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wmarximoff · 2 years

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devoted wife | w. maximoff

summary: you are a devoted wife who is capable of doing anything for your wife's welfare; including letting Wanda release the unhealthy nature that resides within her.

warnings (18+): dark Wanda, dark(ish) reader, brief smut, breeding kink, strap-on sex (Wanda receiving), choking (r receiving), smoking, slightly toxic relationship, explicit depiction of blood, explicit depiction of violence, explicit depiction of dead body, manipulation.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 3k

A/N: i literally wrote this here in one sitting so it's probably not my best work, but i was really inspired by the Love and Death teaser and this idea just wouldn't get out of my head. but hey, don't read if dark topics aren't your cup of tea. this shit is just pure madness.

anyway, enjoy!

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

The smoke is like a pair of dancers dancing a waltz above your head, making love in the air. This time is no different from the last time it happened or even the second to last, although the sky is particularly cloudy and the weather tastes like conformism that is stabilized by a bitterness that consumes you within your stomach.

You inhale from the cigarette you smoke, seeking comfort in the fume, and hold and spray the tobacco through your nostrils, in almost enviable sync with the watery sound that can be found behind your shoulders, which are tucked inside a gray hooded jacket like the fur of a wild wolf; other than the circular call of a remote owl, the only sound heard is the tiny, breathy moans that Wanda lets out here and there as she grunts when she takes gulps of oxygen.

A few unconscious mutters are gasped, puffs leaking from between your wife's peachy lips, who's out of your sight because the right side of your hip is snug against the icy bodywork of your off-road car.

The night is as unsettling in your bones as the fateful sight of a car accident would be, and the song of the night birds hidden among the branches and foliage of the tall trees, with an audience of nightly eyes, brings you a certain ghostly feeling that you are a prey, and not hunter. Yet, in your simplest cognition, you are nothing more than a devoted wife.

And you remember when you first met Wanda, nearly two decades already spent in each other's company. Westview, a tiny town in upstate New Jersey, was not used to welcoming new faces into its suburban structures; and that is why the Maximoff family, made up of an immigrant couple and their two twin children born on American soil (a boy and a girl, both of your age), was an object of study adopted by all the little more than six thousand inhabitants at the time they moved into your neighborhood.

Her brother soon began to walk in the footsteps of the Westview High cool kids troupe (Pietro was a born athlete), but Wanda was like a shy shadow of her older twin, who lived holed up behind thick book pages, with an introverted presence that soon usurped your attention when your attentive gaze scanned her face, who sat at a desk placed to the right of yours during literature classes.

You asked her about five months after you met her properly, and she accepted the proposal just two days later – in college it was a little different with the proposal, because you proposed at a fine restaurant and she accepted at readiness, rewarding your with the purest of smiles gleaming at the commission of her pearly lips, an act showered with a limpid, chaste glint of love that showcased her two front teeth, which were vaguely larger than the rest and gave her a bunny appearance, because she had the habit of fortuitously scrunching a flash of skin from her nose when engendering the act of smiling.

But something withered in Wanda after the first year of marriage between the two of you, a couple still so young, with so much to do in partnership with each other. Your sweet wife was restless when you came home from work, and it was hard to say what was on her mind. Wanda, while possessing a rather emotional nature, was never the type to open up easily, and it was customary for her to bottle up her own feelings when they bothered her too much, when she didn't quite know how to deal with the will growing inside her.

Until she told you, once, after days turned into weeks all had with a certain distance between you and her that, in all your honesty, had your heart constricted inside your chest.

It was late at night, and your room was barely dipped in a haze of yellow light that emanated from a small lamp on the bedside table – you with your eyes wandering over the sentences of some novel open between the palms of your hands, holding the book close to the tip of your nose, as Wanda lied with her milky back turned to you, who assumed that your wife had long been snoring beside you, enjoying a deep night's sleep.

“Something's missing,” her voice came suddenly, prompting your chin to snap back to her, who still hadn't turned to look back at you.

“What's missing, baby?” it was a question you didn't know would prove to be a watershed for the line of normalcy that ruled your life when in a small family of two.

When Wanda shifted in bed, rustling the sheets to turn to look at you, her eyes, once green as a polished emerald stone, were made dark and deep like the moss that grows in the dampness of tree bark, untouched by the sun, away from life. It was that look you'd never seen before take over her pretty features, a numb emptiness that lacked filling, a will found in the confines of the soul that inhabited her body. She looked like a silent doll, staring at you with that verdant expanse that seemed to be able to read your thoughts.

Icy electricity ran along the length of your spine. You never thought that Wanda could give you the chills.

The need building inside her, expanding, taking shape and greater proportions, was thunderous and all-encompassing. It was an itch, a predatory addiction. A strange psychic deficiency, which you could never remedy on your own; it was out of her reach, that was not your role in her life. You were assigned the role of wife, partner, which you gladly accepted, for better or worse, just contenting yourself with a smile on the face of the one who was your muse, your obsession, your sanity and your madness.

But Wanda soon realized that you alone wouldn't be enough to satisfy the needs pulsing inside her, like preludes to a coming calamity; in her eyes was the warning of the apocalypse.

Not in the way she wanted, because when the length of her fingers pressed against the pulsing muscles and arteries of your throat, on one particularly wild night when she, with the hollow of her bare alabaster thighs snugly fitted to the red toy strapped to your waist, riding you like an animal in heat, something in her came to the edge and she allowed herself to fall, increasing the pressure, depriving your brain of the oxygen necessary for your body's full functionality.

It was as if she wanted to squeeze the life out of you. To see what your reaction would be and what would hers be too.

Your vision darkened as she came in a sharp moan, perhaps more from the lust from the power she exerted over you than from sexual the act itself, tightening her grip on the sensitive skin of your larynx. And you couldn't breathe, but you didn't need oxygen; you needed her. She would fill your lungs with life. Though she let go in time for any permanent sequel to do you irreversible damage, five hideous bruises marked you as her property in purplish-red streaks, like a galaxy dotted across your epidermis.

But when the notion dawned on you, when you had to cover your wounds with a coat of makeup, your somewhat hurt reaction to the violence calmed her nerves. Although, if she really wanted to, you'd let her steal the oxygen from your chest.

In an orgasm achieved on the day that marked your second year of marriage, a couple of months later, you offered your wife the idea of conceiving a child together. It seemed natural for a couple who'd been together as long as the two of you to dream up the idea of starting a family that would exceed two people, after all.

“I bet you'd look so hot pregnant,” it was said in a groan punctuated by a panting breath, as she rode your strap moving her body over yours the way she always liked to do, “Can you imagine that, Wands? Me putting a baby inside you?”

And she sighed a, “Fuck, Y/n!��, moving even faster with her hips, reaching for you, going for a much-needed orgasm. When her fingers bit into your neck a second time, you didn't care at all.

It didn't take more than a few tries for the twins to come; Thomas, fifteen minutes older, followed by William accordingly. Two boys who could be nothing but the embodiment of your love for her; the gift you wanted her to bestow. And the firsts of childhood witnessed by the caress of a mother's gaze did lift Wanda's spirits; for a while life was simple, the two of you too busy to allow yourself to think about anything but bottles and pacifiers. But what was spreading through Wanda's senses, until then asleep, haunted her again like an ethereal creature scraping the inside of her skull.

You saw the earnest way in which she directed furtive glances at other people who were becoming commonplace figures in her everyday life; other women who lived as secondary characters in your lives, just innocent lambs beside the wolf in disguise. But you loved her. You preyed for her good, who was the love of your life, who had been the mother of your children formed in the graces of her womb, her flesh and blood. And then, there was consent.

At some point, you gave your blessing for her to do so, because you knew it would make her happy, make her complete in a way that even your family couldn't; because she licked her lips like a thirsty person looking for water to quench her thirst – Wanda suffered from an impulse, just a lapse, a little unrestrained slip, and you were there to hold her hand every time she fell into perversities of her own temptations. You were the tightrope that kept her balanced within her own mental faculties.

The first was Agatha, there was no way you could forget; she was the boys' elementary school teacher and had a wide smile accompanied by full brown hair that made her look like an evil witch in a children's cartoon. Wanda consumed her completely, and you watched every wretched action your wife performed toward the woman older than the two of you. And then came Sharon, a friendly blonde store clerk. Darcy, a college student, and Jennifer, an aspiring lawyer. They made Wanda happy, and so were you too.

Kate came over the weekend you made it from the big city to the Westview welcomes, when your father's birthday celebration was held, sixty years or more than that.

Your parents seemed elated with yours and Wanda's presence in the small town, because it also meant the company of their only grandchildren, whom they both cherished and the feeling was mutual between the boys (Tommy was interested in asking Alexei about his time served as a low-ranking soldier in the remote Soviet Union, and Billy would ask Melina to read to him books that contained in their pages words that his scant childhood cognition, however cunning, would not be able to pronounce without the help of an adult, and it so happens that he has always been very close to his grandmother).

Natasha, your older sister, was out for military service, but Yelena, the youngest of the family, was the one who came from college, and brought along with her the company of the tall Kate Bishop, the girlfriend who she said that one day would be her wife.

Kate was a nice girl, and you were happy for your sister, who was all touching and hugging with her partner.

Over the course of dinner she engaged in an avid conversation with your father about sport archery (which she had been practicing since even younger than your children, she reported when you, across the table, asked her about it and was promptly greeted with a warm response), and she incontinently repeated a dish of stroganoff prepared by your mother, who served her with gusto.

But you can't help but notice the way Wanda looked at her from behind her glass of red wine. Thinking, scheming, studying in her brain methods of making it happen, of twisting and breaking something she wanted to crush between her hands.

Something fell into you, and you were barely able to answer the question Billy asked you as your gaze traced from your wife to the girl oblivious to her situated across the table, to near your younger sister's left shoulder. How Wanda's mouth really seemed to water in the presence of a girl young enough to be her little sister, for a meat she'd like to taste.

When Tommy called out to her, though, she looked away from the dark-haired young woman to look at you, who were standing next to your son standing between the two of you. And then, she smiled reassuringly, her lips brushed with a thin layer of red wine that did nothing to diminish the doses of sweetness in her features; and you were delivered, because she was yours and you were hers. Even if, behind that genuine smile, there was an enormous strength, a will equipped with an animalistic voracity, like a secret voluptuousness between you and your wife.

All it took was her tongue between your legs for her to have you where she wanted.

When, in the next night, your parents went to spend quality time with the boys at a nearby ice cream shop and Yelena left to go to the store to buy the missing ingredients for a homemade cookie recipe, Wanda sprang into action and, like a fool in love, you followed after her, tailing the emotional collar which she had screwed around your neck along with the wedding band on your ring finger.

You were different, you weren't disposable. You were her favorite possession.

There was no denying it. There was no way to leave her. There was no way to stop it. Even when her hand caressed the cheek of a Kate so absorbed in a banal and commonplace act between sisters-in-law, even when Wanda lured her like a treacherous viper, just waiting for the fatal pounce on the helpless little mouse.

And, well, if Wanda was the snake, you allowed yourself to taste the red apple she offered you. Your primary sin was loving her. It was to be a devoted wife.

You, therefore, take a little more and throw the rest of your cigarette on the floor, crushing it with the sole of your shoe, ending the act when the sound fades, and there are only sharp gasps to be heard through the night.

And, after fumbling with your fingers for a handful of garbage bags placed near your right ankle like an old dog, you stick your left hand inside your front trouser pocket as you bring your hips away from the bodywork of the car, wrapped in a color of red like the skin of a ripe cherry, departing in conversational strides to the front of the vehicle, where a pair of glowing headlights are like the demonic eyes of a creature in the midst of darkness, engulfed in the hollow heart of the forest that surrounds the city boundary.

A stream of yellow light reflects off the sharp edge of a metal ax that drips onto a thick viscous material that is an amalgamation of brains and entrails, and it is Wanda who has the sturdy wooden handle pressed between the fingers of both hers hands, her wedding band bathed in a splash of still-warm blood. And, well, indeed your marriage is bloody like your wife's blouse and hair, who lets the scarlet-soaked tool fall to the floor with a hollow thud, as if she's eaten too much and is too full before digestion.

She digests the moment, the atmosphere. She digests you.

Wanda no longer deals any blows against the crumbs of that shapeless, gory and mirrored thing all over the floor that was once Kate's head, now open and with all its inner contents on display – a disgusting gray mass that soils her shoes and the hem of her pants.

Wanda is happy, exultant, vibrating with a belated contentment that she can barely contain from the shots of adrenaline coursing through her veins when caught in the violent act of inflicting pain on anyone other than her or yourself. And she doesn't look any less pretty, even when she's covered in blood spatter, dirt, hair and guts. And if she's happy, you're happy. Because you are a devoted wife.

“All done here, honey?” you call out to her, brandishing the garbage bags held up by your right hand.

“All done,” she smiles as she comes towards you, pupils dilated and dark, “Thank you for doing this for me, baby.”

“I’ll always do everything I can to make you happy Wanda, you know that.”

And her answer is a kiss with the metallic taste of blood that slides between your teeth.

And for a second you try to think about Kate, who made your kids laugh until they were ready to cry and who also pleased your parents, and how Yelena's crying would break your heart once she realized her girlfriend would never come back home again. But Wanda's discomfort would shatter your soul. If her addiction was to the dismemberment of living people, yours was to her happiness.

“Baby,” she murmurs against your lips, a puff of warm air entering the gap of your mouth, fresh blood pouring in a single drop toward your chin, “I love you, you know? You're the only person I need in my life, Y/n. Only you."

And her words make your heart rumble inside your chest in an exultant pulse of joy. Because you're just a devoted wife. Or maybe just a mind as sick as Wanda's.

“I love you too, pretty girl,” you smile, “I am devoted to you.”

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ncaapeaches · 1 month

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mackenziearesta on Instagram

#bootie peach #peach ass #gymnast girl #gymnastics #sexy peachy bum 🍑#athletics #ncaa #college gymnastics #Temple University #Temple Owls

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bidisasterevankinard · 3 months

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Wip Wednesday

tagged by @tizniz @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples thano you loves I'm getting close to end first chapter in "please, stop twisting knife(never wanted to cause your pain)" . hope to do it after internship tomorrow. then it would be four more (I brainstormed everything for this fic so I plan 5 chapters) here is from the start of the chapter Buck and his boys before Alec

In the morning he was woken up by Chris and Eddie’s laughter in the kitchen and this warm sound made Buck put him at ease after not the best dream he saw, where he was all alone, left behind by everyone, and even the two most important people for him.

Buck knows that 118 loves him, but sometimes demons in his head scream louder than his trust in his family. And having Eddie and Chris bring him his favorite pancakes they cooked to make him smile, showed him he should really trust his family more, especially his boys.That moment looking at two smiling Diaz he thought: “They love me. I love them. They are not going anywhere.”

And then he looked at Eddie with his bed hair, with sun like a halo around his head, heating the caramel of his hair so that Eddie looked even more adorable than ever and Buck was struck by lightning again. He could only think: “Oh. I love you.”

It wasn’t life changing or shattering. To love Eddie always seemed easy, even when it was hard times of their lives, but Buck never before had a desire to kiss his plush and peachy pink lips.

It was easy when Eddie laughed or smiled with him, when they pranked each other or brought Chris to the zoo, museums and concerts. It was easy when Eddie twice told him that he trusted him with Cris more than anyone else, that he made him legal guardian. When Eddie not once showed how he trusted Buck, how he cared about Buck with his caring words and actions of support.

It even was easy when Eddie had family problems and Buck tried hard to be a good friend and listen to his problems with Shannon, wishing for Eddie to find happiness with the woman he loved so much. It was easy when his friend was dying twice and Buck barely could save him. It was easy when he died and came back to a caring and safe place in the house of his friend.

Loving Eddie can’t be hard because it’s Eddie. Eddie was his lifeline for so long that Buck can’t imagine his life without Eddie now. Simple like that.

Evan Buckley can live only when Eddie Diaz is around.

tagging @wikiangela @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @rainbow-nerdss @rogerzsteven @the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @transboybuckley @puppyboybuckley @paranoidbean @pirrusstuff @anakinfallen @shortsighted-owl @spaceprincessem @spotsandsocks @spagheddiediaz @devirnis @daffi-990 @fortheloveofbuddie @gaydiaz @giddyupbuck @heartshapedvows @honestlydarkprincess @hoodie-buck @hippolotamus @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @loserdiaz @caroandcats @bigfootsmom @bekkachaos @buckleydiaz @buddierights @buckitup @buck-coded @nmcggg @mandzuking17 @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz @exhuastedpigeon @elvensorceress @ebdaydreamer @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings and anyone who wants

#I hate to write in past #fic: please stop twisting knife(never wanted to cause your pain)#my wips #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 #evan buck buckley

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dnpanimationstudioclone · 4 months

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Made a redesign of Stella from Helluva Boss for fun!!!!

I pushed the idea of her being a swan as many headcanon her as and also mixed in a sun/day motif☀️🌅 to contrast with Stolas more who has a night/moon motif 🌌🌘

Wanted to give her extra shine and sparkle with her dress and gold jewelry✨ I kept the black and white but made her pinks warmer, like a peachy sunset pink 🍑🌅

For my Stella I imagine she has fire powers(which would be a HUGE trauma trigger for Blitz)🔥🔥🔥

Owls are mainly nocturnal, Swans are mainly diurnal. Ngl Lovesart23 work inspired me a lot to try this out! 🦉 🦢. There’s also the whole swans mating for life but not owls which really fits with their fallen marriage💍💔

I also wanted a lowkey swan lake vibe for her, something you’d see a fancy ballerina wear🩰 I’m also into the idea of her family being Duke/duchess ranking and got a rank boost by marrying Stolas , becoming a Princess!👸👑

What do u think? How would u redesign Stella or the other HB characters if you wanted to? I’d love to know💖

#helluva boss #helluva boss fanart #stella goetia #My art #helluva boss redesign #helluva boss art #Helluva boss redesigns

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fleetinginfinities · 4 months

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first ever of these but … the bachelors and my random headcanons/quotes/song lyrics/slices of whatever that fit them 🫶 apologies it doesn’t include everyone, these guys are my favorites and I’m having trouble channeling the others lmao

Sam

- drums his fingers/knuckles on tables, his legs, any surface when he’s anxious or impatient or excited or anticipating something. which, he’s always feeling at least one of the above…so

- his fingers. that’s all

- plays footsie under the table but not in a weird way, in more of a “I literally need to be touching you at all times to ground myself to this present moment and be happy” way

- loves full body contact — huuuge tight hugs, rolling on top of you in bed, pulling you into his chest from behind

- mumbles in his sleep and tosses and turns, constantly reaching for you and pulling you close

- blushes a lot. his cheeks turn the most beautiful peachy color

- talks at the speed of light as his default setting

- speeds when he drives, speeds when he walks, just Does Everything Quickly and with much energy

- is somehow both a morning person and a night owl most of the time

- but when he’s lazy or tired, there’s never been anyone lazier or sleepier

- always answers phone calls on speaker mode

- is unaware of his strength when showing affection sometimes, like an oversized dog

- prominent arm veins. enough said.

- makes you feel so alive. present. his energy is contagious

- there’s not a soul he can’t make friends with

- would absolutely love early/mid 2000s pop punk

- blindingly sunny smile

- beautiful, soft golden hair that he wears messy and literally sticks out every direction but in the hottest way ever

- he’s like the summer solstice. an everlasting day that’s sweet and warm and full of life but also peace. Sam, in all of his chaos, is your peace

- “i’m so in love that I might stop breathing”

- doesn’t ever hold a grudge

- smells like lavender and lemon. no I won’t be taking any feedback with this one

- big fan of flowers

- like, it’s not uncommon for him to show up with a hand-picked bouquet for you he collected on the way over

- could’ve worked in a bakery instead of joja mart and would’ve been much happier. sweet cinnamon roll boy

- is actually the heartthrob of the town

- as sweet and pure as he is, he also has a rebellious side and is often trying to sneak you in his room and toe the line of authority whenever he can

- is quite adventurous and doesn’t really have an ego if he’s bad at things or much fear in general. the results are constant entertainment and occasional catastrophes.

Elliott

- “I dream about you every night now. It’s really quite beautiful”

- is actually strong and built and muscular (totally looks like a red headed Thor in my brain)

- but touches and holds you so gently that it makes you want to cry

- extremely strong jawline

- gives that aloof kind of mysteriousness and quiet confidence that is magnetizing to literally everyone

- doesn’t have a toxically masculine bone in his body

- will talk to you for hours about philosophy, literature, films, art, the meaning of life, etc etc etc

- traces his fingers on your bare skin, lost in thought

- has the most mesmerizing, starry eyes

- being around him makes you feel like you’re living in a dream. everything feels ethereal and hazy

- if Sam is the summer solstice, Elliott is like the peak of autumn, when all of the leaves are at their most colorful and bright just before they fall, and you feel like he’s both the beginning and the ending of something all at once

- as a matter of fact: “is this the end of all the endings?”

- “you showed me colors you know I can’t see with anyone else. you taught me a secret language I can’t speak with anyone else”

- loving him is the most intense, passionate experience of your life

- he would a b s o l u t e l y be the one that got away if you split up

- big fan of candles and crackling log fireplaces

- really enjoys a good row in his boat in the cool, dewy mornings and his back muscles show it

- his emotional intelligence is unmatched. you’ll never meet a more well-adjusted man

- romanticizes life in only the way a writer can

- isn’t just all depth and somber. also isn’t all pizazz and flamboyance. actually has a great sense of humor as a secret third thing

Sebastian

- despite how much he closes himself off at first, you feel an instant connection with him. you just understand him innately. and you feel like he gets you, too

- downplays how smart he really is

- genuinely loves to let everyone else shine. loves that Sam commands all the attention in the room. loves watching others praise you.

- is never competitive with anyone else and absolutely loves when the people around him win. the most supportive person ever

- really has a soft spot for animals

- incredibly intuitive. can read your mind like a book and anticipate your needs

- if he loves you, there is not another person on earth that would ever catch his attention or temptation. 1000% the most loyal boy

- “he looks up grinning like a devil”

- motorcycle rides in the city late at night when it’s raining

- sometimes doing something reckless is the only way that makes him feel alive

- in other words, he’s a closet adrenaline junkie

- can absolutely rival Elliott in terms of being the most romantic with his words sometimes — though it’s few and far between, he will never stop telling you that you’re the first person that he ever did, well, basically *anything* with and how special you are to him and how you’re his one and only

Alex

- it takes a special person to command his attention, he has always had fleeting attractions but he has never felt for anyone what he feels for you

- is absolutely a great person to go to with any problem. he has a clear and straightforward answer or solution

- is the number one person you want to be around if you just want someone genuinely uplifting to spend time with

- *always* notices physical changes and gives fantastic compliments

- is absolutely the dude who keeps his friend group together well into adulthood and middle age and beyond. he’s the one planning beach days, weekend recreational sports and activities, cooking out or tailgating on game days, inviting you for a bite to eat at the saloon if he hasn’t seen you in awhile, etc.

- genuinely loves a good romance or romcom as much as he loves the newest action movie

- fantastic with kids

- is very committed to you from the start

- will go to great lengths to maintain a happy and healthy and successful relationship. it’s the athlete determination in him

- has quite good taste in aesthetics. definitely has an opinion about fashion, home decor, etc

- has perfect teeth and a beautiful complexion in my mind

#stardew valley #stardew valley x reader #sdv #sdv elliott #sdv sam #sdv sebastian #yo what is with all the new formatting options here #they’re a Very Good Thing dont get me wrong #but I haven’t regularly used this site since like 2017 #relearning it as we go!

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fizzyginfizz · 1 year

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Not Flirting At All

Happy Birthday @ginnyw-potter !!!!! Here's some fluff for your Fluff O'Clock Challenge!

He’d tell himself later it wasn’t flirting.

She had a boyfriend.

His mate Dean.

Wanker.

He’d tell himself he was just distracting his overworked, exhausted teammate during her OWL year.

She had circles under her eyes.

His best friend’s sister.

“Alright,” Harry said, reaching over and taking Ginny’s spare quill out from behind her ear. He didn’t mean to, but his finger brushed against the strand of hair that had escaped the twist in the back.

His hand flexed. He would think about how silky it had felt later. Trying to salvage the moment, he lifted a piece of her parchment from in front of her and dipped his quill into her ink. “Fair warning, I’m not as good at this as you.”

“Good at what? What are you talking about?”

“Poetry,” he scoffed. “What did you think I meant?”

“Uh, well, so many things to choose from,” Ginny mused, happily putting aside her work in favor of her preferred activity, verbal one-upmanship with a side of snark. “Quidditch, baking, pranking, hexing.”

“I’m good at hexing.”

“You’re good at dueling,” Ginny grinned. “There’s a difference.”

“Alright, game on.” He returned her grin, before snapping back to his game face. “I am going to prove I’m a better poet than you.”

A burst of a laugh escaped Ginny’s throat, husky and strong. “Not too difficult. I don’t think anyone would have called any nonsense I pen ‘good.’”

Her laugh made him want to grin again, but OWL-distracting banter was on the menu, so he shrugged instead. “Please. Stop fishing for compliments.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Oh, yes you were. As if anyone could deny the brilliance of getting their eyes compared to fresh pickled toads.”

Ginny sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remember,” he replied, eyes still on paper. Then, he frowned, stared at her a moment, and began to write. “Her hair flames as bright as a fire crab’s bum-“

Ginny giggled and Harry’s gaze shot up from his parchment at the rare sound. Ginny Weasley laughed, Ginny Weasley chuckled, Ginny Weasley threw back her head in unabashed joy. He didn’t know whether he had ever heard her giggle.

He wanted to hear it again. “Or, should it be arse, instead of bum? ‘Her hair flames as bright as a fire crab’s arse’?”

“Are you asking me the connotative differences between arse and bum?”

“Well,” Harry shrugged. “It’s my first poem. Bum sounds like something you sit on, but arse somehow sounds flamier.”

“Also bigger, though.” She giggled again, and Harry felt like he’d won the Quidditch cup.

“Hmmm… hadn’t thought about that. You’re right. Her hair flames as bright as a fire crab’s bum.”

She leaned over to watch the words on his parchment. Her freckled nose all crinkled up in the most adorable way, her brown eyes were… the words came out of his mouth while his quill hovered over the page. “Her eyes are like melted milk chocolate.”

“Oh no,” Ginny shook her head in mock sadness. “I think you may have rhymed yourself into a corner there.”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “If you insist. I do appreciate you not picking something like mud or poo.”

“Well, I think toilet humor is overrated and there’s already something about an arse in here.”

“Bum.”

“Whatever.” He grinned at her. “You going to keep distracting me, or do you want me to finish?”

“Oh,” Ginny sat back with a relaxed smile, crossing her arms. “Sorry to interrupt your art. Do continue.”

Harry had a sudden vision, Ginny Weasley, pajamas. Mugs of steaming morning tea. Slow, “glad you’re awake” kisses.

What did she taste…

Realizing he was staring at her lips, he ripped his gaze away from her mouth. Do not write about her lips.

How soft they looked. How they had a peachy-pink rightness to them that other girls didn’t have.

Focus on something else. Something not sexy.

Except everything about her was sexy.

Except her boyfriend, he reminded himself.

She had a boyfriend.

His mate Dean.

Wanker.

His pen started scratching on the parchment furiously. “She can hurl gnomes, and write silly poems- “

“Silly?” Ginny sat up, offended.

“Did I say ‘silly’?” Harry dipped his quill back in the ink. “I meant ‘brilliant’. She can hurl gnomes, and write brilliant poems-“

“That’s much better,” she grinned. “But now you’re face-to-face with your chocolate rhyme.”

“I can do it,” he narrowed his eyes at her, competitive spirit rising.

“Sure you can,” she said, with a sarcastic eyeroll.

“Chocolate, chocolate,” he muttered, tapping his quill on the parchment. “Chocolate, gnomes, poems-“

“You’re cracking under the pressure.”

“Am not.”

“You’re crumbling.”

“From her friend, who she likes to mock a lot.”

Ginny blinked. “You’re rhyming chocolate with mock a lot?”

“It sort of rhymes.”

“No it doesn’t!” She laughed. “It doesn’t at all.”

“It does if you sort of, y’know, mush your mouth on chocolate, like you’re French, or something.” He made a funny pinching move towards his mouth and was rewarded with another ring of her laughter. “Make that oh really an ‘ooooohhhhhh.’ Choc-o-loooooot.”

“That’s reaching, Harry.”

“Well,” he shrugged, folding up the parchment. “If you don’t want it…”

“No!!!” She sprang up, reached across the table, and snatched the parchment out of his hand. “I want it! I definitely want it.”

She unfolded the parchment and stared at it a moment, her smile softening to something Harry thought was achingly beautiful. Then, she held the parchment to her chest, and grinned at him over the top of it. “Thank you. All my childhood wounds are now healed,” she said with mock self-deprecation.

“My pleasure,” Harry said softly, wishing she had more dragons for him to slay.

OWL-shaped, or otherwise.

#hinny #hinny fanfic #ginnyw potter's fluff o'clock challenge

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katyawriteswhump · 2 months

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the power of love, part 9 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near-death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

(also on AO3 here)

Steve POV continued

“Sorry.” Lying in his bunk in the gloomy cabin, Steve drags his fingers miserably across his eyes. How freakin’ embarrassing—mistaking his best friend for his parents. “Still dreaming, I guess.”

“How do you feel?” asks Robin.

“Oh, peachy! How d’ya think?” He’s beyond tired of feeling this crappy. What the hell happened this time?

Oh yes. He and Eddie kissed, and then…

“Okay, bad news first,” she says, perching on the bed. “You bled through your bandages again. Got all sweaty and yuck.” He knows this already—from the gnaw in his side, and how he’s sticking to the lumpy mattress. “Good news? The bleeding stopped. The really juicy news—we have a theory about what might fix you.”

She spouts a load of stuff about the water from Lover’s Lake giving him some kind of vaguely defined power. And Eddie sucking it out of him?

He snickers. “Did you get that crackpot theory out of the ‘The Weekly Watcher?’”

“Come on, Steve, this is way beyond a shot-in-the-dark.” He rolls his eyes. Even though he sort of agrees with her. “We need to test the theory. Eddie’s gone to fetch lake water.”

“He’s gone back to Hawkins? Is he out of his mind?” He can’t spare the energy to worry about Eddie. He still does, and it makes him feel worse.

“You all right?” asks Robin. “You’ve gone… kinda gray.”

Yeah, feeling kinda gray. He stops scowling, simply because it’s too much effort. “Is there any non-Fairyland water in this shit-hole?”

“There’s a pump.”

After he’s had a drink and splashed his face, he feels… not much better, actually. He slumps back onto the pillow with a hard sigh. “Robin, I wish it was just us, stuck in this together. You're literally the only person in my life where there’s, like, almost zero tension. I mean, we bitch at each other and all—”

“Never!” she snarks.

“Haha, point taken. It’s about nothing that ever matters, though. I know.... You'll... You know, we’ll…”

“Always be there for each other? I sure hope so.” There’s a quiver in her voice that alarms him.

“You still think one of us might not make it this time?”

“No! I mean... We've gotten through that part, haven't we?”

Sure doesn’t feel like it from here.

“Listen,” she says, “it doesn’t have to be tense or cringy between you and Eddie, just because you like each other.”

“Yeah, right. We kissed. I passed out! Not cool.”

“Like he’s gonna hold that against you.” She squeezes his arm. He stares at her chipped nail polish, battling a fresh assault from his candy-ass emotions. “As per ever, dates keep belly-flopping into your lap! When we get through this, I swear I'm gonna slap you for—”

An owl hoot interrupts her. She scuttles to the window, crouches down and peeps out. “It’s okay,” she hisses, “It’s Eddie.”

“Your signal is an owl noise? It’s the middle of the goddamn day! Why don’t you wait till dark and send up fireworks?”

Steve grumbles for the sake of it. On the other hand, he wasn’t lying to Robin. He really doesn’t want to handle Eddie right now. He turns his face to the pillow, muffles his ears with the blanket. Someone prods him. “Steve,” says Robin. “We’ve got the lake water.”

He rolls over. Eddie’s there, brandishing a plastic bottle of clouded liquid. He fixes on Robin. “You want me to drink that shit?”

“Not unless you want to die of what half the soldiers in the Civil War did,” says Robin.

Steve shares a moment of bafflement with Eddie. “How am I gonna get shot drinking lake water?”

“They died of dysentery, Dingus! You literally did nothing in history other than crack moronic jokes and eat breakfast, did you?”

“Whatever,” mumbles Steve. He’s not sure what dysentery is. Sounds sucky. “What are we supposed to do with it, super-brain?”

“Erm, try pouring it.” Robin peels off the freshly bloodied bandages from Steve’s side, grimacing as dramatically as ever. “To be fair, this is disgusting and almost as risky. If nothing good happens, though, we can wipe it off. Yay!”

She drips on the water. For a split second, it’s ice-cold, and he hisses. “Ow… Jesus, Robin!”

“Sorry.”

“Nothing’s happening,” he says. “Oh, hold on. Gnnng, no, no, no, no, no!”

Steve’s flesh and blood blend into pink froth, sizzling like he’s been doused in boiling chip fat. Robin jolts backward; Steve whimpers, helpless to stop himself. Eddie, meanwhile, grabs Steve’s hand, as the unbearable scalding subsides into a strong but tolerable itch. Steve inhales raggedly, lifts his head to confirm that the bat bites have knitted again, leaving a wet mess of red puckered marks and scars.

“I guess that could’ve gone worse.” Eddie sounds spooked.

“Could’ve gone worse? It hurt like… What just happened? WHAT JUST HAPPENED?” Steve’s got a crazy urge to scream… no… run! Pushing himself up onto his elbows takes everything he’s got. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

“Ssssh, it’s okay.” Robin’s now gotten her arms around him, and Eddie’s still holding his hand. “This proves that it’s the water. You’re not flayed, or Vecnad, or Henryd or whatever. Eddie and I discussed it and—”

“What!?!” Steve wriggles free and laughs, because this is hysterical. “You discussed that without including me?”

“We never believed you’d been taken by the dark side,” says Robin, her hand on her breast. “I swear!”

“That’s not the… Ow!”

“Does it still hurt?” asks Robin.

Steve stares daggers at Eddie: “Can you quit crushing my fingers already?”

“Sorry.” Eddie drops Steve’s hand, a little too keenly—leaving Steve oddly desolate, despite his request. Other than that, he does feel better.

And grouchier than ever.

Half an hour later, he’s well enough to get up. He washes himself down at the pump, attempts to salvage his hair, then joins the others in preparing a baked-bean and banana supper. He argues forcefully that both parts can be served together, and it will taste awesome.

Which they do.

Ignoring Robin’s advice, he sips a bottle of bad beer. Eddie is clad in a clean Hellfire Club t-shirt—given to him by Henderson—and regales them with news from Hawkins. This proves depressing, given that Eleven and Hopper are now outlaws too. Then they chat about what hiding places they might move onto next.

“We’re not quite as remote as we thought here,” says Robin. “I found a track that leads pretty close, and you could probably get an off-roader all the way to the camp.” She glances at Steve. “We need somewhere really tucked away, and maybe closer to Lover’s Lake, right?”

“Why are you asking me?” he snaps. “You two seem to have all the answers. I haven’t a clue.”

Steve crawls into his bunk first. For once, sleep doesn’t clobber him instantly. Despite what he said to Robin, he has got theories—stupid though they seem—about the lake, and that time he nearly drowned in it.

He should’ve been terrified of swimming after that. He never was. Plus, he’s been dreaming about that period of his life lately. Dreaming about it a LOT, now he thinks about it.

After a while, he gets sick of his churning thoughts and sits up. Moonlight streaks through one of the high bunk room windows, revealing that Eddie is awake too, cross-legged on the floor. He’s muttering to himself, fiddling with his hair, then his hands.

On spotting Steve staring at him, he presses a finger to his lips, picks up a flashlight, and motions toward the door. Steve pulls on a sweater and follows him outside. It’s a dry night. Banks of bruise-brown clouds semi-obscure a near full moon and a few hazy stars. It’s cool too, though Steve’s palms are getting clammy.

He tracks Eddie into a nearby cabin, filled with a ton of old rope and lumber-hauling equipment. He then remembers he’s annoyed, and folds his arms.

“Totally love how you two went behind my back and discussed whether I was flayed or not.”

Eddie plonks down the flashlight. “Kinda obvious that we had to. We didn’t tell you, because we didn’t want to stress you out, and… honestly? We never bought it. Dustin was highly sceptical—”

“You discussed me with Henderson too? That’s great!” Steve plants his hands on his hips, growing too hot and bothered to think straight: “Maybe you’re ALL idiots. Maybe I am somehow flayed! Right at the start, that Upside Down thing came through my pool. Possibly. To take Barb. Now the water from near a gate fixes me and—“

“And I make you fix me!” Eddie’s preening grin is vicious. “Perhaps I’m the source of the magical shitstorm? Did that ever cross your egotistical rich-brat mind, Harrington?”

Eddie might as well have punched him. Steve’s still reeling from the blow, when Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose:

“Look, I’m sorry, man,” mutters Eddie. “I’m pretty stressed, too. Dustin was telling me about how you got sick whenever you left Hawkins as a kid, and—"

“Wow! Good job I’m an EGOTISTICAL BRAT, because I really am a hot topic! Did Nance reel off an article for the Hawkins Post?”

“Uh, Steve?” Eddie takes a step closer then abruptly pulls short. “I apologised, okay? Why exactly are we arguing about this?”

“I… Oh Christ, Eddie, I honestly don’t know.”

Steve’s shoulders slump. How excruciatingly typical! That little egg-head Dustin had a hunch about something that’s only just occurring to Steve, and which… Shit, the whispers in his mind are scary.

This is where you come clean, Harrington. This is where you say: "I almost drowned in that lake in 1978. What if it wasn't 'almost?' What if I died back then, at eleven years old. What if something or someone in that water brought me back, and for good or evil, it's still got a hold of me?"

Does it make any sense? Would Eddie simply think him egotistical again, or stupid? Suddenly, all he wants is to forget the whole wide world, especially the freaky parts. Everything apart from…

…Eddie.

Who is hunching awkwardly away from Steve, palpably scared to get too near, let alone touch him. The naked longing in those gorgeous brown eyes, however, is reassuring.

“Look, I'm sorry too.” Steve licks dry lips. “I’ve been a complete asshole today, I know. It’s just… What happened when we kissed is so humiliating.”

“Why? It’s not your fault. Believe me, Stevie, I’d kiss you again in a heartbeat, if it wasn’t for… uh…”

Eddie’s adorable blushes and the silly pet name are invitation enough. Steve closes the gap between them, leans in and whispers:

“You win. Maybe we shouldn’t kiss again till we’ve figured out exactly what’s going on, but… C’mon, man, you’ve touched me plenty without any bad repercussions. I slept in your lap.” We freakin’ spooned! “There’s gotta be something fun we can do.”

Eddie shakes his head, squirming hilariously. “You take a turn for the worse, papa bear will rip my guts out.”

“What are you talking ab… Oh, Robin? Seriously?”

“Look, I really don’t want to hurt you.” Steve’s chest pangs, because this could be a brush off.

Or it might not be.

“C’mon, Munson. Promise I’m not gonna break.” At that, a dirty little smile plays on Eddie’s mouth, which sends sparks through Steve’s veins. “What you thinking?”

The smile evolves into a filthy laugh. “All right, before you get out the thumb-screws—I used to have this fantasy about you. It’s totally messed-up, kinda kinky. I wouldn’t expect you to be up for it, even if we didn’t have our current, uh, issues.”

“Oh!” To be fair, Eddie is right. Steve has never been into kinky shit. That said, before this guy hijacked his heart, he’s never salivated at the mere thought of tattoos. “Um, try me?”

Eddie husks his little scenario into Steve’s ear, and Steve decides he’s totally game.

“It’s a kook-ball daydream,” says Eddie. “We shouldn’t really—"

“You wanna tie me up, Munson? We got plenty of rope a night to kill.” He slinks his arms up and under Eddie’s t-shirt. “Let’s do this.”

Part 10

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10 Part 11

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington whump #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson #steve & robin #stobin friendship #platonic stobin #stobin fic #steve and robin #steddie fanfiction #steve and eddie

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mallowsweetmiri · 1 month

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Peaches - Part One

~ A Fred Weasley Fic ~

“God I’m so fucking tired of this shit,” you groan as you let your head fall onto the table. It was going on hour three of doing homework and studying for your charms exam.

“The fact that you’re probably the best in our class and even you’re struggling with this exam is not making me feel better,” your friend Lucy sighs. You continue to groan as you shift your head back and forth in your hands and rub your eyes. You weren’t even talking about the exam.

“Think I’m gonna go for a walk, care to join?” You ask your friend, but she shakes her head and says she’s too nervous and has to continue her studies or else she’ll surely fail. You shrug and begin to pack your bag. You wanted to be alone anyway.

It was your sixth year at Hogwarts and you were arguably one of the best students in your class. The only issue was that this year you were finding it hard to give a single fuck about studying or doing your homework. For starters, the Tri-wizard Tournament served for an easy distraction. With swarms of new and interesting faces, it was hard to focus on a potions essay. Secondly, you had no idea what you wanted to do. When you were younger, you wanted to be a curse breaker like your dad. You had even completed your owls last year to pursue this career and now you were stuck taking some of the most difficult courses at the school. But that was before it happened.

You sighed, shoving your hands in your pockets as you wandered out of the south exit. The brisk November air struck your nose making you sniffle. You always preferred the fall. The cold air cleared your head and the rapid changes in the landscape peaked your interest. You wandered over to a browning tree and took a seat on its roots. You let your eyes lock onto the shore of the lake and finally let your mind wander.

It had happened over the summer. You were an only child born to two powerful wizards. Your mom had died in the first war. Both of your parents had spoke out against dark wizards. Both had fought for the good side. Only one had died. Your dad did his best to raise you on his own, but losing the love of his life took its toll on him. It didn’t help that you were the spitting image of your mother. Darkened curls falling over your petite frame with the face of a vixen. But you had your father’s hazel eyes. You finally broke out of your stare as you let your head fall with a broken laugh. God, you missed his eyes. The career that he had dedicated his life to had taken it. It didn’t matter how skilled he was. His fate was sealed the second he touched the object. At least that’s what the curse breaker department had told you that day. Now both of your parents were dead.

The upside, you scolded yourself for even calling it an upside, was that you were now left a fortune and a house. All to yourself. At 17 years old.

“Fuck!” You yelled into the wind as you let out an exasperated groan. This walk wasn’t helping you at all. Nothing seemed to help these days. Your head jerked up as you heard a chuckle from behind you. He was strolling towards you with that stupid smirk that was always plastered on his face. Fred Weasley. You rolled your eyes. “Just my luck,” you muttered turning away to face the lake again.

“Hey, don’t mind me. Sometimes you just gotta let it out,” he chuckled, continuing to walk towards you. Soon he reached your tree and he leaned up against it, his body towering over you as you sat on the ground. You look up to see his brown eyes looking down at you, that stupid smirk still covering half his face.

“Can I help you?” You asked, your voice cold and emotionless. Fred raised his eyebrows, the freckles on his nose moving with them.

“I was just using the owlery… are you alright?” He asked. He seemed genuinely concerned. You guessed yelling fuck at the top of your lungs didn’t exactly paint the picture of mental stability. You sighed and clenched the inside fabrics of your pockets.

“Just peachy,” you spat. He chuckled again at this and pushed himself off the tree.

“Well, just peachy, I’m going back to the castle if you care to join me. It’s cold out here,” his arms clung closely to himself as he said this, shivering. He was only wearing a thin long sleeve. Your mouth curved up into a little grin. For some reason this had made you laugh.

“Maybe ‘cause you’re daft and came outside without a jacket. I’m fine staying out here. Like I said, I’m just peachy,” you say with a sickly sweet smile before dropping it completely and turning away from him again. You don’t even see him smile at your sarcasm.

“Alright have fun freezing out here, just peachy. Hmm, peach. That has a ring to it,” he ponders as he lazily strolls back to the castle. You watch him as he continues through the bridge. It was very rare to see him without his other half, what was he doing in the owlery without George?

You sat outside for a little while longer. You let your mind wander over the possibilities of what the prankster could’ve been doing. At least the exchange had taken your mind of things for a bit. You pushed yourself off the ground and began the journey to the great hall. It was Sunday, and tomorrow you’d have to burden yourself with classes and a charms exam. But for tonight, you’d stuff your face and maybe laugh with your friends and get a goods nights sleep. Hopefully. You hadn’t been sleeping well.

Soon you pushed through the doors of the hall, the smell of roast and potatoes filling your nose. Your stomach growled. You strolled over to the Slytherin table.

“Y/N! You had me worried, that was a long walk,” Lucy frowns as you sat next to her. You waved her off and began to fill your plate with dinner. She pouts and pushes her short brown hair behind her ear. It was so sleek that it immediately fell back in front of her face, making her huff again.

“Oh come on Luce, you should know better than to worry about Y/N by now. She’s a strong, independent woman,” Cassius smirked, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, fuck off Cass,” you huffed, but you couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“Ah, there’s that smile we love so much,” Cassius gushed at you from across the table. You chuckled a bit and continued to eat. Your smiles were few and far this year.

You finished up dinner with your friends before you all headed down to the dungeons for some much needed sleep. Cassius bid you goodnight as you and Lucy trudged up the stairs into your dormitory. You immediately threw your stuff onto a chair and began to undress.

“Can we please wake up early for breakfast and study for the exam? I could really use your help Y/N… please?” Lucy begged with a cute pout. You chucked. You couldn’t say no to your best friend. Especially when she looked positively precious.

“Of course, Lucy darling. I’ll make sure you’re awake too,” you say as you cross the room to hug her. She brushes her fingers through your hair as you snuggle into her. You’d always been affectionate with each other.

“Aww my little Y/N,” she kisses the top of your head, “go on and get some sleep now. I need my tutor to be well rested!” You chuckle as you climb into your bed and she does the same. Lucy had been there for you through everything. You drift into sleep with the comfort of having your best friend in the bed next to you.

—————————————————

The next morning, you and Lucy had woken up early and made your way down to the great hall. The two of you sat with your notes sprawled in front of you beside two cups of coffee and some toast. You were taking a bite of your food when Lucy raised her head at something from across the hall.

“Weasley incoming…” she said wearily. You furrowed your eyebrows and whipped your head forward, only to confirm that a Weasley was in fact approaching the two of you.

“Mornin’ peach. I couldn’t help but see you from across the hall. What are you doing down here so early?” He asked, sitting down at the bench across from you as if it was normal. Both you and Lucy looked at him with confused expressions, but his lazy grin stayed stubbornly on his face. Why was he here?

“Um, we’re studying for our charms exam…” you said flatly. He folded his hands together.

“Funny! I’m doing the same exact thing,” his smile was lopsided as he leaned across the table to peak at your notes. You instinctively covered them quickly with your arms and pulled them towards your body.

“Funny! Maybe that’s cause we’re in the same class, Fred,” sarcasm oozed from your voice. Finally his stupid smile was replaced with furrowed brows.

“We’re in the same class?” He asked, dumbfounded. Lucy laughed into her cup of coffee, looking at me with knowing eyes. It was my turn to smirk now.

“Yes, Fred, we’ve been in the same class quite a few times. Oh wait! I forgot, your heads always shoved up your ass! That must be why he’s never noticed us before,” I gasp, turning to Lucy with a positively cherry smile glued to my face. Fred throws his head back and rubs his hand over his tired eyes.

“Fuck I’m sorry… and you even know my name…” he trailed off, looking only mildly embarrassed. You’re surprised he has even an ounce of shame in him.

“I think the whole school knows your name. And your brothers.” Lucy says, chuckling at him. Is he really that daft?

“Well since you both seem to know my name, may I ask yours?” He asks all gentleman like. You just know Lucy is eating this shit up.

“I’m Lucy,” she chuckles and they smile at each other. He turns to you, eagerness in his eyes. You roll yours.

“Go back to your table Weasley, I’m not giving you my notes or my name,” your response makes him pout slightly but that stupid smile pops right back as he begins to stand.

“Alright, alright,” he throws his hands up in defense, “I hear you loud and clear, peach. See you in class,” he waves at you two before walking back to the Gryffindor table. You spot George cracking up at the table with their other friend.

“Peach?“ Lucy laughs hysterically. You groan and pull your notes again.

“The last thing I need this week is a Weasley bothering me…” you grumble, but Lucy just kept giggling.

“I don’t know, he’s kind of funny. He is a prat though for not knowing our names,” she lets out one last chuckle before turning back to studying.

——————————————-

Fred’s POV

I can see George and Lee hysterical as I retreat back to the gryffindor table.

“Wow! That looked like it went great,” George cracked up, slapping Lee on the shoulder.

“Well, those Slytherins are known for their kindness,” Lee choked out. I roll my eyes but I couldn’t help but join the laughter.

“Well her friend was nice enough,” I shrugged as I took my seat, “but apparently they’re both in our charms class.” George threw his head back with a fit of laughter.

“Yeah, no shit Freddie! When you pointed her out as the girl you saw yesterday I thought it clicked in your head that it was Y/N.”

My jaw dropped. Are you kidding me?

“I didn’t even know her name…” I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. This only made George and Lee go into more hysterics.

“Well good luck befriending her now, mate,” Lee clapped my shoulder as we continued to eat and study.

I glanced over my shoulder again at her.

Y/N… How had I never noticed her before? She’s not like any girl I’ve met at Hogwarts. I suppose I had never really given a second thought to Slytherins…

———————————————-

I hope you guys enjoyed this first part of my new Fred series! Also sorry I have visuals described for Y/N but I have a certain character in mind for this one hehe.

I have the first few parts written out so I’ll post them rn!

Leave feedback in the comments and suggestions

#fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley headcanons #george weasley #ron weasley #ginny weasley #harry potter oneshot #harry potter headcanon #fred weasley imagine #Fred Weasley

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