.
"merlin," he breathed, his eyes never leaving yours, "i thought that night would never end."
you barely had time to laugh before he pulled you onto him, your hands instinctively coming to his shoulders as you climbed onto his lap without a second thought, like it was second nature. because it was.
"well i think you handled yourself perfectly, lord riddle." the name was a tease, a joke, a breathless giggle escaping your lips.
he groaned at that, head tipping back dramatically against the chair.
"don't start," he muttered softly, though there was no heat to it, only exhaustion laced with relief. his hands slid down from your shoulders to your waist, to the small of your back, "i've heard enough of that title to last a lifetime."
"mm," you hummed with a smile, fingers brushing through the curls at the nape of his neck, "the ministry seem quite fond of it."
"the ministry," he started flatly, "can survive without me for the night."
your laughter bubbled out again, and this time he smiled, a real, proper smile, eyes softening as he looked up at you.
he looked so different like this. not the heir, the feared name whispered across the country. just your husband. your incredibly handsome husband.
his thumb traced absent circles against your side, gaze drifting over your face like he was memorising it all over again. his eyes were impossibly soft as he soaked in your every move, your small, even breaths, the way your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, "they wouldn't stop looking at you."
you tilted your head, "that's kind of the point, isn't it?"
his jaw ticked as he looked away for a fleeting second, before his gaze shot back to you, like he couldn't stand not having you in the centre of his sight, "i don't like it."
there was no teasing in his voice now. no edge, just something low and possessive; honest.
"jealous, are we?"
"violently."
that earned a giggle from you as he leaned down and captured your lips, kiss hungry as if the few hours he hadn't been able to had starved him. a rough hand came up to cradle the back of your head, not caring about messing up your flawlessly styled hair. his other hand stayed firm against your waist, your own hands coming up to trace the curve of his jaw.
"my beautiful wife," he murmured against your lips, saying his favourite words.
he captured your lips once more, this time softer, more gentle, like he was savouring the sensation. his hand moved to your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek gently as he pulled back, brown eyes serious as he looked at you.
"we aren't going to the next one."
"mattheo-"
"i mean it," he said against your lips again, stealing a kiss before he leaned his forehead on yours, "i didn't wait this long to have you just to have to share you with those people."
his lips met yours once more, his hands roaming, exploring your body. the kiss deepened, you leaning back, pulling his lips with you as your hands traced the way down to his trousers, lightly pulling at his belt.
mattheo pulled away, brown eyes flickering to yours as he spoke, "on your knees, baby."
you do as he commanded without a word, dropping to your knees softly, your dress' skirt pooling around you on the floor. with a soft clink, he opened his belt, unlooping it and unzipping his trousers, letting his cock spring free.
you took him in your hand, his hand reaching for your cheek, his head leaning back against his desk chair as he closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of your hands, warm, wrapped around him. he let out a breath, giving your head a gentle tug forward, letting you know what he wanted.
you didn't hesitate, your tongue poked from between your lips, licking a strip at his tip, the salty taste of his precum against your tongue. you pulled away, your breath fanning over him as you leaned down, your tongue licking from the base to his tip in an agonisingly slow movement.
his breath shuddered, his head moving back to heave a breath before looking back down at you, a breathless chuckle escaping him, "you drive me crazy, angel."
your tongue circled his head once more, taking your time, eyes focused on his face as you used one hand to pump his length and the other to steady yourself against his thigh. then, you took him in your mouth, sinking onto him as you curled your toes, taking him as deep as you could go.
"so good, so fucking good f'me, baby," he praised, hand in your hair as his thumb caressed your cheek.
you worked on him, sucking, swirling, your movements changing from fast to slow, lifting off him for air, circling his tip with your tongue before sinking back down, taking him all in your mouth. he praised you, words falling off his lips as he let out a light groan.
then, a sharp knock sounded against the door.
you halted your movements, looking up at mattheo. he looked down at you, then back at the door, before he shuffled the chair forward, forcing you into the space under his desk. you crouched your head down further, pulling your skirt to hide.
"come in," his voice morphed immediately, totally changed from how he'd spoken to you moments ago. colder, commanding, a voice that would send chills down anyone's spine, no doubt paired with that cold, dead stare that had people's knees shaking.
you couldn't see who it was, after all there was a wooden barrier hiding you from view, and you had your back to the door, mouth still wrapped around mattheo's cock.
"speak."
you tried to move back, to lift your mouth off mattheo's cock as the man who had entered, a worker of mattheo's no doubt, began to speak. mattheo did not say a word to you, did not look down, kerping his dead stare focused on the man in front of him.
but his hand, which had been in your hair, tensed as you pulled away, and it came down to immediately push you back on. you tried to swallow the gag that begged to echo through the room
"my lord, there's been some unrest in the wizengamot."
you stilled your mouth against mattheo, not moving. you couldn't, mattheo's hand was still at the back of your head, not moving either, not wanting to make any noise.
"the wizengamot?" mattheo repeated.
"yes, my lord. they're requesting authorisation to-"
mattheo's hand underneath the table pulled you further, your nose brushing against his pelvic bone as you tried not to gag around his entire length being pushed down your throat, taking him entirely. you heard the silent command: keep going.
mattheo did not let the man finish speaking, "handle it."
"han- handle it how, my lord?"
your tongue swirled around him as you sucked again, starting slower. at the sensation, mattheo's thumb stroked your cheek again, a silent praise of you continuing. your stomach clenched at the thought of your predicament: you hiding under the desk, secretly sucking your husband off as he handled business.
it was exhilarating.
"do you seriously need to ask me that?" mattheo asked from above the table, eyes narrowing. you quickened your movements, moving forwards and backwards again, tongue swirling, sucking. he didn't miss a beat, voice serious, void of the breathless it had held a mere minute ago, "make an example if you have to. what exactly is going on?"
"there is a few sympathisers-"
mattheo's thighs tensed around your shoulders, and you knew what that meant: he was close. you quickened your pace.
"there will be no sympathisers," mattheo cut him off again, "see to it."
"of course, my lord."
there was a brief silence between the two men, mattheo taking a short pause as he let out a breath. your mouth filled with his warmth, taking it all in your mouth as you swallowed, continuing to swirl your tongue up the underside of his dick.
"is that all?" mattheo asked.
"yes, my lord."
"go."
the man was quick to leave as he always was, shutting the door behind him. the second he was gone, mattheo pulled back, rolling his chair back and coming down to put large hands either side of your waist, pulling you up.
you stood in front of him, slightly out of breath as he leaned down, littering nipping kisses down the channel of your neck before turning you around.
"bend over," he commanded, and you were quick to listen to him. your cheek met the cold wood of his desk as you turned your head to the side. it was the perfect height for you to bend over, a design you were sure was not sheer luck.
his hands made quick work of trailing up your leg, bunching up the silk of your dress as his fingers pulled your panties off in a swift movement, fingers pressing against your folds.
"filthy girl all wet sucking me off secretely, hm?" mattheo spoke lowly, his fingers circling as you clenched in anticipation, thighs tensing as he moved his hand away.
you could hear him let out a breath, and then you felt his tip, hard again, ridiculously slow, pressing against your folds. he held it there, watching you bent over for him, the way you tried to back into him. a smirk rose to his face.
"matt, please-" you spoke breathlessly, hands curling against the wood.
he loved this, you knew he did. watching you writhe as he teased your entrance with his tip. the way your back arched subtly, the breathy sounds of your begs. it excited him, it thrilled him.
"only if you ask nicely, angel."
his voice held a tint of amusement, as it always did, as he pressed his tip in, then took it back out, going back to brushing it against your folds. your voice was shaky, breathless, "please, matt, i need you."
"mm," he hummed, watching you with a half-smirk, half-smile. he leaned down, pressing a kiss against your bare shoulder, voice low, "anything for my beautiful wife."
then, he thrusted in. he was not gentle, he didn't ease in by inch, no. he let you feel every bit of him, long, thick, stretching your walls. he didn't let you get used to his size either, no. he thrusted, setting a brutal pace, his hands on your hips as he drove into you.
your back arched against the desk, stomach still covered in the silk of your dress, pressing firmly into the wood. your nails scratched against the desk as you let out a moan. mattheo grunted from behind you, his fingers digging into your hips, making bruises you knew he'd kiss and caress tomorrow morning.
"my filthy girl," he groaned, hands moving to your stomach to pull you up slightly, pace still brutal, your back arching away from him. one hand stayed firm against your stomach, holding you in place, not giving you any escape from his brutal pace. the other made it's way up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and settled on your throat.
he squeezed it, peering around to look at the sight of his wedding ring, cool against the soft skin of your neck. it glinted faintly off the moonlight, the sight of the gold placed firmly around your neck riling him up more, his pace becoming more brutal.
because that ring, wrapped around your neck, was a sign of what you were. his wife. his.
"mine," he said, "all mine."
his pace faltered a little as your back arched more, both of you reaching your climaxes. he quickly pulled out, you whining at the removal, but he was swift in his movements, turning you around and driving back in.
he liked to look at your face when he made you cum.
and he did. even though his own climax, his eyes remained open, soaking in the sight of your face, lips slightly apart as you moaned, coming down from your high. pleasure he had gave you.
he slowed his movements to a halt after you both came, panting heavily. brown eyes followed your face, the way your chest heaved, and then to where he was still buried inside you, holding his cum inside of you.
with a swift movement, he lifted you up, keeping himself firmly buried inside and sat himself down on his desk chair, you on his lap.
your head came down to rest against his shoulder, eyes shut as you caught your breath. his touch was gentle as he pushed a piece of hair out your face, soaking in the sight of you like this.
summary: At the Burrow, Ginny and Ron think you and Fred are faking your relationshipβuntil you prove them wrong with a very public kiss at midnight on New Yearβs Eve.
pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader
warnings: Romantic content, suggestive humor, fake relationship plot, family conflict played for humor, alcohol reference, mild emotional manipulation (siblings spying/misunderstanding)
a/n: pretend it's not already february
The last time you spent Christmas at your own house felt like ages ago. A ghost of a memory, hazy around the edges like a photograph left too long in the sun. You could recall the particular quiet of it, the orderly, predictable rhythm that was so different from the beautiful, chaotic symphony of the Burrow.
Your parentsβ tree was always elegantly themed, silver and blue, with matching ribbon and ornaments that never dared to be crooked. The presents were wrapped with geometric precision. It was lovely, in its way, a serene portrait of the season. But ever since you befriended the Weasleysβa friendship that felt less like a choice and more like being swept up in a warm, irresistible tideβand then began dating Fred, every holiday break was spent with them at the Burrow.
The Burrow, where the tree groaned under the weight of homemade, brightly colored, and often moving ornaments, where tinsel hung in clumps like magical moss, and where the air itself tasted of cinnamon, pine, and joy.
Of course, that didnβt mean you forgot about your family. You were never that person. You still visited them at the beginning and end of break, a few cherished, quiet days nestled before and after the Weasley whirlwind. Those visits were a decompression chamber of sorts, a return to a familiar, quieter wavelength where you drank tea from delicate china and discussed books and news. They loved you, you loved them, and they understood, with a fond, slightly bewildered smile, that your heart had found a second home.
Theyβd ask after "that red-haired boy" and youβd smile, a genuine, full thing that started in your chest, and theyβd know. Christmas and New Yearβs, however, were always, unequivocally, with the Weasleys. It was an unspoken treaty, written in the language of shared laughter, flying gravy boats, and the profound sense of belonging that settled in your bones the moment you stepped over the crooked threshold.
Your family and the Weasleys didnβt mind at all. Your parents were pleased you were so happy and so loved; Molly Weasley had essentially adopted you on sight, fusing you into the family tapestry with the relentless, loving force of a maternal hurricane.
Well, most of the Weasleys didnβt mind. Arthur thought you were a splendid influence, or at least a calming oneβa profoundly mistaken notion, but you loved him for it. Bill and Charlie, when they were home, treated you like another sister. Percy, in his pre-ministry-defection days, tolerated you with his usual pinched politeness.
But Ginny and Ron Weasley, the youngest of the brood and possessors of a stubbornness that could give a mountain goat a complex, were almost certain you and Fred werenβt truly a couple.
Their reasoning?
It was, to them, irrefutable. They had never, not once, seen the two of you be affectionate to one another like other couples at Hogwarts. No languid hand-holding in the corridors, no stolen kisses between classes, no gazing into each otherβs eyes over the breakfast porridge.
At the Burrow, the evidence was even more damning. You didnβt sit curled into each other on the sofa. You didnβt feed each other mince pies. You didnβt even bicker in that particular, flirty way they associated with romance.
To Ginny and Ron, it was a colossal sham, a prank of epic proportions being perpetrated on the entire family, and they were the only detectives sharp enough to see it.
βItβs for attention,β Ron had theorized in a hushed whisper in the attic room he shared with Harry during the summer. βFred loves being the center of everything. This is just his latest scheme.β
βOr,β Ginny had countered, eyes narrowed with conspiracy, βMumβs been on at them about settling down. Maybe theyβre pretending so she gets off their backs and stops hinting about grandchildren.β
βBut George is single and Mum doesnβt bother him half as much!β
βGeorge is different. Fredβsβ¦ Fred. Itβs plausible.β
Despite Hermioneβs constant, exasperated warnings about not meddling with their brotherβs love lifeβdelivered with increasing volume and a selection of impressive vocabularyβneither sibling listened. Hermioneβs logic βJust because theyβre not snogging in front of you doesnβt mean theyβre not snogging, you ridiculous pair!β bounced off them like peas off a suit of armor. They were on a mission.
The scene that had cemented their suspicion was a classic, a perfect snapshot of your supposedly fabricated romance. It was Boxing Day afternoon. The living room was a landscape of discarded wrapping paper, new socks, and dozing uncles.
You were nestled in the one relatively intact armchair, a book open in your lap. Fred and George were sprawled on the rug by the fire, their heads close together, muttering over what looked like a prototype for a Wheeze that emitted a faint, purple smoke and smelled suspiciously of burnt marshmallows.
βFreddie, pass me my jumper, yeah?β Youβd looked over at him, not moving from your comfortable nest, grinning when he, without even looking up from the tiny, whirring gadget in his hand, reached behind him, fumbled for the knitted emerald green sweater on the sofa, and tossed it accurately into your lap. βThanks.β
βOf course.β Fred had smiled back, a quick, warm glance that lingered just a second longer than necessary, before turning back to George and the smouldering marshmallow device.
Youβd pulled the jumper on, inhaling the familiar scent of gunpowder, Zonkoβs joke-shop perfume, and Fred, and gone back to your book.
To anyone else, it was a moment of domestic, unthinking intimacy. The casual use of the nickname, the instinctual knowledge of where your clothing was, the effortless fulfillment of a small need.
To Ginny, watching from the doorway with the intensity of a hawk, it was proof of a cold-blooded pact. Her eye twitched ever so slightly.
βThey canβt be serious!β she hissed to Ron, who had sidled up beside her. βNot even a small peck? A hug? He just threw it!β
βI think we should focus on how far apart theyβre sitting from one another,β Ron muttered sagely, as if spatial analysis was the key to all mysteries.
He watched you stand up, stretch, and leave the room to fetch more tea. Fred didnβt bother to look up, absorbed in arguing with George about the correct ratio of billywig sting to powdered moonstone.
βBlimey, Ginny, you may be right about them faking it. Thatβs not how people in love act.β
βTheyβre not faking it, stop bothering them.β Hermione scoffed from the kitchen table, where she was attempting to organize a new set of enchanted knitting needles for Molly. She swatted them both upside their heads with a rolled-up copy of The Daily Prophet. βTheyβre clearly not going to show their interest for one another so openly in front of oneβs family. Itβs called propriety. Or, in Fredβs case, a deeply hidden vein of tact.β
βAnd when do you suppose they show interest toward one another when George is constantly hanging around Fred?β Ron raised a brow, crossing his arms. βTheyβre attached at the hip! If they were really together, George wouldβve gotten the hint and cleared off by now.β
βPrecisely!β Ginny nodded vigorously.
At that moment, Fred and George finished their conversation, the tiny device letting out a final pop and sprouting a small, fluffy purple feather. George stood, stretched, and ambled over to the small circle of conspirators huddling by the door.
βNow what are you lot talking about? Plotting the overthrow of the Ministry? Need some special supplies?β he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
Harry, who had been observing the whole debacle with a mixture of amusement and pity for you and Fred, finally piped up. βRon and Ginny think Fred isnβt actually datingββ
George clicked his tongue, a sound of pure disappointment. βYou two are still going on about that? Merlinβs pants, give it a rest. When are you gonna take the hint?β
Ginny and Ron looked at each other with identically furrowed brows, the Weasley family resemblance stark in their confusion, before meeting Georgeβs amused, knowing face at the same time.
βWhat?β Ron demanded. βWhat hint?β
βNevermind,β George chuckled, a rich, booming sound. He threw his arms around their shoulders, steering them firmly away from the living room and toward the kitchen. βSome things youβve just got to see to believe. Or not see, as the case may be. Letβs see if we can take a peek at what Mumβs hiding for New Yearβs pudding, shall we? Distract her with questions about gnome welfare.β
Later that evening, the house settled into a contented, post-feast hum. You slipped away to the bathroom, seeking a moment of quiet amidst the glorious chaos. You looked at yourself in the mirror, humming softly as you adjusted the delicate chain of the necklace Fred had given you for Christmasβa tiny, golden snitch that actually fluttered its wings when no one was looking but you.
You were fixing it on your collar when you noticed the shift in the air, a subtle change in pressure, a presence that tingled at the edge of your awareness. Your eyes darted to the corner of the mirror.
A small, knowing smile settled on your lips. You didnβt turn, head cocking slightly at the sound of a deliberately creaky floorboard just outside the door. βI know itβs you, Weasley.β
βBoo.β Fredβs voice was a warm, teasing whisper as he slipped inside, quickly closing the door and locking it with a soft click. In two steps he was behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you back against his solid chest. He rested his chin on top of your head, his reflection smiling at yours in the glass. βArenβt you a sight to see. All alone in here.β
βShut it,β you mumbled, the effect ruined by the blush spreading across your cheeks and the way you leaned into his embrace. You swatted at his arms half-heartedly. βYouβre a no good flirt.β
He scoffed, his chest vibrating against your back. βSaid no one ever. Iβm a fantastic flirt. Award-winning. I have a certificate somewhere.β
βIn your dreams, maybe.β You grinned and tilted your head back to look up at him.
His face was soft in the low light, his freckles like a dusting of cinnamon across his nose, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He took the invitation and bent down, placing a soft yet quick, lingering peck to your lips. You hummed when he pulled away, the simple touch sparking a familiar, warm contentment.
You turned in his arms, leaning back against the sink counter to face him properly. Your gaze drifted toward his right hand, which was loosely clenched around a folded piece of parchment.
βWhat have you got?β You nudged your chin in the direction of his fist, curiosity piqued. When he didnβt answer, his eyes still fixed on your face with a look of dazed fondness, you called out his name softly. βFred. Earth to Fred.β
He blinked, snapping out of whatever lovesick trance he was in. βWhat?β
You laughed softly, the sound echoing in the small tiled room, and watched his freckled face tint to a light, adorable pink. βI asked what was in your hand, Weasley. Youβre holding it like itβs a treasure map.β
Fred shook his head with a lopsided grin, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes. He opened his hand, letting you look at the parchment properly. It was a piece of ripped, yellowing school parchment, clearly pilfered from Ronβs stash. It was drawn over in two different scribbles: one in a messy, impulsive scrawlβwhich was clearly Ronβs handwritingβand the other in a neater, more determined cursiveβGinnyβs.
It was a chart, of sorts. Columns were marked with days and times. Observations were jotted down. β10:32 AM β Sat at opposite ends of table. No conversation.β β3:15 PM β F handed her a spoon. No eye contact.β β8:00 PM β In living room. 6 feet apart minimum. Suspicious.β
You furrowed your brows for a second, deciphering the code, before the lightbulb went off in your head. Your eyes snapped up to meet Fredβs, which were gleaming with unholy amusement. βTheyβre spying on us. They made a log.β
βA surveillance log,β Fred corrected, his voice brimming with pride. βQuite thorough, really. Ronβs timestamps are appallingly inaccurate, but Ginnyβs dedication is impressive. Look, sheβs even got a column for βPotential Motive.β Sheβs circled βTo Trick Mumβ and βBet with George.ββ
βThatβs mean,β you said, but there was no seriousness in your tone. A bubble of laughter was rising in your throat. βTaking their evidence. Theyβre gonna go crazy looking for it.β
βYou think they just left too early for them to see us actually love each other?β Fred wondered out loud, the wicked smirk he was known for now very prominent on his lips. He traced a finger down the list of sad, non-events. βI mean, honestly. Thereβs no way I havenβt kissed you in the Gryffindor common room, or the Great Hall when Lee Jordan was telling that terrible joke about the hag and the hippogriff, or on the couch here at the Burrow, or in the broom cupboard near Potions, or against the statue of Gregory the Smarmy, orββ
βI got it, I got it!β you cut him off, covering his mouth with your hand as a deep blush rose to your cheeks. His lips curved into a smile against your palm. βYou donβt have to keep a count of everywhere weβve kissed, you incorrigible man. Itβs a long list.β
He stayed silent for a hot second, his eyes dancing, before his voice came out muffled against your palm. βSoβ¦ can we do it?β
You looked between his eyes, seeing the eager, boyish plea there. The logical, sensible part of your brainβthe part that sounded suspiciously like Hermioneβwas screaming not to mess with the youngest Weasleys, that it would only escalate, that it was a recipe for disaster.
But a louder, more persuasive voiceβalso known as Fred, and the part of you that was utterly, hopelessly in love with him and his chaotic brillianceβwas being way too persistent for logic to even be heard. The idea was deliciously tempting. To lean into their theory, to make them believe they were genius detectives, only to pull the rug out from under themβ¦
βFine,β you sighed, removing your hand. βBut only until New Yearβs. Thatβs the deadline. Midnight on New Yearβs, the game is over. No extending it because they come up with a new theory.β
βYes, maβam.β Fred saluted you with a flourish, tucking the precious parchment into his pocket. βOperation Sibling Snafu is a go.β
βNow put it back before we hear them accusing each other of hiding it or, worse, Crookshanks eating it.β You gave him a gentle push toward the door.
He stole one more quick kiss, a promise of mischief and shared secrets. βBack in a flash. Donβt miss me too much.β
βImpossible,β you whispered to the closed door, turning back to the mirror to fix your appearance once more, your smile refusing to fade.
The next morning, over a hushed breakfast while Molly fussed over the bacon, Fredβand, by enthusiastic association, youβset the plan for the next few days in motion. He explained the entire process in extreme, unnecessary detail, complete with doodled diagrams on a napkin, ensuring that Ginny and Ron were sure to believe you and Fred were never really dating.
βThe key is consistency,β Fred lectured, using a sausage as a pointer. βWe maintain a polite distance. No casual touches. No using nicknames in their hearing. We interact like polite acquaintances who happen to share a mutual friend group. Vague acquaintances. The kind you wouldnβt recognize on the street.β
βAnd George?β you asked, stealing a piece of his toast.
βAh, George is the linchpin!β Fredβs eyes sparkled. βHeβs our blocker, our permanent, oblivious chaperone. Heβs going to be strategically placed at all times to ensure our dear siblingsβ sightlines are never clear. If I so much as look at you for too long, George will develop a sudden, urgent question about dungbombs or need help βfixingβ a window. Heβs committed to the cause.β
Somehow, Fred had indeed roped George into the situation with terrifying ease. George, seeing the potential for ultimate payoff and sibling annoyance, had agreed with a solemn handshake that was undercut by his maniacal grin.
βAnything to watch those two gits tie themselves in knots,β heβd declared.
And so, the performance began. From the moment you woke upβsneaking out of Fred and Georgeβs room at dawn, where youβd spent the night tangled together under his quilts, to creep back to the camp bed in Ginnyβs roomβto the moment you snuck back in long after everyone was asleep, it really did seem like the two of you werenβt dating.
You took care to sit apart at meals. Conversations were routed through others. βFred, could you pass the butter to Hermione?β youβd ask, and Fred would pass it to Harry, who would pass it to Hermione, who would hand it to you with a deeply unamused look.
If you were both in the living room, George would invariably plant himself on the sofa between you, regaling you with loud, elaborate stories that required both of your attention.
Fred would help you with chores, but only if Ginny or Ron were present, and it was conducted with a formal, βAfter you,β and βNo, please, I insist,β that made Molly raise an eyebrow but say nothing.
There were times the charade was almost comically difficult. Once, you almost got caught sneaking across the hall to Fredβs room late at night, freezing like a statue when a floorboard groaned, only to find Crookshanks staring at you with his squashed, disapproving face before stalking away. Another time, during a raucous game of Exploding Snap, Fred made you laugh so hard you snorted pumpkin juice, and your eyes met across the table.
The genuine, warm, intimate look that passed between you was so potent you both had to quickly glance away, Fred pretending to be fascinated by a knot in the wood of the table, you suddenly needing to examine your cards with immense concentration. From the corner of your eye, you saw Ginny nudge Ron and point subtly.
The plan turned out to work really well because Ron and Ginny, emboldened by the lack of counter-evidence and fueled by Georgeβs well-placed, misleading comments βHonestly, I havenβt seen them so much as hold hands, itβs weirdβ¦β, were dead set on bringing up your βfake relationshipβ to light on New Yearβs Eve.
They spent hours collating their βevidence,β which now included the mysteriously reappeared surveillance logβFred had placed it under Ronβs pillow, ensuring a sibling civil war that lasted an hour. They whispered in corners, shooting you and Fred triumphant looks, convinced they were about to expose a massive fraud to the rest of their family, to finally have a victory over their notoriously tricky older brother.
Unluckily for them, you and Fred were ready to end the charade the moment the clock struck midnight. It was the final, perfect punchline.
New Yearβs Eve dawned bright and cold. The Burrow was a hive of preparations, buzzing with a different energy than Christmas. It was about anticipation, about fresh starts, and about Molly Weasleyβs determined mission to feed an army one more time.
βGood morning, Mrs. Weasley.β You beamed at the red-haired woman as you entered the kitchen, the heart of the home, chuckling when she swatted a dish towel at you playfully.
βHow many times do I have to tell you to call me Molly, dear?β She tutted, but her eyes were sparkling. She then pressed a swift, flour-dusted kiss to your cheek before her gaze wandered over to the thunderous sound of the twins barreling down the staircase, a sound akin to a herd of erumpents.
βMorning, Mum!β they said in unison, a well-practiced harmony of chaos.
George, following the plan, walked straight in front of Ron and Ginny, who were already seated at the table looking suspiciously alert, effectively creating a visual barrier. In that half-second of cover, Fred darted over, brushed a kiss to your temple, and slipped a perfectly prepared mug of teaβjust the right amount of milk, no sugarβinto your hands before seamlessly veering off to plop down next to George. He winked at his twin.
You grinned into your tea, the warmth spreading through your fingers and your chest. βMolly, do you need me to go out and buy some things? I donβt want you to go through all of this on your own.β You offered, sipping the tea. It was perfect.
Molly gave you a warm, tired but happy smile. βDonβt worry about me, dear. I can handle this. Iβve had decades of practice feeding this lot.β
βPlease?β You pouted jokingly, putting on your most pleading expression.
You watched her resolve crumble within an instant, her stern-mother faΓ§ade melting into affectionate softness. Now that you were thinking about it, Fred did take after his mother in thatβthe ability to be utterly disarmed by those they loved.
βYouβve already done so much for Christmas. Let me help. I will do anythingβbrave the crowds, haggle with the greengrocer, carry twelve bags of flourβ¦β
She gave you one last look before sighing in mock exasperation. βAlright, fine, since youβre so stubborn.β She teased you as she tore a piece of parchment from her list and scribbled a shorter version. βYou can pick up a few ingredients Iβm missing for a couple of the desserts Iβm making. The special sugar crystals from the apothecary for the sparkle-pops, and some of that vanilla from the exotic imports stall. And a fresh loaf from Puff and Pomonaβs, you know the one.β
You read over the list, mentally mapping the stores in Diagon Alley you would have to visit before she added the final, crucial part of her instructions.
βOh, and take Fred with you.β Molly bumped your hip with hers, making you turn away as your face flushed bright redβthis time, a real, unrehearsed blush. βHave some time alone away from the rest of the lot. Heaven knows you two have been veryβ¦ politeβ¦ this holiday.β
βRon and I will come!β Ginny practically launched herself out of her seat, grabbing your arm with a grip that was just a little too tight to be purely friendly. She smiled prettily, innocently at her mother. βWe want to spend time with them, donβt we, Ron? A sibling outing before the new year!β
βWhat? I donβt want toββ Ron began, still bleary-eyed and focused on his eggs.
βDonβt we, Ronald?β Ginny stared at him dead in the eyes, a look that promised swift and terrible retribution if he contradicted her.
Ron shrank under his younger sisterβs gaze, a lifetime of Ginnyβs hexes flashing before his eyes. βYes. Of course. I would love to spend time with them,β he sighed, the very picture of reluctant martyrdom as he stood up.
Fred followed his brother, ruffling Ronβs already messy hair into a birdβs nest with a noogie. βThrilled to have you along, little brother! Weβll make a day of it.β
George looked over in surprise at the sudden quest and also stood up from his spot. βMum, can Iββ
βThe rest of you will stay and help me, thatβs final.β Molly whipped her head over, pointing a flour-covered finger at him like a wand. βThree Weasley kids out of the house is plenty enough. You, Hermione, and Harry will stay and help me cook, peel, chop, and stir. No arguments.β
You looked over at Ginny, who was grinning brightly, triumphantly at you. You returned the smile easily, a genuine one. Even though you were technically lying to her and her underlying reason for joining your outing was prettyβ¦ terrible, you still loved her as your own sister and wouldnβt deny her for anything. You just hoped the eventual reveal wouldnβt land you in too much trouble.
βCβmon then, Gin,β you said, linking your arm with hers and pushing her gently toward the living room where the Floo powder was kept. βLetβs go see what Diagon Alley has to offer.β
The four of you emerged into a Diagon Alley sparkling under a thin blanket of fresh snow and thrumming with the electric excitement of the impending new year. The street was a tapestry of colorful winter robes, glittering shop windows boasting βNew Year New You!β promotions, and the happy, frantic energy of last-minute celebrations.
Children, bundled like rotund penguins, still screamed for Florean Fortescueβs ice cream, their breath making plumes in the cold air. Parents hustled with bags full of ingredients, much like your own group. Students on holiday, free from Hogwarts robes, darted in and out of shops, laughing and catching snowflakes on their tongues.
But Ginny and Ron were busy with their own task. They walked with the focused air of secret agents on a mission. They immediately noted, with significant glances to each other, that you and Fred had naturally fallen to opposite sides of their little formation, the two of them stuck in the middle like the jam and peanut butter of a sandwich.
They also took note, with growing satisfaction, that neither of you had spoken directly to each other since arriving, communicating only through them in stiff, polite phrases like, βRon, could you ask Fred if he sees the apothecary?β and βGinny, tell her itβs just down the next alley on the left.β
Their plan, hatched in whispers as you walked, was to create a diversion, to split the party and coax out any true evidence under isolated, pressurized conditions. Ron, taking charge with an uncharacteristic strategic air, declared the list should be split for efficiency.
βRight. Ginny, you go with her to get the bread and the vanilla. Fred, youβre with me for the sugar crystals andβ¦ erβ¦ whatever else Mum wrote here thatβs blurry. Weβll meet back at Fortescueβs in an hour.β Ron announced, tearing the parchment with a flourish.
You and Fred exchanged a single, fleeting glanceβa micro-expression of shared amusement and understandingβbefore nodding solemnly. βSounds logical,β Fred said, his tone impressively neutral.
As you split up, you took Ginnyβs arm and steered her towards Puff and Pomonaβs Bakery, the legendary scent of baking bread and sugar acting as a homing beacon. The smell of flour, yeast, and warmth instantly hit your nose the second you pushed the door open, a comforting embrace against the winter chill.
βSoβ¦β Ginny began, her voice oddly tentative as you both approached the counter where loaves were stacked like golden bricks.
βSo?β You glanced over at her briefly as you began inspecting the loaves, tracking down the specific, slightly rye-based loaf with sunflower seeds that Molly swore by.
She followed you, her eyes cast downward at the bread as well, scuffing her boots against the sawdust-covered stone floor to fill the awkward space. βYou and Fred.β
βFred and I,β you repeated after her, your focus apparently entirely on the bread. You called the flour-dusted baker over and pointed at the correct loaf. You paid the elderly man a few Galleons, took the warm, paper-wrapped bundle, and now faced Ginny properly with a politely curious gaze. βWhat about us?β
You tucked a stray, windswept piece of her vibrant red hair behind her ear, your fingers gentle. You then tugged her bright blue beanie down more securely over her ears when you saw the pink tips peeking out. βYour ears will freeze,β you chided softly, a genuine note of sisterly concern in your voice.
Ginny blinked, suddenly swamped with a wave of guilt. Here you were, being kind, being family, and she was scheming to expose you. She shook the feeling off, hardening her resolve.
This was for the truth. She fidgeted with her woolen gloves. βErβ I was just wonderingβwell, Ron and I, reallyβif you and Fred were actuallyβ¦ you know. Or if it was more of anβ¦ arrangement.β
You were about to answer, to weave some vague, innocent reply, when the shop bell jingled.
βHave you finished your list yet? Ronniekins and I are nearly done.β Fredβs voice interrupted, cheerful and loud. He suddenly appeared by your side, having entered the shop with such silent speed that Ginny jumped, stunning her for a few seconds. He was holding a small, shimmering bag of the apothecary sugar. βWhat? You look like youβve seen a ghost, Gin. Just me.β
βNothing,β Ginny muttered, her cheeks flushing with a mix of annoyance and surprise.
She grabbed Ron by the wrist as he lumbered in behind Fred, tugging him to walk out of the shop and back into the street, decisively in front of the two of you. She waited until they were a few paces ahead, out of immediate earshot, before leaning close to Ron, her voice low despite the crowd and the distance.
βAnything? Did he say anything about her?β
βNothing,β Ron huffed, glancing back over his shoulder at you and Fred. He rolled his eyes when he saw the two of you walking beside one another, but with a careful, almost measured foot of space between you, not talking. βSee? Itβs like theyβre strangers who happen to know the same people. I think theyβre pulling a mean prank on Mum, really. Itβs the sort of thing theyβd find hilarious.β
You raised a brow at Ron when he whipped his head around to look at you again, biting the inside of your cheek to keep a straight face when Ginny hit his shoulder in frustration.
You were about to quicken your pace to catch up to them when you felt itβan oh-so familiar hand sneak around your waist, hidden from view by the drape of your winter cloak. His touch was warm, his fingers splaying possessively against your hip. The weight of his arm felt like home, an anchor in the silly charade. It took all your willpower not to lean into him.
Instead, you turned your head just slightly, meeting his gaze with a whisper. βCheeky.β
βSmart,β he whispered back, his thumb rubbing a tiny, secret circle through the fabric of your robe.
You shook your head minutely, a smile tugging at your lips. βYou just love messing with your siblings.β
βThat,β he waggled the finger of his free hand in front of your face, the picture of faux-scholarly insight, causing you to smack it away in pretend annoyance, βis a profound and universal truth. One of the great joys of life.β
The final hours of the old year bled away in a crescendo of noise, laughter, and the overwhelming scent of Molly Weasleyβs cooking. The entire clanβevery Weasley who could be there, plus you, Harry, and Hermioneβwere packed into the magically expanded living room.
Fizzing drinks were passed around, enchanted streamers coiled lazily overhead, and a mountain of noisemakers and confetti waited for the moment. Outside, a fresh, silent coat of snow was coming down over the dark fields, painting the world anew. It was a perfect, messy, loud, loving picture, and it seemed like nothing could ever ruin it.
βYou think they know yet?β You murmured the question over the rim of your glass, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. You were sure one of the twins had spiked the βmocktailsβ Molly made specifically for the underage children in the house; yours had a distinct, warming kick of firewhisky. βI mean, they canβt seriously be that blind. Weβve been βaccidentallyβ brushing hands all evening.β
Fred shrugged, leaning next to you, his shoulder just touching yours. A point of contact that could be seen as casual, but that sent a current straight through you. βYou canβt blame them. Who would want to see their own brother constantly kissing the most beautiful woman on earth? Itβs a natural mental block. A defense mechanism.β
βFred,β you jabbed his stomach gently, shaking your head. You cleared your throat as Arthur passed by, carrying a tray of mince pies. The man looked at the two of you standing close, heard his sonβs comment, and shook his head in fond exasperation.
βIβm going to pretend I didnβt hear anything,β Arthur said, clapping a hand on Fredβs shoulder. βBut for Merlinβs sake, son, try to behave. At least until midnight.β
You watched the patriarch walk away before turning back to Fred, a smirk decorating your lips. βYeah, Weasley. Behave. Your fatherβs orders.β
βOi,β he bumped his hip against yours, a solid, playful nudge. βSee if I let you into my room later. Iβm a man of principle. I follow orders.β
You scoffed and put a dramatic hand on your heart. βWounded, truly. How will I ever live? I suppose Iβll just have to spend the night in my cold, lonely camp bed, pining away.β
Fred opened his mouth, no doubt ready with a retort that would make you blush in front of his entire family, but he was interrupted. The interruption came from the center of the room, where Ginny, fueled by Butterbeer and absolute conviction, had climbed onto the sturdy coffee table thirty seconds before midnight.
βEveryone! Everyone, quiet! We have an announcement!β Ginnyβs voice cut through the merry din, high and clear. She stood in the middle of the living room like a general addressing troops, a weary but determined Ron at her side, looking like heβd rather be facing a nest of acromantulas.
You rolled your eyes in amusement and scrunched your nose when your name fell from her lips. βShowtime,β you whispered to Fred, who grinned wolfishly.
ββand Fred have been lying to you all!β Ginny proclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger between the two of you.
The roomβs noise dipped into confused murmurs. Molly paused, a tray of cheese puffs in her hand. George buried his face in a cushion, his shoulders shaking.
Molly furrowed her brows, setting the tray down. βGinny, dearie, what in heavenβs name are you saying? Itβs almost midnight!β
βIβm saying that theyβre not really together!β Ginny pressed on, undeterred. βItβs all a big joke! Weβve been watching them all holiday, and they never act like a couple! Never! Itβs forβ¦ for attention, or a bet, or something! Theyβre faking it!β
βTen!β George suddenly boomed, blowing on his party blower directly into Ronβs ear.
βNine!β Bill and Charlie joined in, catching on and deciding to drown out the nonsense with tradition.
Fredβs hand found yours, his fingers lacing tightly through yours. He pulled you away from the doorway, into the center of the room, right into the heart of his family.
βFive! Four!β
He turned you to face him, his eyes no longer mischievous, but soft, sincere, and blazing with love. The pretence fell away like a discarded cloak.
βThree! Two!β
Ginny and Ron gaped, their triumphant scowls melting into open-mouthed shock.
βONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!β
The room exploded in sound: cheers, kisses, the bang and pop of wizarding crackers, the shrill of whistles. But Fred heard none of it. His world had narrowed to you.
He grabbed your face, his hands cradling your jaw, and pulled you in for a kiss that was anything but quick, anything but secret. It was deep, affirming, and full of a love that had been hiding in plain sight for two weeks. It was a declaration.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, one hand tangling in his soft red hair, pulling him closer. You kissed him back with all the pent-up affection of the charade, pouring every withheld touch, every suppressed smile into that moment.
When you finally broke apart, breathless, you rested your forehead against his, your noses touching, smiling like the idiots in love you both were. Because⦠well⦠you were idiots in love.
βHappy new year, Freddie,β you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. You tossed a glance over his shoulder at his siblings.
Ginny was staring, horrified and then utterly furious. Ron looked betrayed, as if the foundation of his world-view had just crumbled. Hermione was swatting both of them with a book while Harry laughed into his drink.
βWe ruined their new yearβs.β
βWho cares?β He grinned and kissed you again, slow and sweet amidst the falling confetti. βI love you.β
A year ago, Steve Harrington saved your life and now? you don't talk to each other. But he's the only one to notice how you flinch at the lights.
pairing: steve harrington x byers!reader
contains: multiple part series, season one to season five steve, slow burn, fluff/angst, friends to lovers, descriptions of blood and violence, traumatised reader (mention of anxiety and pstd), description of panic attacks, previously injured reader, scarred reader, vulnerable!steve, canon level violence, mention of blood, explicit language, mention of childhood trauma (more tags to be added).
to be added to my taglist | masterlist | requests page
prompt 1: "is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?"
pairing: theodore nott x reader (no house specified)
warning(s): none
~β~ a short little drabble β i've never written anything for theo so i thought i'd give it a shot.
There are many beautiful mysteries within the castle walls. That includes Hogwarts' expansive library that holds every book one could think of, and more. It's earthy tones and the smell of ink on parchment paper permeates the air at all hours of the day and the rustle of books is the only sound, besides idle chit chat that fills the vast room.
Right now, you despise the library.
The table that you and your potions partner had chosen was small and crammed into a corner of two towering bookshelves and the heat that magically swept through the room seemed to be set to sweltering hot as you sat, clinging to the fabric sleeves of your cardigan, which you refused to remove. There are potions books strewn across the table, which you absolutely abhor to look at, especially as his deft finger trace featherlight patterns against the worn covers as he jots a note down onto a separate piece of parchment for the assignment the two of you have been tasked with completing.
It all seems physically impossible. The fact that you're totally abysmal at potions, paired with the way Theodore Nott made you so nervous. Sitting in the sweltering library with him, is the last place you want to be right now.
He was one of the most popular boys in your year. Star quidditch player; top of all his classes without even having to try; he had more friends than you had fingers and he was just so godsdamn attractive. Everyone either wanted him, or wanted to be him in some capacity. Sometimes when you looked at him, jealousy festered in your gut because how can he sit in lessons so nonchalantly, but still remain just below Hermione Granger in all of them? And how can someone be made to be that fucking attractive?
It was not fair.
But more often than not, when you catch yourself staring at him (it happens more frequently than you'd care to admit) you find yourself constantly picking out the little things about him that make your heart soar.
Like the way his nose twitches irritably when his slightly curled hair falls over his eyes, yet he refuses to get it cut shorter.
Or the way his mouth tilts into a devious smirk that has people swooning instantly.
When he's on the quidditch pitch, his agility could rival the professional. He was truely a real talent and he could have an amazing future career, you think.
But the most fascinating thing about him are his eyes. Theodore has the most captivating eyes you've ever seen. They are a kaleidoscope of blues and greys that you find yourself wishing to get lost in.
Unbeknownst to you, Theo looks up from his note taking and watches as you stare off into space, the potions book in front of you long forgotten. His lips lift into that arrogant smirk that you seem to admire quite a lot as he abandons his own work in favour of staring you down.
You must be miles away in your own mind because you barely concentrate on the fact that he's looking so deeply at you, that he may as well have been staring right at the makings of your very soul.
"Have you got a staring problem, dolcezza?" he asks, his deep voice a mixture of smooth and raspy. It makes your heartbeat pick up in speed as you're jolted from your wandering thoughts.
"I'm bored." You mumble, moving your hands, which are resting on your lap, to lay upon the table so that you can lie your head down. "Potions is so draining and it's so bloody hot in here."
"Is that it, or is it because you're in love with me?"
You sit up abruptly, eyes wide and mouth threatening to gape like a fish out of water as he merely stares back at you with his brows slightly raised. His smirk is widening, almost to a full blown grin. Gods he's so pretty, is all you can think as you roll your eyes at him.
He lets out the lightest of snickers as you ignore him and open your abandoned book, in favour of evading his gaze. But he could already see the blush crawling further and further across your cheeks.
"You can admit it if you want to, darling." He says teasingly, his voice is arrogant and silky and it makes you blush even more. "I don't blame you. Everyone seems to be in love with me."
He smiles prettily at you as you glare at him from across the table.
"No one like an egotistical brat, Theodore." you retort, but there's no bite in your words β there never is when it comes to him. And as he stares you down, you swear you can see the reciprocation in his gaze, but it's gone almost instantly when he turns back to his own notes.
~β~ i've never written for enzo before but my mutuals (love you allπ«ΆπΌ) have slowly been turning me into an enzo girlie π€π€ this if for week three of @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge!!
pairing: enzo berkshire x fem!slytherin reader, platonic mattheo riddle x reader
prompt: wizards chess/"you filthy cheater, we go again!"
warning(s): none its all fluff!!!
The weekend's rainy weather brought with it a sense of serenity and peace as it swept across the Scottish highlands like a flurrying storm. The castle grounds were barren of people, everyone making the unanimous decision to avoid the heavy downpour that had steadily been building in a crescendo all week. The corridors were even emptier, avoided by those who wanted to escape the cold, only the odd person running late to a detention, or for a quick stop in the kitchens, could be seen or heard amongst the chattering painting and silently gliding ghosts.
The common rooms however, were teeming with students, from all year groups. In the Slytherin common room, you and your friends had been some of the lucky few to snag a small grouping of pleated seats, right beside a roaring fire. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that one of said friends was the feared Dark Lord's son, but either way, you were grateful that you could relax by the fire for a few hours, soaking up what little warmth the dungeons could provide in such miserable weather conditions.
Except that you feel anything but relaxed right now. You had somehow found yourself sitting across the small coffee table from Enzo, a fierce game of wizards chess playing out between the two of you. It was common knowledge, between you and your friends, that you absolutely sucked at it, but that didn't stop you from trying, and failing, to beat Enzo at his own favoured game.
You jumped back on your haunches as his bishop savagely destroyed one of your lone pawns and gaped as he jumped up and cheered at his small victory, ignoring the way students around him violently shushed him with scowling faces. Your friends, who only paid sporadic attention to the pair of you, smirked as Enzo sneakily glanced your way, to watch how your face would scrunch in barely restrained irritation.
"And he strikes again!" He says with a cheer, that has Draco glaring at him from over his Potions homework with narrowed eyes. Enzo vehemently ignores him in favour of watching the way your face shifts between a million and one emotions in a split second. "I'm like two moves away from checkmate, sweetheart. Are you sure you can handle losing, again?"
The way he's smirking at you, with mirth painting his face, those brilliantly vibrant eyes of his shining as he stares across the table at you, has a blush fighting it's way up your neck. You scowl at him, menacingly.
"No one likes a show off, Berkshire." You snap, as you move your last remaining rook to take his knight. When Mattheo and Theo snicker from behind you, you turn and rapidly send a glare worthy of one of their own that has them covering their faces to try and hide their laughter from you. Even Draco, who'd been more withdrawn lately, had let out a quiet chuckle.
Sorry love. Mattheo says to you wordlessly and you narrow your glare, solely, on him. But you're not doing a very good job at this.
"Well there's no need to laugh at my misfortune, Matt." You reply and he smirks as he watches the way Enzo looks questioningly between you and him, before he moves another one of his pieces, putting you in checkmate.
You turn towards the table again as you hear the sound of shattering porcelain, watching as your rook is destroyed by his queen, which is now somehow in line with your king piece. You search the board for somewhere you can go, and come up agonisingly empty. You gape at the smug boy across from you.
"You filthy cheater!" You accuse and Enzo sends you a smirk that could bring you to your knees at anytime of the day.
"I did no such thing, sweetheart." He says, but the mischief shining in his russett eyes makes you believe otherwise. "Maybe you should pay attention next time."
His words ignite a challenge within you and you steel yourself as the pair of you become locked into a heated staring contest. In your peripheral, you watch as your friends whisper conspicuously between each other, but you pay them no mind.
Huffing you use your wand to fix and rearrange the pieces to their original positions.
"We go again!" You say resolutely, kneeling closer to the table, as if it would somehow make your wizards chess abilities rise to the surface. But you knew that it was wishful thinking.
Ready to lose again, sweetheart? Enzo speaks to you wordlessly, and your glare intensifies at the way his voice lowers a decibel or two, making it a low rasp in your head. I promise I'll go easy on you. He's smirking to himself as he moves the first piece.
And the cycle continues for another hour, until Blaise lets out an aggrieved sigh and takes your place. You sit beside Pansy huffing as you cross your arms over your chest, casting a look of contempt at Enzo, who does a terrible job of hiding his smug face. After half an hour, their game is a close one, and Blaise only just beats Enzo with a move of pure luck.
The latter comes to sit beside you after that, the game becoming abandoned on the table, an arm reaching across the back of the sofa, hand tracing featherlight patterns against your jumper covered shoulder. He's staring at the side of your face, tracing the way your hair falls in rippling waves as you tilt your head in favour of engrossing yourself in a book instead of focusing on him.
"Still bitter that I won, sweetheart?" He murmurs, leaning in close so that his lips brush the shell of your ear.
The twitch of your lip is the only thing that gives away that you hear him, but you choose to ingore him in favour of finishing the chapter, or at least you try to.
Since Enzo had sat down, you'd read the same sentence at least five times now. He pokes your shoulder with the hand that had been previously caressing it and you turn to him, breath hitching imperceptibly when you realise just how close he is to you.
"I'm only bitter because you cheated. I could've won fair and square." You say, your lips falling into a pout that Enzo desperately wants to kiss away.
"I'm no cheater." He says with enough self assurance that you might be inclined to believe him. "You were the one who turned away from the game."
"Only because Matt distracted me!" You retort, your face moving closer to his on your own accord.
"Perhaps I should put you out of your misery and teach you how to play." He whispers. The tension building between the two of you could be severed by a knife with how palpable the charged atmosphere is.
Said knife appears in the form of Theodore's hushed voice, which sounds fed up as much as it is amused.
"For Salazar's sake, please put us all out of the fucking misery of witnessing this and kiss." It was meant to be a muttered statement between himself and your other friends, but it reaches you nonetheless, causing you to recoil from the close proximity to Enzo, covering your reddening cheeks with your hands.
Enzo doesn't bother to remove his arm from where it practically cradles you into him as he scowls at his best friend. But when you don't move away from his touch, he thanks any god he can think of that you don't shy away from him.
The rest of the afternoon is spent in content silence as you and your friends bask in the murky green glow of the lake, warmed only by the heat of the fire. But you feel heated for a whole other reason, because Enzo's arm is yet to be unwound from your shoulder as you busy yourself with burrowing into his body heat, the position cosy enough for you to settle into finishing your book, and eventually even lulling you to sleep.
Enzo stares down at you with a smile as your book falls limply into his lap. He gingerly picks it up and slides the bookmark, that you'd left on the coffee table, into place before gently putting it on the floor beside your bag. He brings your body closer to his and marvels at the way you instinctively nuzzle your face into his chest, relaxed by the steady beat of his pounding heart.
He places a barely there kiss to the crown of you head and he swears he sees the ghost of a smile gracing your pretty lips.
One day. He'd confess to you one day.
And by the twin looks that he spies on Matt and Theo's faces, that day may come sooner than either of you may think.
~β~
A little bonus scene:
"I don't understand how the two of them are so oblivious." Pansy says quietly as she watches the way you berate Enzo with no mutinous ammunition behind your words. "They're so obviously in love with eachother."
"Well they are idiots, bella." Theo says with a laugh. "It'll take it being spelled out for them to realise it."
"We cannot meddle with their love lives." Blaise counters, although his glimmering eyes give away that he wants to do exactly that. Draco looks like he agrees.
"Oh come on, B!" Mattheo retorts, a devilish look overtaking his features. "Where's the fun in that?"
"I'll bet twenty galleons that you can't get them to admit it by the end of the month." Pansy offers with a feline smirk and Mattheo's eyes light up in challenge.
"You have yourself a bet, love. Prepared to lose?" He smirks at his friend who only winks back at him before she settles into Theo's side.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that." She says and they all turn to watch the way Enzo blatently stares at you, eternal love shining in his russett eyes. "Enzo's looks like he's about to burst with it."
Every year, without fail, the castle halls were full to the brim with wreathes of glittering hearts and ribbons of all sorts of reds, pinks and whites. The Hogwarts student body made a huge deal of Valentines Day every year β the muggleborn students had the most fun with the aspects that made it all the more magical. Each year, Professor Dumbledore would employ a series of real life Cupids to fly about the castle shooting 'arrows of love' towards their targets for the price of five whole Galleons.
Every year you find it sickening. This year is no different.
The Great Hall is swarming with people during breakfast and flying among the swooping owls are at least thirty or so Cupids who drift above the tables, skimming people's heads with the tips of their wrinkled feet. In place of the enchanted sky in the ceiling, red hearts have been enchanted to cascade like rain fall, bursting into balls of sparkling light that falls softly onto the tables, which are decorated in the same shade rather than the traditional scarlet, emerald, navy and yellow of the House colours.
You walk into the Great Hall, followed closely by Theo and Pansy, with distain painted across your face. Theo snickers as Pansy gushes silently over the Valentines decor.
"This is disgusting." You say with a scowl as the three of you wander in behind a group of giggling second year girls. Theo's snickering turns into a full on laughter as Pansy's head whips in your direction, disbelief written on her face.
"How can you possibly hate this?" she asks with wide eyes, as if you're committing some form of treason for hating this muggle holiday. "I think it's an endearing little thing."
"At least it's only for one day, tesoro." Theodore teases sarcastically, moving away just in time to avoid your swatting hand. "Don't you want to be swooned with flowers and chocolate?"
You curse his words as you part ways to the Ravenclaw table, shooting him daggers when he speaks to you in your mind as he sits down.
'I wonder...should I pay one of those ugly Cupids to shoot an arrow at Matt for you?' He smirks mischievously as said boy wanders into the Great Hall, deep brown eyes immediately seeking you out before he finds his friends.
You send him a smile, that goes unnoticed by everyone but him, before shooting as many cuss words you know towards Theo, who only laughs in response.
'I'll take that as a no, then. Enjoy your breakfast, tesoro.' Is all he can say before you kick him from your mind with a forceful shove.
He turns to Mattheo and they begin to have a lengthy discussion, but you're not curious enough to find out what it is, more content with drowning yourself in caffeine, if only to fuel your need to survive through the day.
The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom is possibly the only room in the castle that doesn't reflect the rest of the hallways. You should be glad that it no longer looks like Saint Valentine threw up in every single crevice, but the gloomy atmosphere actually makes your mood deplete. Mattheo had been sending you secretive looks all day and you had to admit that you were curious.
He was definitely planning something; it made you nervous, butterflies fluttering anxiously in your stomach.
Professor Snape was still yet to make his dramatic entrance to the classroom; you were chatting with Hermione, Ron and Harry as you waited impatiently for the lesson to start when Harry pointed to something fluttering above your head.
It's not a Cupid. Thank Merlin. But it's still happening in front of so many people and you want the ground to swallow you whole, until you make eye contact with its sender, who was smirking into the crook of his elbow, avoiding your narrowed gaze.
Mattheo had somehow gotten some faeries to flutter about your head, silent and imposing as one by one, they made about a dozen tulips of varying shades of red, purple and yellow, appear on your desk. You bite the inside of your cheek hard to stop the smile spreading across your face, but it doesn't hinder the bright blush that floods your aching cheeks.
"What the fuck?" Ron guffaws loudly, drawing more attention to the four of you, but you ignore everyone in favour of the deep rasp of his voice that enters your mind.
'Theo said it would be a hard no if I paid one of the Cupids to shoot an arrow at you.' He says, voice filled with mirth.
'Yes. I would've run out of this classroom and you would never see me again.' You respond with sparkling eyes.
'Well I'm glad I listened to him, for once. Do you like them? The flowers, I mean?' He sounds almost... insecure; nervous. Two things Mattheo Riddle is not. Your expression softens.
'I love them. Did you know that tulips are my favourite flower?'
'I asked little Weasley for some help with that one. I'm glad you like them, love.' His smirk has transformed into a genuine smile as you brave looking at him amidst the sea of your peers, including the eyes of your three best friends.
Within your conversation that only took mere minutes, rather than the eternity you wished it was, the faeries flittered towards your books and rested upon your desk infront of you, bounding the fallen tulips into an intricate bouquet, bound by what looked like a string of glitter, but you knew better.
You and Hermione gasp simultaneously, along with the other girls in the near vicinity of your desk. Harry and Ron only look more baffled.
"I-is that starlight?" Mione whispers in awe as you both stare down at the faeries who grin up at you with sparkling teeth as the bright silvery light acts like a beacon amidst the darkness of the classroom. "Whoever this is has gone beyond what I thought possible for your attention."
"Yeah." you reply with glistening eyes that flick to Mattheo who looks like he's sat on the edge of his seat.
He sees it in your eyes. The emotion that neither of you have dared to voice, too scared to step even further over the line that you were already holding onto for dear life, but that grip was slipping with every passing day.
Mattheo knew then that he would gift you the world if you asked for it; he would give you anything, even something as rare and beautiful as starlight.
The rest of the day is a blur for you. You hardly notice the eyesores that are Cupids flying around like headless chickens, chasing people around the grounds. All you can think about are the Tulips wrapped up in glistening starlight that sit safely in a vase in your dorm room.
The lone note, that sits on your bedside table, reads. It was not there when you returned from dinner earlier, so it had appeared during the time you've spent in the company of your friends since then.
The day is almost over, the Grandfather clock in the common room is distantly chiming that it is eleven at night, marking one more hour of the day.
You had woken up in a sour mood over what you would have to endure from overbearing couples and lovesick idiots all day. But you had been pleasantly surprised by just how thoughtful Mattheo had been.
And you were not expecting it at all.
Mattheo Riddle who portrayed this persona of pure evil, stoicism and nonchalance to the world had gone above and beyond your expectations of Valentines Day and turned it into something truely magical.
You turn to look at your chest of drawers, where the tulips rest in a glass vase, starlight pooling around them, and into the air, casting a pleasant glow around your room. You had quickly discovered that he had also charmed the tulips to last forever. So they would never die; symbolic true love forever bathed in breathtaking starlight that was bestowed upon the bouquet like faery dust infront of your very eyes.
Quickly you changed into presentable, but comfortable clothes: Black flared leggings and you covered your cold arms with a fluffy jumper that cropped just above your belly button shoving on a pair of dark trainers before you made the short journey out of the Ravenclaw common room towards the neighbouring Astronomy tower.
It only took you ten slow minutes to sneak across corridors, silently praying the Filch and Mrs. Norris didn't turn the corners when you did. But you got to the Astronomy tower without a hitch and descended the steep staircase, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself at the bite of the cold.
"You came." his voice is a soft caress against the wind and you find yourself immediately wrapped up in his strong arms.
"Of course, I did." you mumble into his chest, hugging him tighter as a gust of wind circles the two of you. "I've been thinking about you all day."
"Have you now?" He asks with a smirk that turns into a startled chuckle as you shove against his chest with a laugh of your own.
It's only when you step out of his embrace that you see what he had planned. Your mouth gapes as you take in the scene in front of you.
Set up in the centre of the open room, surrounded by telescope's and magical orreries, is a red and white gingham picnic blanket surrounded by dazzling balls of light that cascade down the stone walls like fairy lights. There are candles dotted about the room, casting a warm glow.
"Matt-" you start but the feeling of his chest pressing into your back has your voice quieting as he presses languid kisses to your exposed neck. You sigh as you relax into his hold. "How long did this take you?"
"Not long. Pansy helped me with the decorations while I got food from the kitchens. Dobby heard your name and went all out." he chuckles quietly as he gently guides you towards the blanket, where a dark brown picnic basket sits among a series of long candlesticks.
"It looks lovely." you say as you move to sit down, Mattheo following closely behind.
Your thigh presses against his as he reaches into the basket, pulling out a bottle of sparkling wine. You smile as he turns to you with a cheeky grin.
"Ready to be wined and dined, sweetheart?" he asks with a smirk as he pops the cork and pours both of you a generous amount. Your smile gives way to a delightful giggle as you clink your glasses together, pulling out a series of food that Dobby had generously prepared for the two of you.
"How did you manage to plan all this? From the tulips to the starlight to...to this? It's all so perfect." you ask as you take a bit out of a chocolate covered strawberry.
"Well...Weasley told me about your favourite flowers and their meaning and I figured out how to bargain with the faeries from the forest for the starlight."
"How?" you were intrigued.
"That's my secret, love." he teases. "I'm not allowed to say."
"Not even to me?" you pout and he laughs as he takes a bit out of the pumpkin pasty on his plate.
"Not even you. I can't break a faerie's promise. You know that."
You could reason with that, you supposed. Faerie promises were sacred in the wizarding world.
"I think this is our first real date." you say contently, as you lean back on your elbows, staring at the side of his chiselled face.
"It is, isn't it." he says, nodding his head. One of his hands rests idly against your thigh, thumb occasionally stroking against the fabric of your leggings. "Well I must say, I don't think you'll ever top this."
You let out a loud laugh at his arrogance that has Mattheo swooning as he stares at you.
"What?" you ask, face wide with a smile as you reach up to brush your hands against your mouth. "Do I have something on my face?"
He leans in closer, voice barely a whisper.
"Yeah, you have an eyelash right here-" he reaches his hand to brush away the stray lash that had fallen onto your cheek but before he does, he presses a searing kiss to your lips.
Momentarily stunned, you react a second late before you wrap your arms around his neck, letting him lay you across the gingham blanket. He smiles against your lips and you can't help but lick at the seam of them until he lets you explore his mouth with your tongue, groaning as he grinds his hips against your's.
The peaceful atmosphere is disrupted by the incessant flapping of wings that has you detaching your lips from his. Looking around curiously you spot the intruder floating around in your peripheral.
"I thought I made it clear that I abhored the idea of a Cupid shooting an arrow at us." you say with a huff as the angel like creature lines up it's bow and arrow. To his credit, Mattheo actually looks confused as he swivels his head in the direction you're looking in.
"I- I didn't-" he pauses before shooting a scathing look towards the door. "Fucking Theodore thinks he's so funny."
The Cupid's arrow makes it's mark and all you feel is a pinch, no less painful than a pin prick, before the loud laughter of your friend is heard from behind the door. You'd find it hillarious if it was anyone else, but not while you were having such an intimate moment.
Mattheo looks about ready to maim his best friend, but you stop him by wrapping your legs around his hips.
"Sorry love." he says as he presses kisses down your neck, reaching for the hem of your jumper that is quickly discarded. You look up at him with an expression that has him melting into you instantly. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but something was stopping you; you knew it was irrational, knew that he felt the same way about you.
But you wanted to tell him when the time was right, and no matter how perfect, you knew that this wasn't that moment. You were content in bathing in his otherworldly presence, pressing kisses to his mouth, nose, cheeks and neck as he worshipped you under the stars.
Your time together was a reprieve from everything happening around you; there was a darkness looming about the castle, but in Mattheo's arms you felt infinitely safe.
safe in your arms tonight β fred weasley x fem!reader
reader is on her period and wants nothing more than to be in the arms of her love!
The common room was lit by the fire in the hearth and multiple lamps that were dotted about on the tables, casting a bright glow amongst the crimson reds and rich chocolate browns of the sofas and rugs.
You had taken refuge of one of the settees closest to one of the fire places, wrapped tightly in a blanket, looking as cosy as the room felt. But you were anything but cosy.
Your stomach felt as if a grindilow was stratching at you from the inside out and no amount of pain relieving potion or tonic was helping to quell the aches and pains from the cramps that had rendered you unable to move for the past few hours.
At least the common room was at a lulled level of noise β only the odd sound of quiet laughter and the scratch of quills to parchment could be heard from your little nest. But despite that, you felt hot, cold and overstimulated all at once. You just wanted to cry.
A book was open on the armrest above your head and you had attempted to read at least a chapter or two with a cup of herbal tea in an attempt to finally relax. There was no hope. All you wanted was for your boyfriend to finish his late quidditch practice so that you could cuddle him until the cramps went away. Time had never dragged by so much.
Miraculously, you managed to nap for all of twenty minutes before the sound of the portrait opening woke you up. Groggily you peaked your head out from your blanket and saw, to your delight, that he was headed towards you, a soft look over his handsome face as he took in your adorably sorry state.
"Hey Freddie." You said quietly with a smile, doing your best to ignore the sharp stabbing pain that had overtaken your stomach once again.
"Oh darling," he cooed, coming to kneel on the rug in front of the sofa, hand gently brushing over your flushed cheek. "Have you taken any more tonics?"
"It's not working. It hurts so much." You grumble with a whimper, head instinctively leaning into his adoring touch as stray tears fell from your eyes. "Jus' want you."
"Okay sweet girl, just bare with me for a couple seconds. I'm sorry."
You made a sound of confusyion which quickly turned to outrage as Fred scooped you up into his arms.
"Fred-"
"I know. I know. But you'll be far more comfortable in bed. Trust me."
You did. Undoubtedly. So you leaned your head against his chest, breathing in the scent of his fresh soap and laundry detergent as you listened to the calming sound of his heartbeat against your ear. Fred leaned down and pressed a featherlight kiss against your sleep-mussed hair as he climbed the stairs that lead to the boys' dormitories, careful not to jostle you too much.
No sooner than he'd swept you up from the settee, he had you tucked up to the chin under his thick russet-red duvet, with his arm as a makeshift pillow as he hugged you into his body from behind. His free hand gently tracing shapes up and down your stomach, sending chills and heat through your body in equal measure.
"Y'know I love you, right?" You whisper into the darkness, pressing a kiss to his forearm that you were laying on.
He smiled widely from his spot behind you. "I love you more."
"Impossible."
"I'm older than you. So I win."
You poked his side and he pressed a lingering kiss to your back of your neck as he hugged you closer to his body, making your breath hitch unevenly.
"Try to get some sleep, sweet girl. We'll go to Madame Pomfrey for a stronger potion if you still feel in pain tomorrow."
You quietly agreed as you snuggled closer to him. He was so warm, like a walking-talking furnace. Both of you drifted off fairly quickly, embraced by eachother. Your period pains were still very much present, silently twisting and stabbing you from the inside out, but with Fred by your side, nothing else mattered.
a sweet little drabble to feed you all in my absence!!! its actually so shit but im in my feels (i feel like someone is taking a knife to my belly over and over againπ) and this little scene popped into my head as a result of that.
mike realized his parents didn't love each other when he was very young, and he rationalized this as all couples don't love each other. that's until he sees the way steve treats you.
c.w. none, a little angsty in the beginning but not really sad, mostly fluff, canon divergent bc i'm pretending the byers never moved to california and max is still hanging out with the party
a/n: wrote this instead of studying for finals, do not bring ship wars into the reblogs. this is me psychoanalyzing a sad teenage boy and writing self-indulgent domestic fluff
Mike Wheeler's parents do not love each other. Maybe they have some semblance of love between them, but they are not engaged in the act of love. He isn't quite sure at what age, or even exactly when, he realized this. He can't point to one exact day of his life but rather a blur of the hundreds of evenings he's spent the same way.
Sitting at the dinner table with his parents and two sisters while his mother puts out emotional fires and his father picks at his chicken then tells his mom it's over salted. Nancy has a teeth-cleaning on Saturday so she needs to move her date with Jonathan. Also how is her chemistry grade? Mrs. Sinclair recommended a great tutor. Holly's daycare closes early tomorrow so someone needs to pick her up. Does one of Mike's friends want to earn some cash babysitting? Oh and is Mike still going out with his friends after school tomorrow?
Somewhere in the middle of his mother's rambles his father will stand up muttering a "thank you," not to be polite but because it's expected, and walks over to the couch to watch TV without putting his dish in the sink. He'll watch whatever sports game is on and crack a beer while his mother cleans the kitchen.
There is no animosity or arguing between Ted and Karen, only tolerance and mutual existence.
Eventually, the idea of love becomes near repulsive to him. The idea of his parents engaging in any sort of affection makes him nauseous. It's not the childish disgust Lucas has seeing his father kiss his mother but a deep-seated discomfort. A part of him (smaller or bigger than he'd like, he's not quite sure) believes love doesn't exist. It's simply a pleasant lie society feeds one another, because the idea of being alone is terrifying.
That's until he finds himself half-asleep on Steve Harrington's living room floor.
He's been having a lot of sleepovers with his friends since the Starcourt Mall incident. None of them want to be the person who says it but they're all terrified of being alone. He's woken up quite a few times in a cold sweat with gory images in his mind, and he doubts he's the only one. Steve's parents are hardly ever in town so his house becomes the designated place for sleepovers.
The credits are rolling for whatever movie they watched, Mike can't remember because he fell asleep half-way through. His memory is hazy of what time they started but if he had to guess it's probably close to one in the morning.
Dustin is fast asleep next to him on the floor and Will's knocked out on the couch above them. They had been designing their characters for a new DND campaign, Mike's pretty sure there's pen on his cheek from falling asleep while writing the character details.
One of the other side of the couch Max is squished between El and Lucas, and he sincerely doubts she'll mind come morning. She'll probably be grateful considering she's been having some of the worst nightmares.
His eyes make his way over to the loveseat where you had been sitting with Steve. What once started as a respectable distance to avoid incurring any teasing has disappeared. You're leaning on Steve, curled into his side and he has an arm wrapped around you, rubbing your shoulders. You're trying to focus on the credits, dangerously close to dozing off while Steve stares down at you with something in his eyes Mike can't quite understand.
What he does understand is that his parents have never held each other like that.
"You sleepin' over there baby?" Steve's voice is a soft murmur, smiling as he looks down at you.
"Mmmmβ¦" you let out a sleepy hum, barely acknowledging his words before burrowing deeper into his side.
Steve's smile widens in response and all of a sudden Mike's stomach twists. It's not disgust or repulsion but⦠embarrassment. He's intruding on something special, he should just close his eyes and go back to sleep. That's what he should do, but he can't bring himself to.
"Mmmβ¦. need to putβ¦ the kids,β you mumble just barely comprehensible in your sleepy stupor.
βWhat about the kids sweetheart?β Steve whispers brushing hair out of your face.
βPut em to bedβ¦.β youβre practically in Steveβs lap despite the fact the loveseat was made for two. βMike and Dustin are on the floorβ¦ and clean upβ¦..β
βIβll do it,β Steve murmurs gently and kisses your forehead, βbut first I'm putting you to bed.β
βNoβ¦..β your brow furrows in your half conscious state.
βYes,β Steve smooths out the crease with his thumb and kisses your cheek. Then in one smooth movement heβs standing up and hoisting you into his arms, all while making sure the blanket is still tucked around you. You let out a quiet giggle when he picks you up and he notices.
"Having fun over there?" he teases quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. It's almost a knee-jerk reaction, he can't keep his lips off you.
"I feel special," you whisper as if you're sharing a secret and Steve's face softens even more. Mike didn't know it was possible for someone to look at another person like that.
"You are special," Steve whispers in that same secretive tone and kisses your forehead. "C'mon pretty, let's get you to bed."
Your words fade into quiet indecipherable whispers and giggles as Steve carries you to and up the staircase and Mike finds himself staring at the empty loveseat. A million thoughts swirling in his head and none at the same time. He's about to sit up when he hears Steve coming down the staircase and immediately closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep.
He doesn't know why, he could just pretend he woke up now. He doesn't have to give Steve any indication that he witnessed their intimate moment, but for some reason a part of him believe that waking up now would ruin something. Something he can't quite put words to.
The older teen shuffles around a little, turning off the TV, before coming over to where Mike and Dustin are laying on the floor. Then before Mike knows it Steve is lifting him up and placing him on the couch. He feels like a little kid being carried to bed after falling asleep on the car ride home. Though that only happened once or twice at his mother's insistence, usually his father woke him up to walk inside.
He hears some more shuffling and then the couch dips presumably with Dustin's weight. He hears the sounds of Steve cleaning up trash and crafts, carefully organizing their DND papers as to not be scolded later. Just when he thinks Steve is about to head upstairs a blanket is gently tucked around his shoulders and a damp cloth is pressed to his cheek to wipe the pen marks off.
"Wheeler?" Steve whispers gently, and his body tenses but his eyes don't open.
Noticing the tension in his body, Mike hears Steve let out a huff indicating he's smiling. He tucks the blanket a little tighter and ruffles Mike's hair.
"Go to bed kid."
Steve tucks a blanket around Dustin before flicking off all the lights and setting the heater to a comfortable temperature. Then he quietly creeps upstairs and Mike can hear the soft murmurs of you two speaking. He doesn't need to be in the room to have an idea of what's being said.
He sleeps better than he has in months.
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