#Molly's Muttering

[fauvester]

after a couple years of getting used to his bestie living on cardassia married to a cardassian with cardassian babies miles finally visits julian instead of the other way around and takes the whole family (keiko always wanted to get an in-person cardassian botany experience even after the Fire destroyed most of the local vegetation!) and the kids just LOVE him. will NOT leave him alone. young elim insists on imitating his accent which everyone but miles thinks is hilarious

#dee s 9 #garashir adoption au #the girls are obsessed with any female presenting alien. especially older women with an elegant fashion sense #molly wants to clomp around the acid bogs and look at bugs and nobody wants to join her u_u #young elim following miles around muttering “damn it julian” under his breath in a thick fake irish brogue #idan: dabbit juban #garak miles VERY cold war truce over the breakfast table #julian and miles taking the communal skimmer out to the badlands to skeetshoot with decommed phasers #and eat biscuits and red leaf tea that young elim prepared for them (in a very cute basket)

[ladysharmaa]

Break in

Jay Halstead x reader

summary: when Jay's girlfriend is home alone while he's at Molly's, someone tries to break into their house

Y/n was looking disinterestedly through the fridge, closing it with a sigh when she couldn't find anything to eat that she felt like. It was a slow night, her workday had been quiet at the hospital, with only a few patients showing up.

Her boyfriend, Jay, had invited her to join him and the rest of the police department at Molly's. However, she refused, wanting him to spend quality time with his friends, feeling that she had already stolen him from them long enough after he took a few days to take care of her after she fell ill.

Detective Chuckles: Is everything okay out there? The guys miss you! Wish you could be here with me :(

The ringing of her cell phone snapped her out of her thoughts, a small chuckle escaping her lips as she read Jay's message. But she couldn't deny the butterflies that invaded her stomach knowing he was thinking about her. Their relationship was relatively recent, but they had never felt stronger love.

Jay once revealed to her that he realized she was the most important person to him when he was called on an undercover mission. They had only been dating for about 2 months. When he returned, after all the time they hadn't been together, he was shocked to see her waiting for him. He thought she had abandoned him, realizing that she couldn't live with his job, but he was wrong. He ran to her, picking her up and spinning her around a little, her laughter echoing through the room.

After answering his text, Y/n lay down on the couch, watching a movie while waiting for her boyfriend to come home. She didn't even notice when, halfway through the movie, her eyes started to get heavy, and she gave in to sleep.

She woke up again when she heard the lock on the front door click, almost as if someone was trying to get in. Too lazy to get up, thinking it was Jay trying to get in, Y/n tried to call him to remind him he had a key, in case he was already a little tipsy.

At the end of the second ring, the cop answered, but something made Y/n freeze in place, glancing at the door in alarm. She could hear the noise coming from the other people at the bar, meaning he wasn't the one at the door.

"Baby, you there? Is everything okay?" Jay's voice brought her back to reality.

"Jay, aren't you the one trying to get in by any chance?" her voice shook, still standing in the same spot on the edge of the sofa, now raised.

"What? Guys, shut up, I can't hear Y/n. Baby, I told you I'm at the bar with the rest of the group." his voice immediately became serious. "Why? What's happening?"

"Jay, I think someone is trying to get in." Y/n muttered, holding the phone tighter to stop it from falling due to the shaking of her hands. Her wide, frightened eyes were fixed on the door.

As soon as those words left her mouth, Y/n heard a noise on the other side — Jay was shouting something to Severide. Then, there was silence until the sound of Jay's jeep engine was heard.

"Y/n, I need you to listen to me very carefully. You go to our room and lock the door. Then you go to the bathroom and stay in the bathtub until I come and get you. No one else, just me. Do you think you can do that?"

From Jay's voice, Y/n noticed that he went into police mode, speaking calmly but with authority. In fact, this was just so he wouldn't lose control and be able to help his girlfriend, despite the fear that was spreading throughout his body.

"I need verbal responses, baby. Do you understand?"

"I understand." her voice shook.

"Good girl. Everything's going to be okay." Jay tried to comfort her, breaking all the traffic rules and having the sirens on to get home faster.

His heart was tightening in his chest, almost stopping him from breathing. He blamed himself, he knew he should have stayed at home with Y/n, and now she was in danger, and he couldn't protect her.

Behind him, Severide followed him in his vehicle on a 911 call.

"I'm scared, Jay." Y/n's scared voice caught the police officer's attention.

"I know, baby, I know. But I need you to be brave until I arrive. I won't let anything happen to you. I just need you to hold on and then we'll finally go to bed and cuddle. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah." She felt tears coming to her eyes but tried not to let them fall. Just like Jay said, she had to be brave until he came to save her.

Y/n then started to go to her room until she stopped halfway up the stairs when the front door handle stopped turning. For a moment, she thought she was exaggerating and it was just someone who made a mistake in the house. But the panic returned when the automatic rear light came on, indicating that someone had passed by.

Jay only heard the gasp she let out. "What? What's happening?! You need to talk to me, Y/N."

"I think they're trying to get in through the back. I don't know if I locked that door!" She stopped her speech suddenly. "Oh god, I just remembered I left Missy sleeping in the kitchen."

"Y/n, do not go in there just because of the fucking cat!"

Jay didn't even like the little furball who seemed to hate him from the moment Y/n started dating him. However, he knew that his girlfriend would never forgive herself if something happened to the cat.

"Don't scream at me! I would be such a bad owner if I didn't come back to get my cat."

"I don't care about the damn cat when you're in danger!" Jay argued, but he knew Y/n was already heading downstairs to get Missy.

When Y/n arrived, she quickly found the animal on the dining table, looking super calm, an emotion quite contrary to what Y/n was feeling. Picking her up and quickly kissing her head, the girl thought about what her next step in the plan would be: go back up the stairs or find another place to hide.

However, the intruders finally opened the door, and the choice became obvious. Y/n quickly ducked and hid behind the kitchen counter so she wouldn't be seen. On all fours and with Missy under her arm, she grabbed a knife and tried, as silently as possible, to head towards the pantry.

"Y/n, don't go silent on me. Tell me what's going on. I'm three minutes away."

"They're here, Jay. I'm in the pantry with a knife." Her breaths were ragged and shuddering. She had to put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying. "I was so stupid. Why didn't I do what you said? I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. God, don't apologize, sweetheart." Jay muttered with a heavy heart, running his hand over his face in despair, never having felt greater helplessness.

"They're getting closer." Y/n whispered, closing her eyes and holding her hand in front of her mouth so you wouldn't hear her heavy breathing. Jay slammed his hands on the steering wheel, clenching his jaw and thinking about what he could say to his girlfriend. "I love you, Jay. So much."

"Don't say that like it's goodbye, Y/n. I can't take it." He shook his head, using all his strength not to break down and burst into tears. "I'm almost there. One minute."

But Y/n was no longer able to respond. That's because a man, dressed all in black, entered the kitchen and looked around. She was peeking through the pantry bars, hoping he wouldn't be able to hear her and that Missy kept quiet.

She just had to hold on for one minute. Jay would be there on time. Either way, she held the knife in front of her, ready to attack. But deep down, she knew she had no chance against the muscular man. Very easily he would be able to throw her down and take the knife from her. But she wouldn't go down without a fight.

She knew that if it came to that, she would have to try to scratch him to get his DNA under her nails. That way Jay and his team would have a better chance of catching this man.

The man got closer and closer to the pantry. Y/n's hands were shaking uncontrollably. She just wanted to close her eyes and discover that it was all a nightmare. But as much as she wanted to, this was reality and the fact that she could die that day became more and more real and scary.

She didn't want to die without kissing Jay one last time. Without calling her parents to tell them she loved them. Without telling her best friend she should take the first step and text the boy she liked. She wanted to be a mother. She wanted to marry Jay and experience an eternity with him.

But just as she was ready to run out with the knife pointed at him as soon as he opened the pantry door, the man was pulled aside. She heard a moan of pain followed by things falling to the floor. Y/n wanted to go out and see what was happening, but Jay's words echoed in her head: stay hidden until he came to get her.

And then came immense relief. She heard sirens. Before she could process everything that was happening, the pantry door opened. Y/n, in a moment of panic, got up and tried to attack, the person easily dodging and putting his hands up in defense. It was only then that she realized that the person in front of her was Jay, and the intruder was on the ground, bruised, and being arrested by another police officer.

Missy, with all the commotion, quickly ran up the stairs, probably hiding in the guest room until things calmed down. In turn, Y/n dropped the knife on the floor, her face contorting and her lips trembling. She began to cry, finally releasing all the panic and fear she felt. She was pulled into Jay's arms and into his chest.

With his arms around her, feeling his warmth and the movements of his chest, Y/n finally felt safe. Jay kissed her head, saying words of comfort in hopes that she would calm down.

"Jay…" she cried, grabbing his shirt with a very tight grip.

"I'm here, baby. I'm not going anywhere. It's okay. You're safe. Shh…"

Jay then just pushed her away slightly, holding her face with both of his hands. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm okay. I was so scared."

"I know, baby. But you were so brave, I'm so proud of you. And I'll never let this happen again, I promise." he gave her a small kiss on the lips, pulling her back to him. She would never disappear from his sight again.

"Hey, sweetheart." Gabby's voice broke the moment between her and Jay. Y/n she turned her head to look at the woman she adored so much, only now realizing that Severide and Brett were watching the scene from afar. However, she continued to grab Jay's shirt, ensuring he stayed close to her. "Do you mind if we go to the ambulance just to make sure everything is okay?"

A moment of hesitation. Brett, realizing the problem, stepped forward and with a gentle smile said, "Jay can come too."

So, Y/n nodded in permission, following the paramedics to the ambulance. Outside, there were two more police cars and neighbors were in front of their houses in their pajamas to see what was going on. Always under Jay's arm, Y/n waited for Dawson and Brett to do their assessment, ensuring that everything was really okay.

After ensuring that there was no need to go to the hospital, despite a lot of resistance on Jay's part, Y/n won the argument with the condition that the next day, Will would stop by to check on her. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to sleep with Jay next to her.

Once in bed, the man had one arm over her protectively, making sure there was no space between them. "I will protect you until the end of my life. I love you."

"I love you too." she looked at him with just love in her eyes. Finding a more comfortable position, Y/n closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

But Jay stayed up all night. The most important thing is that Y/n recovers after that traumatizing night. And if she had any nightmares, he would be there to protect her.

#chicago pd #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x y/n #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd x reader #will halstead x reader #jay halstead x female reader

[vivwritesfics]

Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Eighteen - School Is Scary

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

1.7K

Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

Series Masterlist

When Y/N got back from her date with Daniel, Milo was already asleep. "Thank you so much, Mol," she said as she fished her purse from her bag.

Mollie thanked her and took her leave. As she did, Daniel walked into the house. He loved the house. It was small and cute and oh so her.

She took his hand and pulled him up the stairs. Daniel couldn't stop grinning as he followed her into one of the few rooms at the top of the stairs. There was a faint glow coming from beneath Milo's door, which was completely shut, but they pushed on to the bedroom.

She switched the light on and let Daniel into her bedroom. "It's not huge, I know, but I promise it's comfortable," she said and Daniel shrugged off his jacket.

"It's perfect," he said, hanging it over the back of the chair in the corner of the room. "The size just means I'll have to hold you closer," he said and pulled off his tie.

She couldn't help but smile as she looked down at her feet. "Corny," she mumbled, but that smile on her face was undeniable. She quickly got changed out of her dress and into a pair of cosy pyjamas. "I'm going to go and check on Milo. Feel free to make yourself comfortable," she said and walked out of the room.

Daniel did just that. He stripped himself down to his boxers and took a look around the room. There were pictures up on the walls, one of baby Milo, crawling on all fours towards the camera. He had a smile on his face as he crawled through the grass.

The next picture was of the cat, Poppy if Daniel remembered rightly. He looked from picture to picture. There were no pictures of her ex, but that was understandable. But there were no pictures of her family, either. Daniel found that a little strange, but he didn't question it.

Soon Y/N returned to the bedroom just in time to see Daniel climbing into bed. He held the blanket out and she yawned before climbing under the covers with him.

Immediately, Daniel wrapped his arms around her. His nose was pressed against her neck and he let out a content breath. "This is so cosy," he said and she nodded her head, lifting his hand to her lips and pressing a kiss against his skin.

"Goodnight, Danny," she whispered, gripping his fingers.

"Goodnight," Daniel whispered and kissed the back of her neck.

They woke up like that, still holding each other. The sun had only just risen and the both of them were incredibly tired. There was a satisfying ache between her thighs as she got up. "Breakfast?" She offered, taking Daniels hands and pulling him up from the bed.

As soon as he was standing, his arms were wrapped around her and he kissed the top of her head. "I should probably get going before Milo wakes up," he muttered.

She gave him a pout, but she understood. Daniel was giving her a chance to tell Milo before they surprised him like this.

While he got dressed, she watched him. Watched the way he moved, how he covered up his tattoos with his clothes. As Daniel pulled on his shoes, Poppy the cat pushed open the bedroom door and made herself comfortable on the bed, in the space Daniel had left warm for her.

As soon as Daniel was dressed, she grabbed a hold of the tie around his neck and pulled him towards her. She pressed a kiss to his lips and Daniel wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"I have to go," he whispered, his forehead against hers.

Nodding her head she pulled away. "Come on," she whispered and laced her fingers through hers. They crept along the short hallway, past Milo's room and down the stairs. Carefully, Y/N pulled open the front door and stepped aside to let Daniel outside.

Just outside if the front door he stopped and turned back to her. His hands cradled her face and he kissed her again. He'd never stop, if he had the choice.

But he pulled away slowly. "I'll see you soon," he said and pecked her lips once more.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Daniel walked away from the house. She couldn't look away, not until he was out of view. Even then, she could barely pull herself inside.

It was only when there was a noise from upstairs, creaking floorboards and a squeaky door, that she closed the front door and turned around. Y/N walked up the stairs, always looking through the banister at Milo's door. "Munchkin, are you awake?" She called as she walked up the stairs.

Milo didn't walk out of his own bedroom. He walked out of his mothers bedroom, clutching Rexy in his hands. He rubbed at his eyes and walked towards her, letting out a little yawn.

"Should we go have some breakfast?" She suggested as she crouched down to his height.

Milo nodded his head and the two of them headed down the stairs. He sat in his usual seat at the kitchen table and sat Rexy in the seat beside him. "How about some pancakes?" She asked, pulling the ingredients out of the cupboard.

Again, Milo nodded. It wasn't lost on his mother just how quiet she was being. But she played music, singing along as she mixed the pancake batter and poured it into little circles in her pan. She flipped them until they were golden on both sides, plated them up, poured on the syrup and placed them in front of Milo.

She grabbed her own pancakes and sat opposite him. "Was Mollie fun last night?" She asked him. Milo nodded his head. He didn't use his knife and fork to cut his pancake, instead grabbing it with both hands and ripping off little chunks.

"Munchkin," she said, putting down her own knife and fork. "Is everything okay?"

"Mollie said school is scary."

They were the first words Milo had said all morning. Mollie said school is scary. Shit, she hadn't expected Mollie to say anything to Milo about school. In just a few months he'd be starting his first year at school. No more daycare, he'd be going into education.

She'd wanted to send him to the same school as Olivia, but she and Daniel hadn't been that close when she was looking at school. No doubt Olivia would be going to one of the best schools Daniel could find, but Y/N couldn't afford that for Milo. She had to send him to what was closest.

She didn't know what Mollie, Mollie who was still in high school, had said to Milo, but it was clear it had terrified him. But she couldn't blame Mollie, she didn't know what she was doing.

Y/N pushed her chair back and walked around the table, joining Milo at his side. "Munchkin," she said as she got down to his level. "I promise you, you don't need to worry about school. It'll be different and unfamiliar, but everybody around you will be thinking the same thing. It will be new for everyone and you have nothing to be worried about."

He sniffed but nodded his head. "I guess," He mumbled, picking up the next pancake. "Do you think Olivia will be in my class?"

She sat there still for a moment. It was something she was going to speak to Daniel about, but she didn't know how to bring it up. "Maybe," she said and stood up straight, ruffling his hair before she returned to her seat.

***

Daniel picked Olivia up from daycare on Tuesday. It was his week to have her, but he was jetting off to the last grand prix before the summer break. He and his ex had come to an agreement. He'd get Olivia for tonight, would get to say goodbye to her before he set off.

I know what you guys are thinking, why isn't Olivia staying with her grandparents, or even Y/N? There were better people she could stay with than her mother while she was supposed to be with her father. But as soon as summer break hit, Daniel got Olivia for two weeks. He was taking her to their house in Monaco, and then to Texas. He got Olivia for two weeks, so her mother got her for two weeks before.

Y/N picked Milo up from daycare on Tuesday. Neither of them had told the kids yet. Tonight, they had texted each other. They were going to tell Milo and Olivia that night.

They stood together outside of the daycare, waiting for the kids like they always did. "Come with us to Monaco and Texas," he said. He wouldn't hold her, not until they had told the kids.

"Danny, I can't," she whispered, shaking her head. "I can't get the time off."

"Just Monaco, then."

She looked at him, looked at the way he was looking at her, and nodded her head. "Just Monaco."

Perfect, Daniel could live with that. Actually, he was incredibly happy with that. He didn't kiss her. As much as he wanted to, he didn't kiss her. Not until they told the kids.

When Milo and Olivia came running out of daycare, Daniel and Y/N resisted the urge to step away from each other. "Great news, badger," said Daniel as Olivia came running towards him. She slipped off her bag and handed it to her father. "Y/N and Milo are gonna join us in Monaco."

Olivia gasped, her eyes lighting up. She immediately turned her attention to Milo. "Really? You're coming to Monaco with us?" She asked, unable to hide her smile.

Milo looked at her mother. "Yeah, munchkin," she said and took his bag. "We're going to Monaco."

Suddenly Olivia grabbed Milo's hands. "We're going to Monaco!" She cried as they both jumped up and down.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @cassie0sstuff @spideybv28 @andydrysdalerogers @aundercover @lou-bean28 @landossainz @purplephantomwolf @ggaslyp1 @layazul @phantomxoxo @minkyungseokie @gills-lounge @hollie911 @annispamz @lily-ann-b @cixrosie @notyouraveragemochii @charli123456789 @amalialeclerc @teamnovalak @tallrock35 @teenwolf01 @chiliwhore @darleneslane @sava207 @thatsusbitch @formulaal @leptitlu @angiesw0rld @yunakynn @landosgirlxoxo @msolbesg @cherry-piee @catmouseggy @bathedinheat @chanshintien @ilove-tswizzle @woozarts @evie-119 @trouble-sistar @mysticalnightenthusiast @lewisvinga @spilled-coffee-cup @starkeyellow @fxrmuladaydreams @viennakarma @radiator101 @lightdragonrayne @angelxxrose @millinorrizz @xemiefx @ellies-world61 @the-depressed-fellow

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo x reader smut #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #dr3 #dr3 imagine #dr3 x reader

[luveline]

hey! would you mind writing sirius black x reader (ole flame or something) when they meet for the first time since azkaban at a meeting for the order? thank you and happy holidays!

thank u for requesting, hope this is OK! ♡

—you and sirius both get to go home eventually, 2.2k. fem

You were still kids when Sirius… went away. You thought he hurt James and Lily, and it didn't matter that you loved him because he was evil and cruel and he hurt the people he loved most in the world, and then you were outposted thousands of miles eastward, your life a shadow. 

Remus sent you letters. You always answered, even when it hurt, but his last was too much to believe. You told yourself that someone forged his handwriting through a curse or some new gimmick, and then a second arrived with a smaller envelope hidden inside. 

No name written on it. No Dear anything to begin. 

Things are different to what you've been told. Please come home, it said. This penmanship was shaken like a hand out of practice, but something felt familiar in the curves and dots. 

If Remus’ letter (and the second smaller one too) were in fact telling the truth, it means you did something awful, and so, for a while, you don't go. 

Please, the next letter says, again enclosed within a larger explanation from Remus, I'm sorry. I just want to see you again. 

Getting home isn't as simple as he might think. You have to picture the destination very clearly to disapparate, and you have no sustained recollection anymore of the places you used to go. You remember silly things, slices of memories; the four of them laughing in a big green field, the sweet smell of hair oil to your left; the beige walls of a rented flat where you'd lay in bed for hours, sometimes days at a time, before things got too terrible to sleep; a string-lit garden that last summer, hands of poker on a glass table. These places aren't real anymore. You can't go back to them. 

Upon your request, Molly forwards you an address and a secret code. 

Trains, buses, trains again. A long walk through a cold street. Some secret this or that. You arrive in the night and a frowning face ushers you in, past a painting sealed away and up the creaking stairs. You spend hours sitting on the end of a bed coated in dust waiting for the sun to rise, your back stiff with nerves. You could slip out before anyone else knows you're here, it's not as if Moody would give you away. But why did you come, if you were going to run straight back to your outpost? 

You don't want Sirius’ betrayal to be true, of course. It took your breath away imagining what it would mean if he hadn't done what you thought. If it's all lies (as it seems to be), if he's innocent as he and Remus claim, it means you turned your back on him and left him to suffer, and he's still asking you to come home. 

A few people stir for breakfast. Molly, who's voice you remember, and some younger sounding ones that may be her children, or perhaps the newer Order recruits. Then comes Remus’ voice. He sounds different. Less Welsh, more tired. Homely anyways as he passes your door with someone beside him. 

“...any day now,” he's saying, “try not to worry.” 

“I do worry. I've worried about it every day for years.” 

You freeze up. 

The stairs creak, Remus’ voice moving further away. “She doesn't need worrying.” 

Sirius must stay at the top of the stairs for a moment. He sounds close. “I wouldn't know what she needs.” 

“Come have some breakfast.” 

“I'll write her again.” 

“After breakfast.” 

“What if she doesn't come?” 

“After breakfast,” Remus insists. “She can ignore you once we've had toast.” 

“I forgot how funny you are,” Sirius mutters. 

Hearing his voice fills you with doubt. He sounds nothing like he used to, no easy confidence to be heard, just fatigue. 

You look down at your hands. Hearing his voice has a new emotion sprouting, too. When you first learned what had happened to your friends, you felt anger like a knife everywhere you went. How could he do that to them? How could he do it to you, be that person, ruin everything you'd loved and made together? But later, when anger faded and grief ached, you'd missed the Sirius you loved. Shamefully, in longing pangs, you'd toss and turn to dreams where things were different. 

Now there's a chance he might still be that person, and you're hiding from him in his own house. 

“There's someone here,” Molly says as you leave your room, her voice nearly too quiet to hear from the kitchen. “Moody's told me this morning.” 

“What?” Arthur asks. 

“Who?” a younger voice says. 

A small intermission of quiet. “Well, I don't know,” Molly says eventually, though she must have guessed it was you from the letter you sent. “But I'll need another loaf of bread. You'd better go, boys.” 

“Mum,” one whines. 

“Come on now.” 

The stairs whimper as you descend, the bannister sticky with old gloss under your hand. Paisley wallpaper and drapes catch your eye as you pass the overflowing shoe rack. There must be more people here than you'd thought. The coat stand is similarly overloaded. 

You can see into the kitchen as soon as you take the last step down. Molly stands wringing a dish cloth between her hands, two teenage boys at the kitchen table. Remus stands near her right with a cup of tea, and when he sees you, he genuinely smiles. 

“Oh, good,” he says, the scar that bisects his lip pulling as he takes a sip of tea. 

The teenagers turn to see you. “Bread, boys! Arthur, you can go with them," Molly says.

Arthur doesn't complain. You falter in the hallway, quiet as the trio of Weasley's leave the kitchen in their slippers to take a quiet exit from the front door. They smile politely as they go, but the boys whisper as the door shuts behind them. You wonder if they have an inkling of who you are, and then you wonder what you might say now they're gone. 

Molly remains, inquisitive to know that you need privacy but also the security of her company. She was always smart like that.

“Come in, then,” Remus says. 

“I–” You clear your throat. “I'm not sure I should.” 

A startle of silverware against china. 

Remus gives you one of his looks. It has tears threatening to well. Why didn't I fight to see him more? you think. Suddenly years have passed and he's changed, but his reassuring glances remain. It's like he's saying everything is fine, why wouldn't everything be fine? Chin up, dove.

Sirius appears in the doorway. Dark circles beneath grey eyes, his cheeks gaunt with hunger rather than the sleek sharpness he once possessed. He's still pretty, if wounded. It's as though you've found an old photo of him that's been smudged with age. He's stepped out of one of your moulding albums to haunt you. 

“Angel,” he breathes, his hand clasped low on the doorway, “you're here.” 

You look past him to Molly and Remus. There isn't a reality nor dimension where they'd let him stay here if they didn't believe his innocence. Remus explained it all in the letter and still you worried if he might have gotten it wrong, and simply believed what he wanted to believe, but it's not possible. Remus loved James so much, he would've killed Sirius himself if he really thought Sirius was the secret keeper who betrayed them. 

So. It's a relief to be home. 

You stare at him. “You look tired,” you say quietly. 

“I'm fine. I am.” 

He seems alright, considering. You'd even say he was handsome with his hair pushed away from his face, a dark shadow of stubble around his mouth, but he looks exhausted.  

You're expecting him to say what you'd say. How could you ever think I'd do it? 

Sirius was prone to similar bouts of pride, or righteousness, justice, whatever you want to call it, but he doesn't bother with that now. He looks at you as though you're the only person on earth, gaze narrowed but eyes wide, pain between his brows as he asks, “What's wrong?” 

Your hand finches up to your cheek to wipe the sudden tear away. “I thought I'd never see you again.” Your Sirius. 

“Don't be upset,” he pleads. 

“How can I not be? I left you all alone for so long.” 

He laughs roughly. “Sweetheart, what were you supposed to do?” 

“Not just give up.” 

“You thought it was me. That's the only thing you could've done. Either of you,” he says, gesturing backward with his hand. “It was hard… to know who to trust, at the end. It's not your fault.” 

You really were only kids together, not half as in love as James and Lily, but that doesn't mean you weren't mad for each other. He looked after you. You would've had a life, you think. 

“You were just gone,” you say, looking down at the floor between you, eyes tracing lines of wood grain. “Everyone. There was nobody left. And I just let you go.” 

“Do you want to come here?” he asks. You lift your head. His hand is barely in front of him, fingers open, palm up. 

It's like taking a stranger's hand for the first few seconds. You keep them low between you both, unfamiliar to each other. But, you find, as his fingers wrap around yours in that selfish way they used to do, squeezing rather than intertwining to make all of them fit, he remembers you.

You step a little closer, your arm to his chest, and look up at him through your lashes. It would melt him like a candle near a furnace, this look. He'd be smug or seething about something and you'd sidle in to stand between his shoes, unsure of what to say but determined to be there for him. It's the same now.  

“What's wrong?” he asks under his breath. 

“I left you all alone,” you repeat. 

“It wasn't your choice, okay?” He smooths his free hand from your elbow to your upper arm. 

Molly says something to Remus. He chuckles and says something in return. Happier to admit it if it's only for Sirius’ ears, you say, “I'm really sorry, Sirius. I miss you every day.” 

“I miss you too,” he says. 

You push your arms around his waist and hide your face in his chest, feeling for the lines of who he used to be, the dip of his spine in his back or the soft cotton of one of his old t-shirts. You regret hugging him at all, until he puts his arm behind your head, a shaky breath released against your crown. 

I'm scared, he'd said. But I don't want you to be scared, okay? Barely twenty, he smelled of the sticky red powder on the end of matches after a night doing things he couldn't tell you about. You could tell him you loved him, and he you, but you weren't to discuss Order business. We'll be okay. 

But Lily–

Everyone's going to be fine. I promise. 

“You promised,” you say to yourself. Too quiet for him to hear, but he does. 

“I promised you so many things I'm not sure what one you mean,” he says with a disappointed laugh. 

You pull away, taking his face into two hands. “How do you feel?” you ask, ignoring the tremble working up from your wrists. 

“What?” His eyes are dark. 

“How are you? Did they– I mean, are you okay? Are you sick?” 

“Remus has patched me up. And Cordelia, the medwitch, you know her?” 

“I don't know anyone. I've been away.” 

He nods sadly. “Yeah. Well, you look the same.” 

“I don't.” 

“You do! You look the same,” —he almost sounds happy, his lips curling into a smile— “sweetheart. Sweetheart–” He closes his eyes. 

You push his hair behind his ears. “You don't look the same,” you confess, “you have wrinkles, right… here.” You touch the corners of his eyes. 

“You're still beautiful.” 

“Mm. You can't even see me.” 

“I don't need to see you. I knew you would be.” 

You rise up to kiss his cheek gently. “It's like you're back, like– like, I always felt like you were gone. And now you're home again. You are home, aren't you?” 

He covers your hand with one of his. “You're here, so–” 

You laugh together nervously. “Yeah, I'm here.” 

“I have stuff to do to make it right.” 

“Then we'll do it.” 

“Okay,” he says. He swallows a breath, and wraps you in a surprisingly tight hug. “Did you read my letters?” 

I don't want anything from you. Just to see you're okay. 

“I read them. I'm okay. Don't I look okay?” 

“You look perfect. Just like the last time I saw you,” he says. It startles you how suddenly he sounds like he did when you were young, his flirting drawl, voice velveteen. 

“Not like that,” you laugh. 

He pulls you as close as you can be, rough now, his arms solid around you. “I missed that,” he says, rubbing your back. “I forgot how you sound when you laugh.” 

You've led very different lives. “I didn't forget yours.” 

“You wouldn't. You love having things to hold against me.” 

You stroke his hair. “Maybe a little.” 

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black

[roosterforme]

That's My Boy | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley gets caught up in his emotions after Everett turns twelve. As his son gets older, he realizes that days spent playing baseball in the park together will grow fewer in number. He wants to make all of them count.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing

Length: 2400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

This is a Batting Practice one-shot but can be read alone! Check out my masterlist for more! Banner by @mak-32

"I can't believe he's turning twelve next week," Bradley muttered as you and he stood in front of a wall of baseball bats in San Diego's best sporting goods store. "It feels like he just turned seven."

You slipped your arms around his waist and gave him a squeeze. "Have I mentioned yet that I love that you kept the Padres game tradition alive every year for his birthday? Ev is going to flip when you tell him you got box seats for the game on Sunday."

Bradley kissed the top of your head and grunted softly as he smiled. "I fucking love that kid. He still asks me to take him to the park to hit balls all the time. And I just don't know how much longer he's going to think I'm cool, you know?"

You snorted against Bradley's chest and then looked up at him. "He'll probably think you're cool for longer than he thinks I am!"

"Well, yeah. Obviously, Kitten," he said as he rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh. "But I might only last another year or so past you."

"You're obnoxious," you informed him with a grin as he positioned you with your arms out in front of you and your palms up. 

"I know," he replied, giving you another kiss. Then he walked around the store and loaded your arms with two new bats, a new mitt, cleats and some baseballs. "I think that's good. Plus I ordered him and I those personalized Phillies throwback jerseys."

"Seriously? You think the two of you needed more Phillies jerseys? You probably already have half a dozen with BRADSHAW on the back."

"Actually I have seven. This will make eight," he said, pulling you closer to him while your arms were still full. "But he won't be a kid for much longer. He's not gonna want to match with me when he's eighteen. And I love spoiling him. And you."

You set everything down at the register while Bradley dug his credit card out of his wallet. "So..." you said softly while the cashier bagged everything up, and he paid. Bradley looked at you out of the corner of his eye as you ran your hand along the back of his bicep. "You want to take me home and spoil me while Everett is with his cousins for the evening?"

Bradley smirked and grabbed the bag, lacing his fingers with yours. "You want to dress up in your bodysuit and kitten ears for me? Let me kiss off your whiskers?" 

You were giggling as you ran out to his Bronco, and Bradley was hot on your heels.

----------------------------

"Dad, I want to try out my new gear," Everett whined as he looked out the front window at the pouring rain a week later. His voice was starting to get deeper, and all of the girls in his class had a crush on him. He had grown up so much since Bradley met him, and sometimes it still shocked him that he had a son. 

"It's supposed to be nicer out tomorrow. We can go then."

Everett turned and looked at him. "But tomorrow's your birthday."

Bradley smiled. He couldn't think of anything he'd rather do after work than come home, get changed, grab his mitt, and go to the park. "Yeah, it'll be fun."

But Everett still looked skeptical. "Won't Mom be mad if we ditch her on your birthday?"

"Nah. We'll be home for dinner. And I'll make it up to her later."

Everett grimaced and started to head upstairs, but then he paused and asked, "Can we wear our new jerseys?"

"Of course."

And it turned out, you were a little annoyed at first the following day. "I have birthday dinner and cupcakes planned. I thought the three of us could eat together here since we're going to the pizza place with Molly and Bob on Friday."

Bradley pulled you close and whispered, "Just for an hour?" He rubbed your back and gave you his sweetest expression. "We'll just hit a few balls and come right back."

He turned as he heard Everett thunder down the stairs. "Ready, Coach?"

"Please?" Bradley asked you, kissing your forehead. 

"Go," you said, pushing him toward Everett. "But seriously, be home by seven or I'll eat all the cupcakes myself."

Bradley and Everett ran out the front door with twin grins and loaded their gear into the back of the Bronco. It was strange to see how tall his son had gotten after a recent growth spurt; he was already almost as tall as you. Another few years, and he'd be the same height as Bradley. Maybe taller. 

"You okay?" Everett asked, and Bradley realized he was just standing there staring at him. He looked a lot like his biological father, but he really looked so much like you.

"Yeah," he grunted, kind of missing the days when he would buckle Everett into his booster seat. Now he climbed into the front seat without help. Bradley started the engine and said, "A few more years and I'll be teaching you how to drive this thing."

Everett's eyes bugged out. "You'll let me drive the Bronco? Mom hardly ever even drives it."

"Yeah, well, Mom doesn't appreciate the fine art of making sure it doesn't stall out on the highway."

"I would," he replied, looking around the interior like it was a hallowed space. 

Bradley nodded as he pulled into the parking lot. "I don't doubt it, Kiddo. You ready to test out your new bats?"

"So ready!"

The grass was still a little damp from all the rain, but the air smelled fresh as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. Bradley waited until Everett signalled that he was ready, and then he pitched an easy slider to him. Everett sent it soaring. "Holy shit," Bradley muttered as he watched where it landed so they could collect it later. "Nice," he called out as he reached into his bucket for another ball.

This time he threw the same pitch but harder. The result was identical as Everett nailed it far into the outfield. "I like this bat!" he said, adjusting his stance, ready for more.

Bradley rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck before throwing his slider again, this time with everything he had. He could feel the ball leave his hand. The perfect pitch. And then he heard the crack of the bat. The perfect hit. This time the ball went even farther than the last two.

"Damn," Bradley said, reaching for another ball and rolling it around in his glove a few times. "Try the other bat," he told Everett, and he watched his son switch them and take a few practice swings.

"Ready!"

Maybe he wouldn't be expecting a fastball this time. Bradley wound up and threw a pitch that even Bob could only hit half the time in the rec league games. 

Crack!

"Jesus, Everett," he said as he watched the ball sail directly over his head. In a real game, it would have been an easy out for the center fielder, but it was hit so well and so hard, Bradley was kind of shocked. 

"Come on, Dad," Everett called. "Throw a really hard one."

Bradley looked at his eager face. He wasn't taunting; he really wanted a harder pitch. But Bradley was already starting to get a little sore as he scooped up another ball. He threw the hardest changeup he could muster, and while it wasn't a clean hit, Everett still got some wood on it. 

But when he threw that pitch again, Everett hit it square on and sent it sailing farther than the other balls in the outfield. "Damn, Kiddo," Bradley said, gaping at his son who looked completely unfazed. 

"Wanna switch places?" Everett asked, heading toward Bradley and handing him the bat. 

But it was more of the same. Sure, the bat wasn't quite big enough for Bradley, and it was still hard for Everett to stay in the strike zone, but Bradley could barely hit his pitches. They were too fast. His slider was so good, he had Bradley swinging too late. His changeup was so sneaky, Bradley swung early. 

Finally, Everett threw a fastball that Bradley nailed so hard, they'd be lucky to find it in the treeline. "That's a birthday home run, Coach!" Everett cheered, jumping and tossing another ball up into the air.

"Yeah," Bradley rasped, just standing there staring at the twelve year old. He felt tears prickle his eyes as he smiled and closed the distance between them. "You're really good, Ev," he whispered, pulling him tight to his body. When his son smiled up at him with his slightly crooked front tooth and bright eyes, Bradley said, "Let's get home for dinner with Mom."

-------------------------------

You loved more than anything that you and Everett had Bradley in your lives, and that the boys so easily lost track of time when they were together. But tonight you made an enormous dinner for your husband's birthday, and now they were late getting back. Just as you started to make yourself a plate of food, unable to wait any longer to eat, the two of them burst through the front door. Everett was talking a mile a minute, and they looked absolutely adorable in their matching shirts. 

"Did you have fun?" you asked, taking a bite of mashed potatoes. It was actually impossible to be annoyed at them when they got like this. But Bradley met your eyes with a soft smile on his face that almost looked a little sad. 

"Yeah," he replied, his voice rough. When you set your plate down and went to him, he pulled you in for a hug. "Thanks for making dinner."

"Happy birthday," you whispered for probably the hundredth time today. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I'm perfect."

The three of you ate at the table, but Bradley was a little quieter than usual. And he only ate one cupcake instead of two or three. And you thought you saw tears in his eyes when he opened the enormous Phanatic foam finger Everett picked out for him. 

"I love it. And I love you," Bradley told Everett as he hugged him. "We can put it upstairs in the Phillies room."

You watched the way your son hugged him as he said, "Happy birthday, Dad." There was no way that kid was ever going to stop thinking Bradley was cool. 

"Ev, sweetie, it's time to start getting ready for bed," you reminded him.

"Go on up and get a shower, and then I'll tuck you in," Bradley told him as Everett went thundering up the stairs. 

He was old enough that he probably didn't still need to be tucked in, but you knew for a fact that Everett had never once asked Bradley to stop. When you looked at your husband across the table, he was rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. You stood and went to him as you softly asked, "Will you please tell me what's wrong?"

He looked up at you with tear filled eyes before scooting his chair back and patting his thigh so you'd sit on his lap. You settled in with your arms around his neck, and he kissed your cheek and your shoulder as he visibly tried to hold back his tears. 

"God, Kitten. You should have seen him tonight. He's just so fucking good."

"I know he is," you replied, kissing his cheek.

"No. He's better than me now. He hit the hardest pitch I could throw, and then I could barely make contact with his slider."

You let those words really sink in. Bradley was easily one of the best players in his recreational league. He could pitch nine innings and make it look easy. He could hit the ball beyond the fences. "Are you serious?"

"I'm so fucking serious, Baby," he whispered, rubbing his mustache along your neck. "He's twelve. His voice hasn't even changed all the way yet. He hasn't even reached his maximum height."

You took Bradley's face in your hands and kissed his nose. "And this is making you cry?"

He shrugged as you ran your thumbs along his rosy cheeks. "I'm just overwhelmed. He seems so grown up now." He closed his eyes, voice shaky as he said, "I wish I'd had more time with him when he was a little kid, you know? I didn't get to see him when he was a toddler or anything. It would have been nice to have another year of tee ball. Hell, I wish I'd had a few more years with you, too." 

Now your throat felt tight with tears of your own, but you shook your head. "You found us at just the right time. Right when we needed you the most."

Your forehead came to rest against his as he gave up the battle and let himself cry. You loved that he was so soft for the two of you and let you see his emotions. He took as much time as he needed while you ran your fingers through his hair, and when he met your eyes again, he was smiling.

"I don't know what I'm going to do when he doesn't want to play ball in the park with me anymore," he said with a laugh as he wiped his eyes. "I live for this shit."

You kissed his cheek as you heard Everett calling for him to come upstairs. "I really don't think you're going to have to worry about that, Coach."

Bradley stood but kept you close. "Pretty soon he'll be grown. An actual man."

When he tried to walk away to tuck Everett in, you put your hands on his chest to keep him in place. "Yeah. He will. And he'll have the best role model in you to show him how it's done."

Bradley ran his hand over his forehead, and he looked like he might start crying again. "I better go tuck him in while I still can."

You nodded and followed him up the stairs. When he turned right toward Everett's bedroom, you stood in the hallway, blinking away your own tears as you listened to their voices. Their combined laughter filled your house and your heart as you waited to take your husband's hand for the night whenever he was done being the dad who was tailor made for Everett.

-------------------------

Soft and sweet Coach makes me tear up every time. Bradley, Everett is always going to think you're cool, and he's always going to want to spend time with you. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster fanfiction #rooster imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster bradshaw fic #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #that's my boy

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Babies on the Brain

George Weasley x reader

Requested by @hahahafucku

Request gist: smut where George sees you holding Fred baby and he feels the need to give you one of his own.

A/N: thanks for the request. I carried on Fred and Angelina’s romance (Freds not dying in my world and George is ending up with the reader instead). I've never been good at writing for breeding kinks (I say like I'm good at writing other things) so I'm sorry if it sounds cliche or cringy or if it's just downright terrible. I don't know if I went a bit overboard on the before smut stuff.

T/W: unprotected sex, soft dom George, breeding kink, praise, kitchen counter sex, ginger baby (jk)

You and George had met in your first year of Hogwarts but your slow build up to a couple started after your fourth year. You had known him for years. His parents loved you, his siblings loved you, and he adored you. You loved his family, from his caring mum, to his mischievous twin, and finally his young sister (who was thrilled to have another girl in the family).

Speaking of George's mischievous twin, you couldn't believe the news when you heard that he was going to be a father. This was a boy who (with his twin) had set a firework dragon on a ministry of magic worker, had stolen a flying car, and had tested joke shop products on first year students back in Hogwarts. He was going to be a brilliant dad.

Those months went by with you and George helping Fred and Angelina with anything they needed, from trips to St Mungos to shopping for baby accessories. Throughout this time, George began to keep a closer eye on you. He’d zone out when you recommended baby grows to get his future niece or nephew or when you’d buy baby products so that the expecting parents were prepared.

A week after Angelina gave birth, she and Fred brought the little one round to meet the family. A little boy who already shared the Weasleys trademark fiery hair. Angelina passed him to you, letting you hold the baby whilst she went for a well deserved rest (Molly had persisted that she looked tired and could take a nap in Fred’s old room). You bounced the little baby in your arms, unaware of your boyfriend watching you from the doorway.

He didn't want to admit it, but seeing you with a baby in your arms made him weak in the knees. He wanted it to always be like this. He wanted the baby in your arms to be his. He'd always thought about having kids with you someday, but this was a wake up call. And the call was answered by that voice inside of him, telling him to make you his and only his.

————————————————————————

Once you got home to the small house that you and George shared, you went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. All you had been talking about all afternoon was how adorable Fred’s baby was with his tiny button nose and little toes. George stalked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, his face immediately going to the crook of your neck to press soft kisses to the skin.

“You’d make such a perfect mum to our kids”.

His words made you freeze. At first, you didn't think you’d heard him correctly, since his face was still tucked into your neck. But he made sure that you would listen.

“I bet you’d look so beautiful carrying our baby. So full and swollen…so full because of me”.

At this point, he was slowly rocking his hips against your ass. His cock slowly got harder while he left kisses along your collarbone. Small breathy moans slipped past your lips, his words and grinding getting you wetter by the second. You pushed your hips back against his, wanting nothing more than for George to take the hint and fuck you into the countertop. His hand splayed across your stomach through your clothes, muttering a soft “Want me in here, sweetheart?”. Your small whimper and frantic nodding had him smiling to himself. He wanted you to admit that you wanted this, he needed you to admit that you wanted him to do this.

“Need you to tell me what you want, love. Tell me how much you want to be full of my cum”. His breath on the shell of your ear caused you to shiver and turn your head as much as you could to look him in the eye. “Please George, fuck me. Fill me up. I want to be full”. Once he made you beg, he pulled your dress up and pulled your underwear to the side, knowing that it would take too long to pull them off. George pushed his trousers and boxers down, before pushing into you with one thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. His pace was quick and desperate from the moment he was inside of you. His cock felt amazing. You had both had sex without protection before but it felt somehow better when you didn't have to worry or take precautions. Your moans were sultry and erotic, and George swore that he had never heard a prettier sound (apart from the sound of his hips slapping against the plush of your ass).

His hand trailed its way down to tease and play with your clit, wanting to make you cum first. He had always insisted on cumming after you. His mouth was next to your ear in a second, his voice dripping with lust. “That's it sweetheart, milk my cock like a good girl. Show me how much you want me to cum deep inside you. Cum for me and I’ll stuff you so full of my cum that you’ll be carrying twins”. His thrusts got sloppier but his small circles on your clit got more determined. All it took was one final thrust to have you cumming around his cock, your walls clenching tighter than before. George's hold on you got tighter as his cum flooded your insides, not a drop going to waste.

After you had both caught your breaths and calmed down, he pulled his cock out. Pulling your underwear to its correct spot before whispering in your ear “Keep it all in there love, I’ll check tonight and if even a drop is gone, I’ll just have to fill you up again”

#george weasley fic #george weasley #george weasley x you #george wealsey x reader #george weasley smut #george weasley x fem #george weasley x y/n

[fangisms]

summertime at the burrow

A/N: i want to be an honorary weasley please im literally begging. notice me molly weasley

Pairings: Best Friend!Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Fred finally invites his best friend home over summer holiday. Neither of you expected it to go so well. 3.7k words.

Warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers, ungodly amount of shenanigans, friendly bullying/teasing, mud wrestling, kissing, (friendly) violence, pet names (trouble, snookums, sugarplum, sweetheart), cursing, borderline frog abuse

"Good morning, trouble."

You hop into the seat next to him that he’d been saving for you. In fact, he’d been saving it for you since the first time you plopped down beside him after the sorting hat declared your house first year. You laughed when he shook your hand. He thought you had the cutest smile. Then you teased him for his devilish charm and he called you catty, and you’ve been teasing each other ever since.

"Are you packed and ready?” He sounds more worried than that time he nearly shattered his collar bone during a vicious Quidditch scrimmage. “We're leaving bright and early tomorrow. Mum says she's preparing a hearty lunch for our guests." Fred scarfs down the rest of his breakfast and turns to look at you to find you're looking back at him in bewilderment.

"Somebody's excited," you tease, ruffling his fiery locks and glancing over at George with a grin.

"If you think this is bad, you should see him before winter holidays," George huffs.

“I have.”

Fred rolls his eyes at you and you jab him in the side.

"Where are the lot of you off to?" Lee perks up from across the table, setting his plate down and wiggling his way between Alicia and Angelina.

"I finally got my honorary invite to the Weasley burrow this summer," you chirp, wrapping your arm over Fred's shoulders and leaning him into your side.

Lee cocks a brow and smirks at a suddenly and uncharacteristically shy Fred. "Well, it's about time! You've only been dating for—"

You shake your head. "No, not dating, Lee. I swear we've been over this—"

"Oh, we've been over it plenty. I just choose to ignore wicked witches when they lie—!"

You practically leap across the table with your teeth gritted to grab for his robes when you're stopped by the laughing twins holding you back from tearing into him. "Lee Jordan, you take that back right now, or so help me your mother will wonder why your hair's gone purple!"

"I'm not going to apologize for being lied to!"

"Let me at him! I'm trying to defend my honor here!"

"Miss—young lady!”—McGonagall appears behind you, sending you into shock and barreling back onto the bench—“Settle down! You're frightening the first years, and we typically prefer they come back in the fall."

"Apologies, professor, I was simply trying to have a friendly discussion with my classmate," you say, gesturing to Lee who smiles begrudgingly.

"Right, well, from now on, let's have our discussions from across the furniture, not on top of it." She wanders away, and you turn to stick your tongue out at Lee who is doubled-over and cackling at your being caught.

“I hope you know, we’re going to receive the same third-degree from my dear mother,” Fred mumbles in your ear. His heart races when you turn to him, a playful glint in your eye. You blink sweetly and rest your hand on his knee when he tucks his arm around your lower back. “But don’t worry, sugarplum, it’s never too late to try.”

He winks. Your eyes go wide, and you shove at his shoulder with a chuckle disguised by a scoff.

“Scabbers not the only rat in the Weasley family, I see.”

“That is exactly what I’m talking about, there’s no way you two are just friends—”

A slice of ham sticks to Lee’s cheek with a cold, wet slap as you eye him from across the table.

“Don’t listen to him, snookums, he just doesn’t understand our complicated arrangement,” Fred says, nudging your cheek with his nose and holding back laughter.

“Gross,” George mutters, grinning before he’s met with the same lunchmeat backhand his friend so rudely received. “Suppose I could’ve predicted that one.”

…

You wipe the sweat from your brow, slinging your carry-on over your shoulder before bending down to pick up your trunk. You’re trailing behind most of the rest of the group, just a few steps behind the twins while their younger siblings charge ahead through the field with Harry and Hermione. Fred checks in with you every couple of meters, making sure you don’t need any serious medical attention.

Once the twins breach the front door, you take a seat outside on your trunk, fanning yourself with your hand and throwing your head back. Then you hear:

“Fred, you better get out there and help that poor girl with her things!”

“Sorry, mum!”

You chuckle when he appears in the doorway moments later, winded as ever, hair plastered to his forehead, and still grinning wildly as he jogs over.

“What’s a lovely young lady like yourself doing outside all alone on such an unbearably hot afternoon?”

“Sweating like swine.”

“Ravishing,” he teases, shooing you off the suitcase, “head inside, mum’s absolutely itching to meet you.”

So you do. You can see her welcoming her children and their friends alike, and it fills you with the warmth of fresh gingerbread and the nerves of a teenage boy during school dance season.

“My dear!” she coos, arms outstretched even though a thin year of sweat coats every inch of your body, even though you’ve been wearing these clothes for a day, and even though you’re breathing heavy like a dog. She’s got her arms outstretched like you’re family.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Fred, and, goodness, you’re even prettier than he said you’d be!” —She gasps when he walks through the door, hauling your trunk in tow—“Don’t tell him I told you.”

“It’s been five minutes and you two are already sharing secrets about me. Only seven more days, Freddie,” he mumbles, setting the trunk down with a thud.

“Oh, well! It’s wonderful to finally meet you, dear, Ginny will show you to your room and lunch will be ready once you’re all settled!”

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley—”

“Oh, none of that, call me Molly.”

Your brows knit when she smiles at you so gently before making her way back to the kitchen.

“Thank you, Molly!”

Fred hops up from where he’d been relaxing on an armchair, clapping you on the arm with a reassuring smile.

“Everything processing alright up there?”

You nod.

“Peachy. Now give me a smile, you’re scaring me.”

You squint at him and pinch his arm, simpering when he hisses and swats your dry-gulching fingers away.

“That’ll do!”

“We’re up this way,” Ginny chirps as she rushes by and tugs you by the hand up the stairs.

Fred watches after you, rubbing his arm with a mean look on his face just before his playful resentment fades and his affections settle into the apples of his cheeks. This is going to be a long seven days.

…

Fred had never invited anyone to stay at the burrow. He preferred the company of his close family and whoever his mother deemed Weasley-enough herself. But he’d been saving this invitation. It stewed in the back of his mind for years before he mustered up the courage to offer it to you.

Ridiculous. That’s how it sounded in his head: ridiculous. If he wanted to ask you, he should have done it at the first chance. That’s what Fred would do. But he could never bring himself to get the words out whenever he swore to himself today would be the day. Because you’d just look at him with those damned doe eyes—you’d test his boundaries and make him all gushy inside—and it was like he was suddenly turned to a tongue-tied and pathetic halfwit.

And now here you are. An unofficial part of his family. But nevertheless a part of it. You’d found the annual Weasley strawberry-picking trip to be wonderful despite Fred pulling cheap pranks on you and the fact that it was basically sweltering outside. When you returned, you all spread out in the family room with bowls of the dewy berries in each of your laps. Everyone claimed a seat while you and Fred were forced to share the hardwood floor. You ended up tossing the small fruits into each other’s mouths with your legs laid across his thighs.

At one point, he lands one of the berries down your blouse. Almost immediately, he starts to laugh, clutching his chest while you gawk at him.

“You better start running, trouble.”

He gulps and scampers to his feet before scurrying out the front door. You take off after him, shouting curses into the wind when he rounds a corner.

You follow his footsteps but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“I swear, if I ever get my hands on you—”

He grabs your waist from behind you, dipping down to whisper in your ear. “You can put your hands on me whenever you’d like, sugarplum—”

“Merlin’s Beard, Fred! You scared the shit out of me!”

You jolt away, and he thinks you look genuinely angry this time. But he smiles and your features soften. Then you’re after him again, bounding into the tall grass with an uproar of laughter.

…

You spend the next few days of your vacation trying to beat Ron at chess then deciding it may be better if you and Harry team up to try and beat Ron at chess. You also take Ginny and Hermione shopping while the gaggle of boys trail behind the three of you grumbling and whining about missing their beloved Quidditch game.

You offer to help Molly with every meal, and she only accepts once you convince her your desserts are a crowd favorite back home. She’s proud to say she’s impressed, and she grows even prouder when you admit you adore big families like hers and see at least two kids of your own in your future.

Arthur takes a liking to you after you listen to him rave about the kind of items muggles use day-to-day and how fascinating their modern technology has become in recent years. He’s thrilled to find you actually take interest in his tinkering and collections and whatnot.

But most of all, you spend your time at the burrow with Fred. He steals you away after meals and keeps you up late to teach you his favorite charms. One overcurious evening finds you two perched together on the bathroom floor whispering and giggling while you brush a bold smokey-eye onto his eyelids. Let’s just say dinner that night was nothing short of hilarious: a look that Fred will never live down.

On the fifth morning, you jostle him awake. He whines about the sun not even being up yet while you drag him down the steps and shove your socked feet into an extra pair of rubber boots.

“What’s the bucket for?” he whispers, traipsing down the path along the side of the house when you stop dead in your tracks.

“Shh!” You press your gloved finger to his lips. A chorus of croaks erupts from the marsh beside the house. Nothing out of the ordinary for Fred, in fact that sound had often soothed him to sleep. But there’s a dangerous glint in your eye that tells him you’re on a mission.

“Can’t we do this when the sun is up? It’s cold and I’m tired—”

“The faster we catch ‘em, the faster we can go back to bed,” you whisper as your boot sinks into the edge of the muddy body of water. He sighs and sinks in next to you with his hands on his hips.

“I can’t believe you’ve convinced me to do this. You’re lucky you’re so pretty or you’d never get away with anything.”

You purse your lips and wade a little further out, looking out at the cooly rippling water beneath the sliver of sunrise.

“Yes, I would,” you say, quietly but so matter-of-fact he’s inclined to believe you.

Just then you spring into action, shoveling a small frog into your bucket with a victorious grunt. A few minutes later, he shuffled over to you and lowers his cupped palms into your bucket: three more frogs settle down into the center with a wet plop. You beam up at him, and it’s worth the early morning trouble to see you so happy and have you so close.

“So what do you plan on doing with these poor creatures once we’re done?”

You sit on the bank of the waterbed, sighing and setting the bucket beside you. He watches you from the water while you examine the small blob of darkness in the center of your palm. The bottom of the bucket is lined with croaking frogs, and the sun is well above the horizon, dousing the sky in soft pink and warm rose.

“I’m going to let them go.”

He lets out a sharp breath, hands falling to his sides, leaving streaks of mud down his tee shirt.

“You’re joking.”

You look up at him. You’re not joking.

“No,” he huffs. “You did not drag me out of my nice, warm bed to catch a million slimy frogs in the freezing cold dark just to let them go again.”

“Oh, but I did.” You’re crazy, he thinks. You’re crazy and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. Doesn’t make you any less crazy, though it might make him much less sane.

You set the frog down in the grass and leave the bucket tipped over. The small creatures immediately flood out from the splotchy tin opening into the newborn daylight and the crisp morning air. You stand and wipe your hands against each other a few times, scrunching your nose and finally meeting his eyes again.

“What’s wrong, trouble? Cat got your tongue?”

You grin.

“You know, one of these days, I’m going to say ‘no’ to you, and it’ll be a rude awakening.”

Fred walks past you like he’s really mad. Like it was an uncrossable line and you treated it like the tape at the end of a marathon. He’s hulking back towards the house when you grab his wrist to get his attention.

“What?”

But you don’t look sad. You don’t look pitiful or hurt. You look like you’re scheming, and it drives him crazy. As if he could ever say ‘no’ to you.

“You think I’m pretty,” you coo, batting your lashes just to get on his nerves. His breath hitches, and he feels warm despite the nipping cold of the morning.

“Unrelated.”

You drop his hand and cross your arms over your chest with a pout. He continues leisurely toward the burrow, tossing his gloves to the ground with a huff of hot air.

“Fred?” you call. And you sound worried, so he’s compelled to whip around. But when he does, he’s met with a rude awakening.

It was a misstep. A silly mistake, the wrong footing. Easily avoidable, and yet he didn’t avoid it. So he’s ass-first into a mud puddle with you shrieking in laughter about a meter away.

“You’re awful,” he grumbles, both hands propping him up and seeping into the thick mud as seconds tick by.

“I’m sorry! Freddie, I’m so sorry,” you cackle, taking a few steps toward him with tears of joy in your eyes. “But you should have seen your face!”

“Help me up,” he says, shaking his head and wiping his hand down his pajama pants before holding it outstretched to you. You grab it and tug enough to leverage him out of the muck. But he doesn’t budge. And in that moment, your eyes are filled with fear. Then, with one jolt, you topple down into the mud right beside him.

“Fred!”

“An eye for an eye, sugarplum.”

You push yourself up onto your hands to find your entire front is caked in mud, the mess narrowly avoiding your chin and above.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

“Oh, bring it on,” Fred teases.

You smirk just before a handful of mud is smeared across his chest by your slippery glove.

“Your move, trouble.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, looking down at the abstract art work fondly. But not quite fondly enough to hold himself back. His fingers dig into the puddle determinedly just before patting the top of your head with it like a stray dog. You squint your eyes closed and groan before peeking one eye open and coating his cheek in mud.

You make it to your feet and Fred hurls a ball of mud at your ass but he misses and it lands in the grass in front of you. You bolt around the back of the house, but he hurls a hunk towards your shoulder blade. You yelp and shout at him:

“You’re supposed to be a gentleman!”

“I’ll show you a gentleman, sweetheart,” he hollers it just before he catches up to you. You squeal and nearly slip on a slick patch of grass, but before you can leap out of his reach, he grabs your upper arm and presses you against the tree just behind your back.

“That’s not playing fair, Freddie, I’ve got nowhere to run,” you say, breathlessly grasping at the edge of his shirt with a tired smile. He chuckles and plants one palm against the bark beside your head, bringing the other hand to cup the side of your neck.

“You don’t need to run anywhere,” he mumbles, “just stay here.” The dried mud on the pad of his thumb draws a swipe of dirt down your cheek. Your fingers curl around his wrist and your lips part sweetly when he leans in.

“Time to come inside, you two! Breakfast is ready!”

Your eyes go wide when he leans his forehead against the tree with a grumbled curse.

“I suppose I am quite peckish!” you chirp, dragging him along behind you all the way to the front door. You leave your boots and gloves outside and brush some of the dried dirt from your pajamas.

You sit across from him at breakfast and catch him stealing glances at you every so often. With a mouth full of food, you wink at him with a dirt-smeared face and almost make him spit out his juice when you kick him under the table. George teases the two of you about wrestling in the mud while Molly scolds Fred about tracking it into the house.

…

Before long, you’re facing the final night of your stay. You’d been dreading the end since the beginning, and now that it’s here, you’re heartbroken. It’s been nothing but fun and you’ve never felt so wonderfully vulnerable with so many people around.

But the thing you’ll miss most is Fred. He could sense you pulling away the last couple of days. Trying to shield yourself from the impact of reality. No matter how hard he tried to cheer you up, he knew nothing could stop you thinking about how much packing up and leaving would hurt.

With your things splayed out across the floor of your temporary room, you had started packing hours ago but kept finding ways to distract yourself and avoid the idea of leaving altogether.

“Need any help?” Fred knocks on the doorframe, leaned against it and wearing the blue jumper you once told him he looked best in. You smile up at him from the floor.

“No,” you huff, “but some company would be nice.”

He perks up and shuffles around your belongings to plant himself on the edge of the bed. You had made the bed up nicely, tucked the duvet and set the pillows out nicely. He told you you didn’t have to, but you did it anyways.

After a few minutes of folding and refolding the same shirt, you stand from the floor and join him on the bed. He’s leaned back onto his elbows when he nudges your foot with his. You nudge him back but don’t turn to look at him. So he sits up and bumps you with his shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says, fussing with the edge of your shorts to distract himself, “Being here, I mean. As a part of our family.”

You smile down at his fiddling fingertips and inch closer, looking at him with this half-sad, half-happy look that has him confused and hopeless and head over heels and confused.

“I had a really, really nice time,” you whisper, leaning your head onto his shoulder and letting your eyes drift closed.

“So…”

You chuckle and smile to yourself, “So…?”

You sit up when the floor rattles a little, a thudding coming from the room below you. Then George shouts.

“Get it over with already!”

You both look at each other and giggle. Fred leans back again and you watch him tilt his head back and let out a sigh. His chest rises and falls beneath that damned blue sweater, and you trace your fingertips over his knuckles. He lifts his head and smiles cheekily at you, like he knows what’s going on inside your head. Like he has any idea. And for once, you think he might be pretty close.

You practically tackle him to the bed, smiling against his mouth when he cradles your face in one hand and rests the other on your waist where your shirt had ridden up from the ruckus.

You pepper soft kisses over his blushing face, leaving faintly glossy lip prints on his cheeks and nose and forehead and a stray one on the column of his neck. He goes slack against the bed, satisfied and content and happy all because of you. But still, he lazily opens his eyes and grins mischievously and says:

“Took you long enough.”

You smack your hand against his chest just hard enough to warn him.

“Oh, you’re trouble, Weasley.”

He cups your hand against his warm chest and his smile ebbs from mischief to something not as easily recognized. Something that makes him shy and pink thanks to the girl who likes the freckles across the bridge of his nose in the summer and his hands even when they’re covered in mud. Love that makes him much less sane for the girl who might just be crazy for loving him back.

And all of it makes him hold your hand and lean up to kiss you one more time.

masterlist

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fluff #fluff #fanfic #hp universe #hp fandom #fred weasley x fem!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x gryffindor!reader #friends to lovers #best friends to lovers

[conceiteddemon]

Im thinking about the M9 and languages. like languages and what is spoken and how it can add so many little extra layers to the story, and how they can be used to show insights into the characters. Cause like

Molly Viciously Mocking someone sounding like hacking up a demonic hairball, undermined by Jester always giggling in the background. Then suddenly Molly is gone and Jester is hugging her mother who is kissing her forehead and switching out from infernal to common every other sentence and the nein realizing that Molly was just telling dick jokes and playground insults in the scariest voice he could manage. Jester canonically writing her journal in infernal (which I hope to see in the series because fiendish hell runes written in a kawaii style compete with hot pink glitter gel is something I think everyone needs).

Nott telling a Halfling in Halfling that she ‘had an accident’, and it seems more likely to be a translation error on her end than the truth. Nott shouting at goblins that ambush the Nein in simple, halting Goblin, especially compared to the sentences they fire back at her. Nott knocking on Edith’s door, suddenly speaking Halfling fluently as she hugs a little boy no one had known about.

Beauregard’s high school level, clumsy Halfling and Dwarvish morphing into her reading undercommon, her understanding Zemnian, her studying books written in several different languages as the series goes on.

Fjord being able to read some orcish phrases but consistently messing up the pronunciation, because he basically taught himself, afraid of getting caught learning it but more scared of getting caught not knowing it.

Caleb’s whole interrogation with the scourger, his conversation with Astrid and the political side conversations, juxtaposed with the soft demeanor when he speaks to himself about his parents and the past in his tower. Him canonically dropping his heavier accent whenever he speaks Zemnian.

Yasha, never speaking Abyssal, only reading and translating it, as opposed to having little conversations in celestial when prompted by Caleb, who wants to brush up on his knowledge.

Caduceus speaking in what sounds like normal ass common to plants and animals. Him chatting amicably with giants, stopping every once in a while to ask if he’s pronouncing a word right.

Essek muttering to himself in undercommon as he studies, teaching everyone a few words to be polite. Getting bullied into sharing more by Beau, who had to learn it somewhere, and he acts like it’s a great inconvenience for about three minutes before getting swept up in the joy of sharing knowledge, of teaching and learning, taking concepts and thoughts and ordering them into something neat, precise, definable.

#cr #critical role #the mighty nein #m9

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: no, you’re the monster

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: G

genre: angst. like super angst.

pairing: alastor x reader

summary: As the hotel has gained notoriety in Heaven, after more souls are redeemed, an idea of allowing those at the hotel to talk to their Heavenly family is put in place. The only thing is Alastor has never even once, tried to use it to talk to his mom. What’s the worse that can happen when he does use it as you offer the idea up to him?

As the hotel gained notoriety and after a few more souls had been redeemed, Heaven started to finally collaborate with Charlie on redeeming sinners. One of these ways was for sinners to have a weekly call via a special portal to talk with their loved ones up in heaven. Which Angel and Alastor likened to prison. Charlie didn’t care though because it was “progress”.

The idea though, was to create a connection in heaven that sinners would want to work towards. Most of the hotel patrons and staff used their calls weekly. You remember Angel’s first call talking to Molly as he cried realizing she was up there and hearing her sobbing, thanking him for protecting her in life. Encouraging him to do better so that she could hug him. Needless to say, after that call Angel gave up just about everything and really set forward on a path to redemption.

The only person in the whole hotel who hadn’t used these portals were yourself and Alastor. Your whole family had been awful to you save for your sister and she was still alive. You had checked. Alastor on the other hand, you had heard him mention his mom. He talked about her fondly and made her special jumbalaya on occasion. You figured that he would use the portals to talk to her, but he never did. So, one night when sleep was evading you again, you found a chance to ask as you were sitting in the lounge reading and everyone had gone to bed.

“Another late night where sleep’s tender hold evades you my dear?” Alastor said, appearing on the couch across from you. You jump a bit and chuckle.

“You know me too well Al.” You say and put your book down. “How was your day?” You ask him, as he materializes a book to read. You remember the first time you asked him how his day was, he asked you why you wanted to know. You had to explain you were being nice and it was something friends did. He questioned you on your use of the term friends but let it slide.

“It was well enough. I took a trip over to Cannibal Town. Rosie says hello.” He chuckled. He had introduced you to Rosie after you wouldn’t stop begging him to come with to Cannibal Town. You wanted to see more of the Pride Ring but it was scary, up until traveling to the hotel, you stayed in your apartment mostly. Except for work down the street. So, why wouldn’t you want to go to Cannibal town when you had scary dog privileges with Alastor?

“Awww, really? I love that. I’ll have to come with you over there soon, if you don’t mind of course.” You say, dog earring your book page so you don’t loose it. Alastor scoffs seeing you do that.

“Why you choose to ruin books is beyond me.” He mutters. “And of course you may, Rosie may have my head if I didn’t say yes.” You nod.

“How else am I supposed to save my place Alastor?” You ask him.

“With a bookmark.” He explains, conjuring one up and it floats over to you, his magic opens your book, smooths out the dog ear and then places the book mark near the spine. You roll your eyes.

“With how you treat books I am sure you are devastated to know that the library of Alexandria was burned to the ground.” You say, your voice monotone, closing the book.

“Absolutely devastated.” Alastor grins and then goes to reading his book. You sigh, and ready yourself to ask him the question you’ve been wanting to for a while.

“Hey Al?” You ask quietly.

“Hmm?” He murmurs not looking up from his book.

“Can I ask you a question, and you promise not to get mad at me?” You say. He looks up at you, his eyes scrutinizing you as he motions for you to continue.

“So, today was portal day for everyone. And I’ve seen everyone use the portal to talk to loved ones in Heaven, but I’ve never seen you use it. And the way you talk about your mom… Don’t you want to talk to her?” You ask, looking up and your eyes widening as a darkness falls on his face. “I’m sorry, I was just curious. I can leave you alone as I think I’ve overstepped.” You say starting to get up.

“Sit.” Alastor says, a tentacle appearing and pushing you back down. “You’re… fine. I just don’t think my darling mother wants to see her darling son… like this.” He says motioning to himself.

“But if she loved you and you her-“ You start, being cut off by Alastor.

“She was the only one to love me in life.” He whispered.

“Exactly.” You say and gently cross over to his couch sitting next to him. “Wouldn’t you think she’d want to see you again, regardless?” You say earnestly.

“Well, I suppose…” Alastor starts.

“And would it not help you to have a conversation with her?” You go on.

“I’m not being redeemed dear.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“No, I know your sentiments on that. But wouldn’t it be good to talk to her. Not to encourage redemption, but just to catch up?” You say. “If it were my sister, I would love that. I know when she dies I’ll be doing that, I don’t plan on being redeemed, because I want to stay here and help with the hotel. But I’d still want to hear her voice again.” Alastor sighs and looks off, you can see his jaw tighten.

“I apologize if I’ve prodded too much. I can go if you’d like.” Wanting to remind him you could give him space but a small part of you realizing this was good progress as he hadn’t freaked out on you yet. You celebrated the small victory.

“Maybe I will put my name down for next week my dear.” Alastor acquiesced.

“If you wanted to do it now while everyone is sleeping you can.” You smile and hold up the portal key. “The portals stay open until midnight. They started doing that because Charlie and Emily talk a lot.”

Alastor looked at you, his eyes wide. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can even leave the room if you’d like me to. Or we can wait it’s up to you.” Alastor breathes and it’s like watching a war be fought on someone’s face with the emotions running through his eyes.

“Would you stay with me?” He asks, sitting up and fixing his suit jacket and ears, taking a breath.

“Always.” You whisper and his eyes widen. He nods at you.

“You sure about this?” You ask one more time. “You can say no and I’ll forget we ever had this conversation.”

“No, go ahead.” Alastor breathes. You stand up and look forward. You place the key in the air turning it and hearing a click. As the portal opens, a directory is pulled up.

“What was your mom’s name?” You ask, waiting.

“E-Evangeline. Altruist.” Alastor says almost breathless. You find her and look back at Alastor.

“One more time, I’m making sure, you want to do this?” You ask holding your hand to him. He takes it and stands up.

“I wouldn’t have accepted if I wasn’t sure.” Alastor says shortly. Giving off his confident air but his eyes were unsure.

“Okay. I can pull the plug at anytime too. Just let me know.” You press the name and the screen brightens and then Evangeline comes into view. Alastor gasps, his eyes wide and his hand squeezes yours.

“Evangeline Altruist?” You ask as she looks down at you. The portal must have appeared on a table.

“Yes, who is this?” she asks confused. You explain what your name is and that this portal allows those in Hell to communicate with loved ones in heaven. You explain that there is someone who would like to talk to her and does she accept the call. She does and you step out of the way and motion for Alastor to step in frame. He breathes and slowly does so, seeing his mother for the first time in who knows how long. There’s a gasp from his mother as she murmurs out his name.

“Hi Mama.” He whispers. The radio effect gone and a southern sounding accent in his voice as he talks to her.

“Alastor, is that you? You’re in hell? Truly?” His mother cries.

“I-Yes I am. I do miss you dearly.” He says, looking almost ashamed, his ears pin back on his head.

“I had heard the rumors… But I never thought my boy… What have you done Alastor?” She asks, her face twisting. “I don’t even recognize you from the man you were. The man I knew.”

“Mama, please, I-“ Alastor starts his eyes desperate, as he flits over to you and back to his mom. Your own heart shattering. You hold out your hand and he grabs it like a life line.

“No. You are no son of mine. I do not recognize you.” Her voice turns cold, your eyes widen and Alastor’s eye brim with unshed tears. “After everything… this is what you become? A monster?” The disgust in her voice is unbearable as Alastor bows his head and tears fall silently down his cheeks. You on the other hand see red.

“Now, just a damn minute here.” You say stepping back into view and shielding Alastor, still holding his hand.

“This is none of your business, girl.” Alastor’s mother exclaims, anger in her eyes.

“It became my business when you decided to unleash your bullshit on your son with me here. This was my idea, having him come talk to you, because out of everyone here at the hotel, he hadn’t made any contact with the woman who he holds in such high regard. So i figured, you held him in the same regard.” You start and get cut off.

“I loved my son, in life and in death but what he has become is worst than Lucifer himself.” Evangeline continued on. You felt your hand shaking with the strength of Alastor’s quiet sobs.

“No. Nope. That’s where you are wrong. Alastor has worked at this hotel night and day to help people be redeemed. He protects this hotel from those that wish it harm, he protects the patrons and Lucifer’s daughter Charlie. He is genuine, and while he has made a numerous amount of wild missteps in life and in death, he is trying to be better. I see it, the staff at the hotel sees it, his friends see it. And if you choose not to know him or you care not to get to know him, that is entirely your loss. He is not the monster, you are.” You say as you pull out the key, and start to end the portal. “Don’t call for him either. If he decides he wants to actually talk to you again, it will be his choice.” You say as the portal closes and the last words you can hear are ‘I’m sorry.’

“A little too fucking late for that.” You murmur pocketing the key. You turn and your heart breaks seeing Alastor’s tears paired with a smile.

“You don’t have to smile with me you know that right? Nothing I know about you would I ever use as a weapon against you.” You say as you cross over to him slowly, looking for any signs that he didn’t want comfort. Even though you felt like the last person who should be allowed to do so as this was your idea. You reach up and caress his cheek, wiping away tears that continued to spill.

“Alastor, I am so so sorry.” You say, tears coming to your own eyes. “I should have never suggested… I am so sorry.” You say again, bringing him down as he willingly folds into your arms.

“Can you take us to your room?” You ask, knowing he would never let any show of real emotion happen out here. He nods and suddenly you’re in the middle of his bed that has been moved into the forest he added in his room. You gather him to you and he sobs, his head in the crook of your shoulder and neck, as he grips onto you for dear life. There’s something even more heart wrenching as all walls fall and you can hear his natural accent, no radio effect at all, through broken words of ‘I’m sorry’, ‘She hates me’ and ‘I’m a monster’. His shadows darkening the space and the one shadow that always followed him looking so distressed.

“Alastor, if she can’t see the good in you then that is her own blindness. Darling, I can see it. Charlie sees it. You have changed from when you first got here. Hurt people, hurt people. And I think you’ve been hurt for a long while. It’ll take time, but I ain’t going anywhere. You’re not a monster to me.” You assure him as his sobs somehow become even worse hearing you. You gently rock him back and forth, and look up at the sky he produced for the forest. A perfect replica of the night sky on Earth.

“When I was back on earth in my 20’s, my sister would get upset and would go out to the roof. Anytime I found her there, I’d hold her and tell her stories of the stars. Do you want me to do that?” You ask. Wanting to take Alastor’s mind off of everything. You feel him nod and you smile slightly, pressing a kiss to his head, feeling him stiffen at the affection and hug him tighter.

“So there’s this group of stars that makes up a virgin maiden that they named Virgo. Many people say that Virgo’s constellation represents Persephone, the daughter of the Greek Goddess Demeter. Persephone in some stories was kidnapped by Hades, Lord of the Underworld. Demeter’s grief at loosing her daughter, abandoned her post as Earth Goddess, which caused crops to wither and the earth to grow cold.” You recounted one of your sisters favorite tales. Feeling Alastor’s cries fade and his body relax. “Because of this Zeus ordered Persephone to be put back on Earth, but along her travels she mustn’t eat anything.” You continue, gently wiping the tears off Alastor’s face with your oversized shirt. He doesn’t protest and just looks up at you, his eyes rimmed red but the self hatred you saw before not as prominent. You smile at him while you finish. “That’s why Hades gave her six pomegranate seeds, which she ate. Meaning that she would spend six months of the year with Hades and six months with her mother.” You feel Alastor sigh, and you think this is when he will get up and pretend none of this happened, fortifying those walls again. That doesn’t happen. He draws you closer to him, his body laid over yours and his head resting on the left side of your chest where your heart was.

“Tell me another.” He requests, not looking up at you but looking out into the forest. You smile and glide your fingers through his hair, stopping to pet his ears every now and again as you begin telling the story of the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, astronomy stories being whispered well into the night until you both were fast asleep with a blanket Alastor had pulled up over you both.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor/reader #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor angst #alastor altruist

[thefreakandthehair]

February 14th, 1987

Eddie barely hears the quick knock, knock, knock on the front door of the trailer over his music: a Dio cassette cranked up to a soothing billion and five decibels. Funny enough, it’s a cassette that Steve had gifted him as part of a group Glad You Didn’t Die present when he left the hospital. Everyone from Corroded Coffin to Nancy Wheeler contributed something, but Steve made sure to get Dio. Eddie likes to think that maybe wearing his vest all that time rubbed off on Steve. 

He hardly registers it, but the knocking continues, a second round of three taps. Eddie sighs and does some quick mental calculations– Steve is on a date, Robin is with Nancy, Jonathan is with Argyle, and Lucas took Max to the movies. No one else has a license or is within walking distance, so unless one of the kids convinced Claudia Henderson to drop them off without warning, there’s only one logical explanation. 

“The Men in Black have finally come to throw me in the back of a van and drag me to their lab,” Eddie mutters to himself, dropping his pen onto the open journal and rolling off his bed. 

Knock, knock, knock, knock. 

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’, Jesus Christ.” He calls out as he makes his way to the door. The two-bedroom trailer is larger than their old one, the hallway longer from his room in the back. 

A cold chill slips in from the cracks around the door before he even gets to the doorknob, but his blood runs warm when he yanks it open. 

Steve Harrington, in his cozy red sweater, dark jeans, and perfectly fluffy, coiffed hair is standing on his doorstep with one hand on his hip. That one hand is gripping a bouquet of roses that match his jumper and for a brief moment, Eddie wonders if his journal has been lifted from a fantasy novel. What he’d just put into words on the page is now standing in front of him— what does one say to their fantasy showing up at their doorstep?

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Okay, maybe not that. But seriously, what in the name of Molly Ringwald is happening right now?

read the rest of been on fire, dreaming of you here on ao3!

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myfic #sweetandspicyexchange

[loveshotzz]

Happy Birthday Babe!!!! 💛💛💛

I have a question for you, one only you can answer. What's AIRWIY Steve doing on your birthday? I know he's a man who knows how to treat you right from the minute you wake up on your special day till you fall asleep - making it all about you ALL DAY 💛

ugh taylor!! how could you do this to me?!

18+ for smut below the cut (breeding kink)

airwiyolder!steve x fem!reader

He’d wake you up in the morning with soft kisses and bites between your thighs, waiting till your lashes flutter open before attaching his mouth to your cunt that’s already glistening for him. He takes your surprised gasp as encouragement when he licks into you, especially when your fingers tangle into his hair. The salt and pepper scruff in his jaw rubbing rough against the soft dough between your thighs when his fingers dig into your hips pulling you close as you fall over the edge for the first time today. Smirking when he lifts himself over your trembling body to press a soft kiss to your lips whispering “Happy Birthday, tough girl.”

He would already have ordered your favorite breakfast from your favorite bakery in the west loop, bringing it to you in bed with the first of three cheesy birthday cards (they are his favorite) always signed by him, Bandit and Molly. Breakfast would be followed by the kind of sex in the shower that has your back against the sliding glass door and your leg hooked over his hip. Foreheads pressed together, brows furrowing with every slow roll of his hips, jaw going slack as he watches himself get sucked back into the greedy velvet of your walls, losing himself when you tell him to cum inside. It was supposed to be your birthday.

A walk with the dogs down your favorite path along the lake takes up the rest of your afternoon , followed by lunch in your backyard where he tells you not to fuss over your new garden that’s starting to bloom when he hands you the second card with a wet kiss on the lips.

Your spend the early evening at the grocery store where he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you while the two of you shop for ingredients for him to cook your favorite dinner. Caging you in from behind while you push the cart, big hands on top of yours so you can’t escape. Whispering jokes and sweet nothings into your ear making you shiver every single time.

It’s lots of wine, rich foods and delicious cake at dinner and a third card that has you giggling harder than the rest of them. Dinner ends with the kind of sex that has you both babbling, love drunk off each others bodies. Dirty promises, that make you both shudder. He’d have you on your back, with one leg pushed up hooked over his shoulder getting deeper than you ever thought possible. The snap of his hips more determined, dark eyes covered by heavy lids as he looks down at the way he has you writhing underneath him. Nails scrape harsh red lines down his freckled back as you arch into him needing more despite it being impossible for him to give it. But when you mutter “Wanna make you a Dad Steve” with the kind of look in your eye that tells him you mean it, he loses all self control.

It was suppose to be your birthday.

#taylor my girlfriend #all i really want is you series #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #older!steve #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

I Can’t Stand It

Rosie’s tantrum in the park, reminds Sherlock of his own childhood. It’s strange that so much of what the little girl says and does resonates with him.

“She’s not yours,” several voices inside his head tells him.

Still, he can’t shake off the feeling of being something more to her than just…what is he exactly to her? She calls him Lock; he calls her Watson. He desperately wants her to call him something else, which he only allows himself to think about when he’s alone.

“I can’t stand it, daddy!” Rosie exclaims and stomps her feet.

“But, sweetheart,” John tries to reason with his four-year-old daughter. “You were perfectly fine eating this last week.”

Rosie rolls her eyes and throws her arms in the air. Sherlock can see that John’s mouth twitches slightly as he’s supressing a smile. Sherlock hears his mother’s voice filled with delight in his mind.

“She’s so much like you sometimes, darling.”

“There are big pieces in it,” Rosie explains to John. “I want smooth ice cream.”

John looks over at Sherlock for help, but Sherlock has long ago decided to never lie to John again. He shrugs apologetically at mutters something under his breath.

“What was that, Sherlock?” John inquires, his tone exasperated now.

“It’s quite normal for children her age to change tastes and react to new textures. I was the same.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not…”

“I know, John!” Sherlock snaps. “You and everyone we know keeps telling me that.”

He turns on his heel and walks briskly out of the park. Behind him the two Watsons call after him, begging him to come back but he can’t. Sherlock can live with everyone else claiming that he’s not Rosie’s father, but it hurts when John joins the choir. Of course, Sherlock knows he has no biological connection to her, but he’s raising her together with John, isn’t he? She comes just as willingly to him as to John. 

“Protect your heart, brother mine,” Mycroft told him after John and Rosie moved to Baker Street, and not for the first time. His brother knew that Sherlock’s heart belonged to John and had for a very long time.

***

Where are you? I’m sorry, Sherlock. We need to talk. Are you coming home soon?

Sherlock’s heart races in his chest when he reads John’s text. He barely registers the apology. All his brain is capable of is trying to deduce what John wants to talk about.

Are they moving out? Does John want him to spend less time with Rosie? Won’t he be allowed to do children safe experiments with her anymore?

He pulls his hair in frustration. Why is it so hard to figure out what John wants? Sherlock’s able to read anyone but John. Why?

“Hi, Sherlock. I didn’t know you were here,” Molly says when she walks into the lab at Barts.

“I’m leaving,” Sherlock tells her and walks rapidly out of the room.

***

Sherlock stands and watches the Thames float by. The London Eye is coloured in pink in the far distance. It’s getting dark and he’s got no recollection of the last hours. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he suddenly remembers that he’s forgotten to answer John’s text.

“A bit not good, Sherlock,” John’s voice scolds him.

Can I call you? Rosie wants to say goodnight.

Sherlock feels his face soften. The Watsons are probably still at Baker Street then. He doesn’t hesitate but calls John’s number.

John’s voice sounds relieved when he picks up, but it’s tinted with worry.

“Hi. You alright?” he asks.

“Fine,” Sherlock says, and it comes out more clipped than he intended.

John sighs and apparently gives the phone to Rosie.

“Lock!” the little girl exclaims.

“Hello, Watson. Ready for bed?” Sherlock inquires softly.

“Yes. Tired,” she tells him and yawns.

Sherlock feels his throat thicken, and he must swallow hard and close his eyes to keep his tears at bay. Without thinking he uses the endearment only Rosie has heard.

“Goodnight, my heart.”

“Night, Lock. See you tomorrow,” Rosie slurs, clearly almost asleep.

Sherlock ends the call before John gets a chance to ask him humiliating questions. The sharp intake of breath from John when Sherlock bid Rosie goodnight didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’ve ruined it now, Holmes,” he tells himself.

***

Aldi is still open, and Sherlock buys two boxes of ice cream for Rosie without any pieces of fruit, berries, crunch, chocolate or other abominations.

He takes a deep breath before locking himself into Baker Street, and he ascends the stairs silently. John sits in his chair, reading one of his medical journals. Sherlock just nods and walks to the kitchen with his purchases. He places the boxes in the freezer before walking to the bathroom.

“Sherlock?” John calls after him.

“Shower,” Sherlock answers.

The shower does wonders, and Sherlock feels quite refreshed and relaxed when he puts on a t-shirt, pyjamas bottoms and his maroon dressing gown. John stands just outside Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock startles a bit.

“Everything alright?” he asks. “Watson?”

“She’s fine, Sherlock. Soundly asleep. I just want to apologise properly to you. I was way out of line earlier. No, Sherlock, listen. I need to say this. Please.”

John’s expression is pained, and Sherlock doesn’t know what’s to come next. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

“I know it’s no excuse that I was exhausted and sleep deprived, but that’s the defence I have, and it’s appalling to say the least. Rosie…she is…just as much yours as she is mine. You care for her just like any parent. She loves you, we both do, and…”

“John?” 

Sherlock’s voice is trembling, and he feels his balance is about to fail him. Warm and steady hands are placed on his upper arms and when John speaks again, his voice is warm with affection.

“Forgive me. Please?”

Sherlock just nods and lets himself melt in John’s embrace.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @raina-at @peanitbear @topsyturvy-turtely @7-percent @ninasnakie

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #rosie watson #johnlock #parentlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #FFF244 #critical ice cream

[suzukiblu]

Ship~ Super Dead Tired (Danny/Tim/Kon) Prompt~ Naptime!

“Do we know where either Jackie or Mollie are?” Danny asks with a frown, looking around the empty-feeling apartment. "Or Tim?"

“I mean, yeah,” Kon says, giving him a funny look from the couch as he half-lowers his game controller. “I can hear them.” 

“Where do you hear them, though?” Danny asks. 

“. . . hey for no reason in particular I’ll be right back,” Kon says, then drops his controller and disappears in a blur of super-speed. Danny doesn’t even have time to groan before he’s back, a slightly flustered-looking and dripping-wet Red Robin under one arm, a delighted six year-old in the other, and an equally delighted four year-old sitting on his shoulders. And “slightly flustered-looking” on Tim means–

“Please tell me you dealt with the immediate world-ending crisis and didn’t just grab them and go,” Danny says. Kon just dumps all three of them on him with a sheepish grin and disappears into another blur without a word. 

Figures. 

“Again! Again!” Jackie cries gleefully, throwing his hands up in the air. 

“Again!” Mollie cheers too. 

“Batman’s not going to like this,” Tim mutters under his breath, already pulling out his wrist computer as he drips all over the carpet. Danny looks at the ceiling and suffers. 

“We were supposed to settle down when we had the kids,” he reminds him. “That was a very clearly-communicated requirement of us having the kids!” 

“I understand your concerns and I want to address them, but can we maybe have this conversation after you go help Kon deal with the giant squid in the harbor?” 

“. . . squid as in one squid, or . . .” 

“The Humboldt squid has been known to move in shoals of up to twelve hundred members. Also, they have barbed suckers.” 

“Of course they do,” Danny grumbles as the kids cheer again. “Fine. You put Jackie and Mollie down for their naps, and I’ll go save our idiot husband.” 

“. . . I would actually rather fight the squid, if you don’t mind.” 

“Then maybe you should’ve settled down better!”

#super dead tired #danny fenton #kon el #conner kent #tim drake #superboy #dc robin #dpxdc #rinfic #ladykarmastrikeblog

[lunamadhatter99]

Charm

Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

I was inspired.

If you want to be tagged in future Charlie work... let me know

@once-upon-an-imagine here's your tag.

Summary: time to meet the family.

Warnings: none. Too much cuteness.

"I don't think I can do this," I mutter as I lay down on the bed, with Charlie standing next to me.

"Yes, you can," he reassures me, with a gentle tapping on my leg, "They're gonna love you!"

"No, they won't," I complain.

"Well... your family loved me, and I, too, was scared! Yet it went well!" He tries to make me reason.

I look up at him, sitting up straight, staring into his eyes.

"You got it easier. You had to charm two people, my mom and my grandfather, " I say, holding up two fingers, "I have to charm 8 people!"

Charlie simply smiles at me, so sweetly I could just melt on the spot of I wasn't so terrified. He moves his hand to cup my cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb.

"Love, my absolute, gorgeous, funny, cute, love of my life, perfect reason of my existence" he starts making hard for me to hold a giggle at his antics "You can charm a whole Great Hall at Hogwarts without even trying. No effort, everyone at your feet."

I roll my eyes but can't help but chuckle again.

"No, don't you roll those pretty eyes at me, young lady! It's true, " he laughs, too."You have nothing to worry about. I promise you!"

"But..."

"Nooooooooo!" He pouts."Nope. Shush. They already love you and.."

"You told them about me!?" I widen my eyes, and I lay back down trying to hide under the covers.

"Love?" I hear him laughing softly."Love, c'mon out."

I sit up again.

"Of course I told them about you. You are the love of my life, I had to talk about you." He laughs again, holding my hands in his."They can't wait to meet you, and they already love you, "

I sigh deeply. I look up at him, trying to find any sign of mockery, but, unfortunately for me, I don't find any.

"Fine," I whine. "Fine, we'll go see your family,"

"Yes!" He cheers, standing up, taking me with him and hugging me. "They're gonna love you, sweetheart."

"Yeah... yeah, alright." I wave him off and just get to work and prepare my bags.

------------

"You're okay, love, you're fine." Charlie caresses my back as we walk closer to his childhood's home.

"Yeah... I know... I am..." I stutter out, breathing heavily.

"You're shaking," he informs me. "Okay, hey. Look at me. "

He stops me and turns me to look at him.

"Yes?"

"Breath." He breathes in and waits for me to do the same.

I take a deep breath and mimic him.

"In and out. Good girl, " he smiles.

"Let's get it over with, " I almost beg.

He grabs my hand, and together, we walk to the front door.

Charlie knocks once, and the door is already opening, revealing a short red-haired woman with the biggest smile on her face I've ever seen. She must be Charlie's mother.

"Charlie!" She exclaims quickly, hugging Charlie.

"Hi, mom," he says, hugging her back, "I can't breathe, mom." He chuckles breathlessly.

She lets him go and turns to me.

"Aw, and you must be Y/n. It's so nice to finally meet you, my dear" she coos.

"So nice meeting you, Mrs Weasley." I hold my hand out to shake her hand, but she quickly moves it and cages me in a big hug.

"Just call me Molly, dear," she says, letting me go, "C'mon, let's go inside."

"See? Nothing to worry about, " Charlie whispers to me as we get into the house.

"Just one out of eight." I take a breath as I'm led into what I think is the living room.

"Charlie!" A red-haired girl runs up to Charlie, giving him a quick hug, "finally!"

She doesn't look much older than thirteen, I think.

"C'mon, we're not that late!" Charlie defends himself."By the way, Ginny, this is Y/n, my girlfriend, "

"Hi," I timidly wave at her.

She looks at me for a second, then smiles brightly and turns to her brother.

"She's too pretty for you, Char," she teases, and I can't help but laugh a little at that.

"It's so nice to be home," Charlie sighs sarcastically. "Don't laugh!" He turns to me to shove me a little.

"I'm sorry, love," I say, holding his hand.

" 'love' ? You two are so cute, " Ginny exclaims.

"Look who finally decided to join us," a voice calls.

"You took your time," another voice speaks.

I look up and see two identical red heads coming up to us.

"Love? These two are Fred and George." He introduces us. "Don't trust them," he adds in a whisper.

"Hey!" They say together.

"That's rude!"

"Very rude, brother," one of them comes in front of me, taking my hand. "Don't listen to him. We are not that bad," he kisses my hand.

"Right. We are true gentlemen. " The other one moves his twin out of the way to kiss my hand, too.

"Yeah... ask Ron what they did to his teddy bear when he was younger, " Charlie accuses.

"What..?" I say with a small giggle.

"Are you sure you want him?"

"You can still back down, you know."

"Alright, leave her alone!" Charlie laughs and leads me further into the room with the rest of his family.

"Hello, everyone." He waves at everyone."This is Y/n, my girlfriend, "

"Hello, it's a pleasure being here." I wave too and look at all the faces.

"Oh, my dear girl, we finally meet you. Charlie told us so much about you. " A tall man stands up from the couch to get closer. "I'm Arthur. Charlie's father"

"Oh, pleasure to meet you, Mr Weas-"

"Arthur, please. You're family now, no need for formalities, " he says, sending me a smile that I return, then he's off to the kitchen, probably to help his wife.

"Alright, that one there is Bill," Charlie points at a long-haired man sitting on the couch.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi, lovely," he smiles.

"Don't flirt with my girlfriend, thanks," Charlie complains.

"I just said 'hi,' " Bill defends himself, raising his hands up in the air.

"I'm Ron," a much younger boy stands up and walks to us, I was just in time to notice he was pushed by a brunette sitting beside him.

"Nice to meet you," I shake his hand.

"I'm Hermione Granger, Ronald's friend." The girls stand up as well.

"I'm Y/n L/n," I say, shaking her hand as well. "Wait... Granger?" I ask, and she nods."Are your parents dentists? Or maybe a relative is?"

"Yeah. My parents" she smiles gently.

"My parents used to take me to them, I think, when I was younger!" I explain.

"Really?"

"Yes, I remember them being so nice. I was never scared," I laugh. " they're still working, I hope,"

"Oh yes, they are," she answers.

"It's so nice to hear this."

"Oh, Harry. Hi, " Charlie greets, so I look past Hermione to see a boy with glasses walking in.

"Hey, Charlie. How are you?" He asks.

"I'm great, hey, this is my girlfriend Y/n."

"Hey," I say, going to shake his hand, and while doing this, I notice a scar on his face.

Oh..

"I'm Harry," he simply says.

"Nice to meet you." I smile gently at him.

"Dinner is ready!" Molly screams from the kitchen.

"Finally!" Ron exclaims.

"How are you always hungry?" Hermione asks as she follows everyone into the kitchen.

Harry sends me an amused smile and walks away.

"Wait..." I say, holding Charlie's hand. "I met your parents, 2, I met your little sister, 3, the twins 5, Ron, 6, Bill, 7... Hermione and Harry are not your siblings... isn't anyone missing?" I ask, confused.

"Yeah... I don't think Percy's gonna join us. Too busy at the ministry, " he says, almost defeated, so I decide not to press the subject.

"Oh... okay... it's alright. " I smile at him." C'mon, can't wait to finally taste your mom's food. "

We arrive in the kitchen, and there are two open seats left... on opposite sides.

"C'mon, dear, come sit here." Molly jokes, pointing at the seat next to Ginny but still close to her.

"You'll be fine," Charlie whispers to me before going to sit next to his father.

I take a seat, Ginny is on my left, Molly on hers, on my right sit Hermione and in front of me there's Bill.

"Free yourself for a bit." Bill jokes, catching Charlie's attention.

"How about you sit here, brother?" Charlie offers, pointing at where Harry is sitting, in front of him.

"Charlie, behave" Arthur scolds his son, who simply sit, but I can sense he's keeping an eye on his brother, all while everyone is laughing and just goes back and their own business.

"Now, dear, tell me all about it." Molly starts as she puts a generous slice of shepherd's pie on my plate. "How did you two meet?"

"Oh," I nervously laugh. "Well.."

"Mom, don't make her nervous," Ginny says to her mother.

"No, no, it's fine, really," I reassure them. "I... well, I had just finished my seventh year at Hogwarts and"

"You too were at Hogwarts. How nice!" She comments, that huge gentle smile always on her face.

"Yes, but I've always been very quiet, so I don't think he has ever actually noticed me before we met there, actually," I say.

"Weasleys are louder by nature," Ginny assures me, smiling too.

"He sure is. Anyway, I had finished my last year and I wanted to take a year for myself, after my father's death it's been kind of hard, helping at home when I wasn't at Hogwarts and... yeah, I wanted to paint magical creatures, so I travelled all the way to Romania."

"You paint?" Bill asks, and I nod."Oh wow, you will have to show us some of your work, "

"Yeah, maybe next time I'll bring some." I smile at him.

"Go on," Ginny urges. She looks at me with dreamy eyes.

"I arrive in this camp, and I was almost expecting and hoping they could show me more accurate pictures of dragons to take inspiration from. At first, I found this, I have to say, very rude man, asking me constantly why I was there and why I was bothering them. He also almost threw away the drawing I was showing him to explain why I was there.

"What?! Please tell me Charlie arrived to tell him something, " Ginny exclaims.

"Uhm... no." I laugh softly."No, I spent, I think, a good hour and a half dealing with this man, "

"Oh poor thing," Molly sighs. "And then?"

"I managed to get onto the camp and look at some pictures and drawings, and I started to paint something. So I'm sitting there, painting quietly when suddenly something fell right beside me. Or someone fell right beside me. " I laugh at the memory.

"Really?" Bill asks very amused by his brother's first impression.

"Yes. Not only did he scare me, but he fell on my oil paint, getting it all over him. Especially on his face."

"Oh, that would've been such a great view," Bill laughs.

"It was," I confirm.

"And then?" Ginny asks.

"Then he started to apologise, profusely, saying he would've bought back all the water paint. But I assured him he didn't need to, since my grandfather owed a shop with all the materials I needed."

"Oh my dear boy," Molly tries to hold back the laughter but fails.

"We started to talk, and once I told him I wanted to paint a dragon... well.. that same night, he sneaked me back into the camp and let me meet one of the dragons there. I painted, and he sat there watching me the whole time."

"Awe." Ginny sighed, still that dreamy look on her.

"I hope he's been a gentleman since then," Molly says.

"He is, I promise. He's really great, I can promise you, you did a great job. " I smile at her, and she just waves me off, but I know my words meant a lot.

---------------

We spent the rest of the dinner talking about everything else. I got to talk with Hermione about her parents and about being a muggle-born and the fact that Ron, Harry and her are aboutto start their fourth year, I also got to talk with Ginny about Quidditch and with Bill about his job as curse-breaker at the Bank.

I was having a really good time with everybody that I didn't notice it was getting late.

As everybody is going to bed, Charlie walks up to me, takes my hand, and leads me outside.

"So?" He asks.

"What?" I ask back.

"It went well," he grins.

"Shut up!" I laugh, covering my eyes, feeling embarrassed.

"They love you! I knew it. " I feel him hugging me tightly.

"Yeah, fine, you win. I was scared for nothing, " I say, pushing him away, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back to him.

"Exactly." He keeps grinning.

"They wanted to know about how we've met," I tell him.

"Oh, merlin... now Bill's gonna make fun of me for the rest for my life, " he laughs defeated.

"Sorry, but your sister was so into the story and had that dreamy look on her face..." I explain.

"It's alright, love," he kisses my nose. " I'm happy you felt at home with them. I'm not sure about Bill, but I can't kick him out. "

"Don't be mean," I laugh. "You know I have my eyes on you, only you,"

"I know." He smiles proudly.

"He does have great hair," I murmur.

"What?" He widens his eyes, and I laugh, bringing him in for a kiss.

"Your hair is not so bad either, don't worry,"

He laughs with me, holding me close to him, stroking my sides lovingly.

"You know," he says after a moment. "You were wrong earlier,"

"Uh?"

"I did notice you when we were at Hogwarts," he says, and I let out a gentle laugh, earning a confused look.

"How could you?" I say .I was three years younger than you, and I was... like... very quiet, Charlie. I'm not mad, if that's what you're thinking. " I smile at him to reassure him.

"You liked to paint in the astronomy tower" he starts "you came to the Quidditch matches, yes, but you sat as far as possible so you weren't getting in people's way and they not in yours. You always ate sitting as close as possible to the doors in the Great Hall. And..."he kisses my nose again,"and you drew a new creature for Hagrid every week. "

I look at him confused. How does he know all of this?

"How?" I finally ask.

"Told you. I did notice you, " he smiles.

"But why did you say anything?" I chuckle.

"I don't know, honestly. I guess with me moving to Romania, I didn't want you to feel like I was abandoning you or feel like you had to follow me... I didn't want to break our hearts. " he lets out a nervous chuckle. "It sounds stupid now... seeing how we turned out"

"A little." I chuckle too, "better late than never, people say. Right?"

"Right," he agrees, I kiss him softly. "I love you,"

"I love you too, Charlie." I move my hand to caress his cheek, and he leans into my touch.

"Aaww!" We hear from above us.

We look up in time to see Ginny watching us from an open window and then being dragged inside by Hermione.

"Sorry," she says apologetically before disappearing into the house.

Charlie and I look at each other, laughing.

"Alright, c'mon. Let's go get some sleep, my love. " Charlie leads me back inside.

"Let's," I agree as I follow him.

It did go well after all.

#charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley fic #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #weasley #harry potter imagine #wizarding world #charlie weasley x y/n #charlie weasley fluff

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 33 The Epilogue | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Some things never seem to change for Bradley. But maybe he worked at keeping them the same. Baseball, Everett and you.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Seventeen and a half years later...

"Happy birthday, Coach," you whispered, slowly coaxing Bradley awake. He could feel your warm breath on his cheek and the weight of your hand resting on his chest. 

"Mmm, Kitten," he rasped, placing his bigger hand on top of yours as he cracked his eyes open. And there you were, fresh from sleep yourself, and so beautiful with the early morning sunlight catching on the angles of your face. "It's Sunday. Why won't you let me sleep in?"

"Because it's your birthday. And we get to see Ev."

Bradley stretched and rolled over so you were pinned deliciously underneath him. "We won't get to see Ev until later this afternoon. He's going to have a very busy day."

"I'm not so sure about that," you said with a smirk as you dragged your fingers through his hair. Bradley knew he was going gray, but you claimed you liked it, including the few stray strands that found their way into his mustache. 

"You sound like you've got something up your sleeve. Wait, Molly's not coming over to break the stove again, is she?"

You started laughing as you wrapped your legs around his. "Not that I know of. But anything's possible with her."

"Poor Bob," he said, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "And the kids, too. She's an absolute menace." 

Bradley pulled up your shirt and kissed his way along your breasts. If he was lucky, he'd get round one of birthday sex now and round two tonight after the game.

"Wait," he whined as you tugged your shirt back down. "What are you doing? It's my birthday."

"Yes," you agreed, kissing him once and then slipping right out of bed. "And I've been told I need to keep you on a very strict schedule. So come on. Get up."

"A strict schedule?" he mumbled. "Baby, I'm retired. My schedule revolves around making you breakfast, packing your lunch, coaching tee ball, and watching every single Phillies game."

"Well, I'll be making your breakfast today. And you can eat nachos or a hot dog for lunch even though you should be watching your sodium intake. And we will definitely catch the Phillies game," you said, reaching out to take his hand. 

With one more groan, he let you lead him downstairs where you told him to sit at the kitchen counter. He passed his display case on the way and paused to look at his first Coach of the Year trophy and the baseball covered in little faded hearts that he used to propose to you. He smiled at the collection of other baseballs, including the one from the first time his son pitched a no hitter. 

"Seriously, Bradley. We have a schedule to keep."

A few minutes later he had his World's Greatest Dad mug full of coffee in front of him. You kept checking the time as you pulled eggs and vegetables out of the refrigerator. Once 8:00 hit, you grabbed his phone from where it sat on the counter and entered his passcode as he sipped his coffee.

"Read this," you said, voice full of excitement. 

"What is it?" he asked as you thrust the phone into his hands. It looked like he was going to have absolutely no say over what went on today, so he was just going to go with the flow.

"An article. In the Philadelphia Inquirer. It just got released two minutes ago."

"Okay," he muttered, setting down his coffee and as he started to read.

WILL SEASON FOUR BE AS LUCKY AS ONE, TWO, AND THREE?

by Harrison Boyd

June 27, 2039

From his draft day nearly four years ago to now, Everett Bradshaw has been turning heads. We had collectively wondered as baseball fans from the City of Brotherly Love if we would ever have a truly elite pitcher again after Ronson's career ending injury. But as soon as the franchise acquired Bradshaw, we were allowed to stop wondering. We have reached elite status once again. And Bradshaw shows no signs of stopping. 

When I asked the freshly twenty five year old ace about the secret to his success, the first thing out of his mouth was, "My dad."

Bradley rubbed his eyes with his fingers and took a deep breath against the swell of emotions rising in his chest. "Kitten, what is this?"

You just shrugged as you cut up a green pepper for an omelette. "A feature article on Ev. Keep reading."

Bradley took a deep breath and picked up where he left off.

So I asked him, "Was your dad the one at your games who was cheering the loudest? The one who kept you motivated since you were a kid?"

"Not exactly," Bradshaw replied with a smile. "He was my very first coach. He actually still coaches tee ball in San Diego. He wins Coach of the Year so frequently, I think we've all lost count of how many of those little trophies he has at home. But anyway, I met my dad on the very first day I ever played ball. The very first time I swung a bat with instruction was from him. And he's the one who taught me how to pitch. His slider is still really hard to hit."

"You met your dad through tee ball? Through baseball? That's fascinating."

"Yes. I begged my mom to let me play. I was already obsessed with the Phillies by the time I was six. My mom took me to see them clobber the Padres at Petco Park, and I just thought they were the coolest team. So when she let me play tee ball, and I met my coach and learned he also loved the Phillies, I just wanted to spend as much time with him as I could. Turns out, they also wanted to spend time with each other. They got married a few months later. And then my dad adopted me."

While his birth name wasn't Bradshaw, Everett said he never had a close relationship with his biological father. "Really, he's not even worth mentioning. The only one I've ever considered to be my dad is Bradley. I can barely remember a time before he was taking me to the park to hit balls and teaching me how to keep stats. We did my homework together and collected baseball cards. He helped me apply to colleges. The video of him losing his mind when the Phillies drafted me went viral. My mom and my aunt and uncle are awesome, too. But my dad has always understood me in a way probably nobody else ever will."

During his four years at Vanderbilt, Everett earned a reputation as a fun loving, team oriented pitcher. But his stats were enough to catch the eye of every major league team. He pitched a no hitter against Stanford when he was nineteen, and he hit his first grand slam when he was twenty. And he's only cleaned up his form since then. For anyone not keeping track at home, Bradshaw already owns an incredible record in the MLB: he is the only player to pitch a no hitter as well as hit at least one grand slam for every year they played in the pros. His batting averages are practically unheard of for a pitcher. 

It's no wonder he was heavily scouted. And he assures us that his dad was there with him every step of the way. "I didn't know anything about contracts. I just wanted to pitch. But I spent a lot of time talking things through with my dad before I made any decisions. And now everyone is making a huge fuss about my new 440 million dollar ten year extension with the Phils, but to be honest, I still just want to pitch as many games as I can."

The 'huge fuss' is being made, because Bradshaw is now the highest paid pitcher in league history. The Phillies went all in on him, however Bradshaw did adjust his deal to assure that the team would be able to keep top catcher Sanchez as well. "If Miguel Sanchez isn't catching for me and the other guys in the rotation, then that's a big problem. The team needed to retain him as well. And to be honest, Harrison, nobody needs 440 million dollars."

Bradley set his phone down, rubbed his eyes, and said, "I still can't believe our son is the highest paid pitcher ever."

"I can," you replied, adding cheese to the omelette. "He's incredible. Keep reading."

When I asked him what he plans to do with 44 million dollars per year, he kind of shied away from the answer at first. "Well my girlfriend runs a nonprofit organization back in San Diego. She helps fund underprivileged children and schools. So a lot of my income goes back to kids in the city where I grew up and beyond. But I've also been working on a bit of a project myself."

When I asked him for more details, he folded his hands on the table in front of him and took a few beats to answer. "We talked a lot about my dad and what he means to me personally, and how he has impacted my career. But I also think it's important to remember that I'm just one guy. I'm just one kid who went through tee ball and little league. There are thousands of kids across the country who benefit from those types of athletic programs every year. And some of them, just like me, really need the positive influence that the coaches bring. So my dad doesn't even know about this yet, but I'm starting the Bradley Bradshaw Foundation, which will help fund a handful of youth tee ball programs every year. This is something I've been thinking about for a long time. The coaches bring the love and dedication; they shouldn't have to worry about equipment costs and field rental fees."

Bradley dropped his phone onto the counter and tried to wipe his eyes as he sobbed. "I can't even finish reading it."

You slid his birthday breakfast onto a plate and set it in front of him. Then you wrapped your arms around his neck and let him cry against your shoulder. 

"Why is he doing this?" Bradley asked you. "He knows how fucking emotional I get, Kitten."

You kissed the top of his head and whispered, "Yes, you're always very soft for us. But you're also soft and sweet for all the kids you've coached. Keep reading."

So he pushed his breakfast aside and picked up his phone once again. And once he blinked away most of his tears he read the last part.

When pressed about how he thinks his stats will pan out by the end of his fourth season, Everett 'Grand Slam' Bradshaw laughed and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just trying for consistency. I'm trying to be a good teammate. I'm trying to make the best of every game I get to start. I'm trying to spend as much time with my family as I can. But if you really have a specific question about my stats, you should call my dad. He probably knows better than I do."

Bradley stood up from the kitchen counter and walked away from you. "I need a minute," he said, raking his hands through his hair. The love Bradley felt for his son was just simply part of him. He never took the time to try to pinpoint it exactly, because it was just built into him at this point. But he supposed it really was quite simple to reach back in his mind and pull out the moments when he started to fall in love with you and Everett. And it really was just because of the Tiny Eagles tee ball team. 

If he hadn't agreed to help Bob coach that first season, his life would be fundamentally incorrect right now. He didn't even like thinking about it. But it was because of his love for Everett, and you, and baseball that he stuck with coaching. He'd spent time with countless six and seven year olds over the last eighteen years. He'd missed some practices and games for deployments here and there, sure. But giving a little bit of his time and attention to a roster of kids each spring ended up changing his life. Because while his family owned his heart, Bradley found he had quite a lot of patience and love to share with more kids. 

"Bradley?" you asked softly, standing next to his untouched breakfast. "We can go see Ev when you're ready."

"I'm ready."

Bradley took a quick shower and put on his favorite jeans and his Phillies jersey with Bradshaw and the number 1 on the back. You were dressed similarly in your own Everett Bradshaw jersey; it had taken until your son was playing for the team for you to have what Bradley considered an adequate amount of Phillies clothing in your drawers. Once Bradley added his backwards hat, he was ready to go.

You took his hand and led him out to the new Bronco, and Bradley handed you the keys. He still felt like he was on the verge of tears again. "I need you to drive."

"Okay, Coach."

When you turned onto the Private Parking Only ramp at Petco Park, Bradley chuckled. "I still can't believe Ev is playing the Padres in San Diego on my birthday."

"You screamed like a small child when the schedule came out," you reminded him as you parked near the players entrance where the three of you had entered on your ballpark tour eighteen years ago. 

"Yeah, I know, but we hardly ever get to see Ev during the season unless we fly to Philly." He was already climbing out before you turned the engine off, and then he took your hand as you laughed. "Shit, Kitten... it's 10:00. The game doesn't start until 1:00. Are the gates even open?"

"We can get in," you assured him, and you pulled a lanyard out of your pocket with VIP printed all over it. 

"How did we get that?" he asked, leaning down to kiss you as you approached the gate together. "Ev usually just sends us box tickets."

But before you had a chance to answer, the security guard looked at the VIP pass and asked, "Which player are you here to see?"

"Everett Bradshaw?" you replied. "He plays for the Phillies."

The guard's face lit up and he said, "He just autographed a ball for my kids about ten minutes ago! Nicest guy."

"He's our son," Bradley said with pride in his voice, and you squeezed his hand a little tighter. 

"Come on in," the guard said with a bright smile, unlocking the gate and sliding it open. "You can wait in the VIP lounge right up this ramp to the right. Scan the pass to unlock the door. I'll call down to the locker rooms and let him know you're here."

"Thanks," Bradley replied, and you led the way up the ramp. "Baby, I'm still a little confused about why we're here so early."

"You'll see in a minute," you replied, scanning the badge. Bradley pulled the door open when it unlocked, and he followed you into the lounge full of plush seats, TV screens, and refreshments. And at the far end, perched on the edge of one of the long tables, was Everett. He was smiling as he tucked his phone in his jeans pocket, and Bradley thought he looked impossibly taller and stronger than he had two months ago when they visited him in Philadelphia.

Bradley's eyes filled with tears as he started closing the distance to his son. "Happy birthday, Dad," Everett said with a laugh in his deep voice, but Bradley was already wrapping him up in a tight hug. He just wanted to hold all six foot two inches and two hundred and twenty pounds of his son, and Everett let him. 

Bradley had to fight the onslaught of tears as the familiar feel of Ev hugging him back filled his senses, and the words from the article he read earlier flooded his mind. When he finally released him, he patted him on the shoulder. "You look good, Kiddo. Did you eat enough for breakfast? Are you still starting today?"

Ev smiled at him and nodded, "Yeah, I'm feeling good, Dad. I could probably use some of your pancakes though."

"Well why didn't you say something? I could have brought some with us. Kitten, why didn't you say something?" he asked you as you walked over to join them.

As Everett gave you an enormous hug as well, he said, "I'm thinking about sleeping over at the house with you guys tonight, since I'm not starting tomorrow. You can make me about a dozen pancakes tomorrow morning. Hi, mom."

You kissed his cheek and adjusted his backward Phillies cap. "I like your hair this way. You look so handsome, Ev.

"Of course he does," Bradley agreed. "He looks like you." And then he was rewarded with the twin smiles that you and Everett bestowed on him at the same time. "Listen, if you're coming back to the house later, I need to stop and get groceries. You ate everything in the refrigerator and drank all my beer last time."

Everett just smiled at him. "Damn, I really do miss your pancakes."

"Ev, that's an adult word," you scolded.

"Mom. I am an adult," he scolded back playfully. But he was grinning when he turned toward Bradley. "Did mom make you read the article this morning? From the Inquirer?" 

"Yeah," he whispered, nodding his head. "You didn't need to do that for me, Kiddo. But thank you."

His throat was tight with unshed tears as Everett gave him another hug. "I didn't do it just for you. I did it for the other coaches and kids, too. You were just my main inspiration. You always are, dad."

"Please, Ev," he said, sucking in a deep breath as he rubbed his son's back before releasing him. "I might never stop crying."

And he was once again met with Everett's smile and yours. "You're a softie, Coach," you told him, cupping his chin in your hand and kissing him.

"Always for the two of you." Bradley kissed your fingers and then laced them with his as he looked around the room. "How much longer can you hang out with us, Ev? You need to warm up soon?"

"Pretty soon," he replied. "I'll walk you up to the box to meet Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob and the cousins, but we need to stop and take care of something first."

"Take care of what?" Bradley asked, but Ev was already heading for the door past the tables and unlocking it with his own badge. Hand in hand, the two of you followed your son down a long hallway that ended near the locker rooms at a door that said PRESS AND PLAYERS ONLY. "Are we even allowed back here?"

"Well," Everett said, stopping in front of the door, "if you remember the tour we took when I was six years old, this is where we met some of the players."

"Of course I remember," Bradley said, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "That was one of the best days of my life. I told your mom I loved her that day."

"He did," you confirmed for Everett.

"You two have always been sickening," Everett replied with a smile. "But yes, we're allowed in here. Actually dad, you're the man of the hour."

"Man of the hour?" he asked. "Kiddo, you're the star pitcher. It's just my fifty-fifth birthday." 

But as soon as Everett pushed the door open and Bradley stepped inside, about twenty reporters and photographers started buzzing with excitement. 

"Ev, I'm still confused," Bradley said as his son rested a hand on his shoulder. He watched you smile and head to an empty seat at the back of the room. "What's going on?"

Ev rubbed his shoulder before giving him another hug and releasing him. "Every interviewer asks me how I became successful. And my answer is always the same. It's because of you, Dad."

"Ev," Bradley choked out, his throat tight with tears once again.

"So you're in high demand, Coach. I told a few media outlets we would give an interview together. Nothing too crazy. As long as you want to."

Bradley glanced around the room, and as soon as he found you with a bright smile on your face, he said, "Okay."

So he sat down where the players sit, and Everett took the seat next to him. They had on matching jerseys and backward caps, and it didn't matter that he adopted Everett, this had always been his son. They were cut from the same cloth. They understood each other. They were a family. 

Everett cleared his throat and announced, "Hey, everyone. This is my dad and my very first coach, retired naval Captain Bradley Bradshaw. He taught me literally everything I know about baseball. Everything I know about anything, really. He showed me how to pitch sliders and curveballs at Myers Park here in San Diego. He made sure I could lose a game with the same attitude as when I won a game. He and I met the first day I ever played tee ball and the very first day he ever coached. And he's been coaching the Tiny Eagles ever since. So I guess if you want to know more about me, then he's the man to talk to."

Bradley was still wiping tears from his eyes when the first interviewer raised her hand, smiled at him, and asked, "Can you tell us how proud you are of Everett?"

He turned to look at his son and smiled. "How much time do I have?"

------------------------------

Well, that's it! The tale of Coach Bradley! I can't thank you enough to everyone who has been lovely to me as I worked on and posted this fic. I can't get enough of these three. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32 (and thanks for the banner, Mak!)

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

Still want more? Read Draft Day!

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[hollowed-theory-hall]

The Weasleys Aren't Great Parents...

I know a lot here love to talk about how the Weasleys were so good to take Harry in and all that... But the truth is, the parenting skills of Molly and Arthur Weasley are questionable at best.

I'm not saying they don't love their kids and Harry — they do, and they do so honestly. I'm just here to say they aren't actually a good example of parenting.

Like, when fans talk about the Weasleys what I usually see is either treating them like they are a perfect example of a family or unfair bashing. So, while I definitely believe that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley love their kids, this post showcases where their parenting skills are lacking...

So, the Weasleys, to Harry, seem like the perfect example of a happy, loving family. Now, I'm not saying there isn't love there, but the family dynamics we see aren't great, to put it lightly. Harry just has no reference for anything better.

Children Running Away

The first thing I want to mention here is that all Weasley children leave the Burrow and their parents the first chance they get.

Bill goes to work for Gringotts in Egypt.

Charlie goes to tame dragons in Romania.

Percy, well, Percy is a whole can of worms right there. But once his parents shun him for being more successful than his father in the ministry, he doesn't look back.

Fred and George leave Hogwarts in the middle of their seventh year and move out of home then, before their even done with school.

I don't think that's normal. This is what we see in houses where there is mistreatment of children, so they don't want to stay any moment longer than necessary. Because all of this, what all of them did, was running away from home.

Each of these Weasleys was seventeen — maybe eighteen when he chose to leave (sometimes the country). This is running away, even if they still talk to their parents, they did rub away from living under the same roof.

This already suggests to me something unhealthy is going on there.

favoritism

Any child psychologist would tell you one of the worst things a parent could do is pick favorites amongst their children. All children, favored or not, suffer from it.

And Mr. And Mrs. Weasley.... well, they showcase favoritism constantly, here is an example from Order of the Phoenix:

“Get him red and gold to match his badge,” said George, smirking. “Match his what?” said Mrs. Weasley absently, rolling up a pair of maroon socks and placing them on Ron’s pile. “His badge,” said Fred, with the air of getting the worst over quickly. “His lovely shiny new prefect’s badge.” Fred’s words took a moment to penetrate Mrs. Weasley’s preoccupation about pajamas. “His . . . but . . . Ron, you’re not. . . ?” Ron held up his badge. Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek just like Hermione’s. “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That’s everyone in the family!” “What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?” said George indignantly, as his mother pushed him aside and flung her arms around her youngest son.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 163)

Molly is so glad to have prefects in the family, that she actually ignores the fact Fred and George aren't prefects and are her kids. George actually calls her out on it, except she isn't actually listening to him l. No, she pushes him aside. This treatment is insane, and I don't blame them for up and leaving the moment they turned seventeen.

This favoritism is seen more, this is from Chamber of Secrets:

“Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to —” All three of Mrs. Weasley’s sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them. “Beds empty! No note! Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care? — never, as long as I’ve lived — you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —” “Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred. “YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred’s chest. “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job —” It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away. “I’m very pleased to see you, Harry, dear,” she said. “Come in and have some breakfast.”

(Chamber of Secrets, page 38)

Prefect Percy is better than Fred and George and they should learn from him and be more like him, according to Mrs. Weasley. This sort of comparison between children is really harmful to their development and is frowned upon by most. Definitely by me.

Not to mention how Harry is definitely a favorite of hers, so much so he does not get shouted at for the same crime, but get's food. That is honestly the bare minimum she can do for him considering...

Harry's Abuse

The Weasleys are aware of Harry's abuse. They are made aware of it time and time again, and with all their love for Harry — they do nothing more than give him food when he asks. I don't think I need to explain why this is terrible.

“I don’t blame you, dear,” she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. “Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday. But really” (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate), “flying an illegal car halfway across the country — anyone could have seen you —” She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background. “It was cloudy, Mum!” said Fred. “You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snapped.“They were starving him, Mum!” said George. “And you!” said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.

(Chamber of Secrets, page 39)

George here outright tells her Harry was being starved — this goes ignored. When Harry writes to her to send him food, she sends it, but doesn't ask him why he isn't being fed:

She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his friends with pleas for help … Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own homemade rock cakes. (Harry hadn’t touched these; he had had too much experience of Hagrid’s cooking.) Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent the family owl, Errol, with an enormous fruitcake and assorted meat pies.

(Goblet of Fire, page 28)

No, she sent him food but didn't bother doing anything to help a child out of a clearly abusive situation. Not even asking why he isn't getting enough food.

Arthur Weasley isn't any better. He knows just as much as Molly and even met Harry's pleasant relatives:

“Harry said good-bye to you,” he said. “Didn’t you hear him?” “It doesn’t matter,” Harry muttered to Mr. Weasley. “Honestly, I don’t care.” Mr. Weasley did not remove his hand from Harry’s shoulder. “You aren’t going to see your nephew till next summer,” he said to Uncle Vernon in mild indignation. “Surely you’re going to say good-bye?”

(Goblet of Fire, page 48)

He acts as if the Dursleys are normal. As if a child saying their caretakers wouldn't care he wasn't there isn't cause for alarm. No, Arthur Weasley just thought it impolite and odd, but not enough to actually do something to help Harry. Just annoy Uncle Vernon.

Blaming Kids For Things Not Their Fault

“You?” she said, catching her teacup as it scampered happily away across the desk on four sturdy little willow-patterned legs and replacing it in front of her. “Why should I be worried about you?” “When Mum’s next letter finally gets through Umbridge’s screening process,” said Ron bitterly, now holding his cup up while its frail legs tried feebly to support its weight, “I’m going to be in deep trouble. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s sent a Howler again.” “But —” “It’ll be my fault Fred and George left, you wait,” said Ron darkly. “She’ll say I should’ve stopped them leaving, I should’ve grabbed the ends of their brooms and hung on or something. . . . Yeah, it’ll be all my fault. . . .”

(Order of the Pheonix, page 679)

After Fred and George leave Hogwarts, Ron tells Hermione she should worry about him because he would suffer their mother's ire. He speaks about it as if it's a regular occurrence. Like he regularly gets blamed for Feed and George's mishaps when the twins aren't there.

This is incredibly unfair to Ron, Fred, and George. There is no reason Ron should fear his parent's response for something he had no control over.

Conclusions

As I stated above, I don't think Arthur and Molly Weasley are abusive or neglectful or that they don't love their kids. They are far from perfect, loving, and dotting parents I see them sometimes portrayed as. Neither are they as awful as I sometimes see them. Like many characters in this series, they are more complex than that.

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