#and it’s been six years and i’m so scared i’m forgetting her

[droloismo]

october is here and i am not ready lmfao

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hey it's me again hi !! i was thinking about rupert campbell black in a secret relationship with younger!reader who's an actress and she's known as the good girl of uk's cinema like well mannered never partied much such a sweetheart to everyone and so so talented. also very private about her personal life, never had any scandal at all but then pap pics of her and rupert together (kissing etc) come out and it's all over the newspapers and tv. and everyone goes crazy because he's not exactly the type of guy they expected her to go for and she's so scared of the public's opinion idk ...

thank you <33

Golden Girl.

after years of keeping your private life private, everybody’s suddenly talking about your new boyfriend. when it rains, it pours.

rupert campbell black x female reader

warnings - cursing. age gap. reader is a ball of anxiety. discussions of the british media (which needs its own warning).

word count - 3k

authors note - banger after banger, erica. I had immediate inspiration when I read this request, so thank you!! I could kiss you. i’ll let rupert kiss you instead. mwah.

masterlist. inbox.

The first thing you do when you see Rupert Campbell Black is smack him square across the face as hard as you can.

“What the fuck was that for?”

His hand flies up to his cheek, jaw flexing as he tries to breathe through the sting of the impact.

“You said we’d be fine!”

“Darling… what?”

His confusion is so genuine that it only makes you angrier, ready to hit him again right here on his front step.

“You said we’d be fine, remember? You said it was a friend’s pub, that you’d never ever been photographed there, that we were safe from prying eyes. You said we’d be fine, Rupert. Does this look like fine to you?”

You slap the newspaper onto his chest with slightly more force than necessary, almost knocking him backwards. He stares at the cover for a moment that seems to stretch on forever, reading the headline again and again and again.

Nation’s Sweetheart Caught With Serial Love Rat!

There’s a huge picture on the front page of the two of you, blown up and magnified. Rupert has his arms wrapped around your back, kissing you like his life depends on it. You’re kissing him back with just as much passion, hands tangled in his hair as you pull him closer, bodies plastered together.

There’s no denying it’s you. There’s no denying it’s him.

“Look at us, Rupert. Clear as day.”

“Well, fuck.”

You look at him incredulously, shaking your head in disbelief.

“That’s what you have to say? You’ve potentially ruined my career, and that’s what you have to say?”

“Darling, no one has ruined your career. You’ll be alright. You know what the newspapers are like - they’ll forget about this in a week, or when a juicier story comes along.”

“No, Rupert. You don’t understand. God, I knew you wouldn’t.”

There’s a lump in your throat that you’re trying to swallow down, tears welling in your eyes. You’re determined not to stand here and cry on Rupert’s driveway at six in the morning, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult.

“I’m still confused, sweetheart. You’ve been on the front page of the newspaper dozens of times, haven’t you? It’s no big deal. It’s bound to happen with a job like yours.”

“You’re not listening to me! You don’t get it, and you know what… maybe you never will.”

Your cheeks are wet suddenly, emotions bubbling to the surface unwittingly. Turning on your heel, you storm off, tired of trying to get him to see your point of view when he clearly can’t. You’re halfway across the huge expanse of driveway when fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you backwards.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he pants, perplexed. “You can’t leave until we’ve talked about this. I’m not letting you go home upset.”

“I’m an idiot,” you sob, trying to wrench your arm away from his grip. “Everyone warned me. What did I think would happen?”

“Darling, you need to stop speaking in riddles and just talk to me straight. Explain to me what I’m missing here, because clearly I don’t understand. But I want to. God, I so badly want to.”

You stand and stare at him for a moment, trying to decipher if he’s telling the truth. He’s looking at you with nothing but distress in his eyes, desperation written all over his face.

“Please,” he whispers, the final nail in the coffin.

You’re throwing yourself forward into Rupert’s arms before you can think twice about it, tucking into his chest and breathing him in. He holds you as tightly as he can, murmuring sweet nothings into your hair as he soothes you.

Pulling away and wiping your eyes, you inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself down so you can talk to each other properly. You wander across the driveway and towards the house, sitting down on his stone front step. There’s something in you that doesn’t want to go inside, knowing that the familiar comfort of his home will only make you cry harder.

Rupert sits down next to you, his hand settling on your knee. The heavy weight of it helps to settle your nerves, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin.

“We’re very different, you and I. I always knew that, it’s strikingly obvious,” you begin, staring out into the rolling gardens of his property. “We’ve each got our own reputations, that are arguably on completely polar opposite ends of the spectrum.”

“Are you calling me a bad boy?”

“Yes,” you chuckle, matching his smirk. “You are. But you know that. That’s your entire public image - notorious ladies man, badly behaved but charming enough to get away with it.”

“It’s carefully crafted,” he grins, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Not everyone can do what I do, though God knows they try.”

“Anyway. My reputation is entirely based on being the UK’s golden girl. That is literally what they call me. Golden Girl.”

“I’m aware.”

“Good. They love me, Rupert. Everything I do, they romanticise it. I went to that premiere on Saturday night - for a film that I wasn’t even in, mind you - and on Monday morning I was on the front pages of the newspapers. Golden Girl Dazzles in Sparkling Silver was the headline of The Telegraph. Golden Girl Shines Like A Diamond from The Guardian. The Sun, The Mirror, The Daily Star… all of them had a huge picture of me in my ballgown on the front page.”

“Because you are a star.”

“Exactly. The entire British public idolises me. I am this perfect woman to them - innocent, untroubled, well mannered. I don’t party hard, I don’t sleep with the entire film industry, I don’t ever turn up looking less than put together. I’m perfect.”

“And so humble.”

“No, Rupert. Jesus Christ,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I don’t think I’m perfect. They do. And I have worked hard to keep that image intact, because that image gets me roles in the biggest films of the year, every year.”

“And I don’t fit with that image.”

“You’re a rebel. You’re tongue in cheek, you’re not afraid to speak your mind, you’re brutally honest. You drink, you sleep with beautiful women, you turn up to Parliament hungover and in last nights clothes. And people love you for it. Well… most people.”

He laughs, shaking his head at the psychoanalysis.

“We have our public images that work for us, Rupert. And it just so happens that they don’t fit with each others at all. Well, I fit yours, but you don’t fit mine.”

“Do you think everyone is up in arms because you’re dating me, or because you’re dating in general? You’ve never had a public boyfriend before. Maybe the people feel like you’ve betrayed them.”

“I do think that’s a part of it. It also just doesn’t help that it’s you.”

“Ouch. No offence taken.”

You roll your eyes at him, placing your hand over his where it rests on your knee still.

“Just being honest, Rupert. Taking a leaf out of your book, you know.”

He chuckles all warm and soft before leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, shuffling over so his side is pressed into yours. You both gaze out over the vast expanse of his gardens, looking over to the fields where the horses graze when they whinny.

“Is this a choice for you?”

When you look at him with confusion written across your face, he continues.

“Do you have to choose? Between me and your public image? Or can they coexist?”

“…I don’t know. I mean, they can’t coexist, clearly,” you gesture towards the discarded newspaper on the ground at your feet. “It’d be a sacrifice for me. I’d have to become a completely new person, adjust this persona that they’ve created in the media. I’m not a Golden Girl - I have flaws just like anyone else. But obviously, flawed doesn’t sell films. Gold does.”

“They wouldn’t have to know. We could make sure that we’re never seen together, never photographed again. It could be our secret.”

Your heart constricts at his tone of voice. He sounds like he’s bargaining, borderline pleading that you don’t walk away.

“We both know deep down that wouldn’t work. That’s what we tried - and what put us in this situation. Nothing stays a secret for long, not with the British media.”

“Well then we embrace it. Say yes, we’re together, and we’re happy.”

“And the minute we break up, they all say I told you so on the front pages, and my image is ruined forever.”

The man next to you flinches as if you’ve hit him again, body tensing up where it presses into yours.

“The minute we break up?”

“Rupert.”

“No, darling. Is that what this is? You had one foot out the door already, and this is just good reason to make it two?”

He stands up abruptly, pacing back and forth anxiously. The gravel crunches under his feet, the only sound that can be heard besides the birds chirping as they wake.

“I know what you’re like,” you say quietly. “Every time you’re on the front page of a newspaper it’s because you’ve been spotted with a new woman. I’m under no illusions - I’m not special, and I’m not different. I like you a lot, I have since the minute I met you. But I’m not stupid.”

“Is this in regards to the interview my ex wife did a few weeks ago?”

“She said she thought that she’d be it for you, Rupert. That she’d be the one to change you, that you’d finally settle down and put your party boy days behind you. And she did have that, for six whole years. Until… she didn’t.”

“So what, I can never change? Every woman I ever date is just waiting for me to fuck it up with her?”

You stand up now so you’re on the same level, not enjoying being sat beneath him while his voice raises.

“You have a reputation! You’re not oblivious to it and neither am I. Every single woman thinks that she’ll be the one, that she’ll change you and tame you and settle you down. And every single woman so far has been wrong. What makes me different? What makes me special? What makes me the exception?”

“You really don’t know?”

“What?”

Rupert takes a deep breath, striding across the driveway so he’s stood in front of you, towering and strong.

“I love you.”

You sway backwards as you struggle to stay steady on your feet, the weight of the words knocking you over.

“You… what?”

“I’m in love with you, darling.”

“Are you?” you whisper, conflicted. “Do you say this to all of them?”

He sweeps your face into his big hands, cradling your cheeks as he forces you to look up at him.

“No. This… this never happens. That’s why I’m fighting so hard for you. I have never wanted something to work as badly as this.”

“I’m not trying to paint you as a villain,” you say lowly. “But how am I supposed to know that this isn’t the speech that you’ve given a dozen women before me? You can understand where I’m coming from, can’t you?”

“Of course I can. And I’m kicking myself, because it’s my own fault that you don’t believe me when I tell you these things. My reputation has done irreparable damage to relationships in my life.”

He leans in to rest his forehead on yours, breathing each other in for a moment.

“Rupert.”

“Darling… we’ve been speaking on my driveway for an hour. You knocked on my door at six o’clock in the morning and smacked me in the face. And I am still here. I’m trying to show you that I am going to fight for this. For you. For us.”

“I don’t know what to do,” you confess gently. “I just want to curl up into a ball and cry.”

“The only thing you can do is trust me, I suppose. Trust that I won’t let you down, trust that I’ll look after you, trust that I mean it when I say that you’re it for me.”

“I want to. I want to trust you.”

“I know. I can see you do.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, soaking in the warmth that’s radiating from him. He’s in his pyjama trousers and a t shirt, all soft and worn and threadbare, and you want to burrow yourself into it and stay there for as long as he’ll let you.

“Do you want to go inside?” he asks, all muffled into your hair.

“Not yet,” you mumble into his chest. “I like the fresh morning air. And listening to the birds.”

Rupert tightens his arms around you, one hand cradling the back of your head to keep you close to him. He keeps kissing the top of your head, wishing that he could accurately convey the way he feels in the words that you’ll believe.

“Darling… do you know how many women I’ve said I love you to in my life?”

You pull away to look at him, smiling when he intertwines his hand with yours so you don’t go far. You shake your head, waiting for him to carry on.

“Two.”

“… two?”

“Two.”

You think about this for a moment, studying the gravel beneath you. A finger hooks under your chin, forcing you to look into tender eyes.

“And do you know who they were?”

You shake your head once more.

“My mother and my grandmother.”

You don’t know what to say, taken aback by Rupert’s sudden vulnerability. You’ve opened up to each other many times in the past, but never quite like this. It feels like you’re baring your souls to each other in the morning light, raw and exposing and so, so beautiful.

“What about your ex wife? All your girlfriends?”

“Nope. Never said it to them.”

“You never told your ex wife you loved her? You were married for six years, Rupert. You had two kids.”

“I know that. She’d tell me she loved me, and then she’d ask ‘do you love me too?’ and I’d say ‘of course I do, you know I do.’ I never once said the words I love you to her. I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I thought it’d come with time. She said it to me quite quickly, quite early on in the relationship, so I thought I just wasn’t ready. I supposed that it’d come to me eventually. And it never did.”

“But you’re saying it to me.”

“I am,” he smiles, his gaze begging you to believe him. “You’re the only woman I have ever fallen in love with.”

“I remember the episode of Declan. When you said you’d never been in love.”

“Then I met you. And it all changed.”

A tear slips down your cheek as you look at him, his eyes full of hope and sadness in equal measure.

“I believe you,” you whisper. “And I trust you. I promise you, I trust you.”

Rupert leans in to kiss you, all soft and sweet and full of adoration. It’s the most tender kiss you’ve ever received, on screen or off. You’ll remember it forever.

“So what if they don’t have their Golden Girl anymore?” you grin when you pull away, sweeping your thumbs over his cheekbones. “We’ll just have to show them who we are. They’ll adjust.”

“They’ll take one look at us together all gorgeous on a red carpet and all will be forgotten. We’ll be the Couple of the Hour in no time, darling.”

“We do scrub up well.”

“Very well.”

You peck his lips once more before grabbing his hand tightly, interlinking your fingers.

“Can we go inside now?”

“Your palace awaits,” he chuckles, gesturing towards the house and pulling you along.

“Oh, Rupert?”

“Darling?”

You stop in your tracks, feeling the first rays of the days sun sparkle down onto your skin.

“I love you too.”

He looks at you for a long moment before barrelling into you, picking you up and spinning you around while you both laugh in utter joy.

“She loves me! Your Golden Girl loves me, ladies and gents!”

You’re shrieking, laughing so hard that you can’t breathe. He puts you down eventually, both of you stumbling towards the house with stars in your eyes.

“Sorry for smacking you earlier, by the way.”

“It’s alright,” he grins, slipping his hand into your back pocket. “It might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever done.”

“You’re insufferable,” you chide, but you can’t wipe the beaming smile off your face.

You close the front door behind you, kneeling down to greet all of the dogs that come bounding out of the kitchen. Rupert watches you from across the hallway with the softest look on his face that you’ve ever seen.

“I’m insufferable, and you love me.”

“You’re insufferable. And I love you.”

you know what i’m gonna say… reblogs are gold dust, baby!! support your favourite writers and they’ll write more for you!! simple!!

[maria021015]

Hogwarts’s Resident Goth Girl

Fred Weasley x FemGothGryffindorReader

Hogwart’s resident goth girl y/n was unfriendly at best and completely unapproachable at worst. In fact, in all his six years at the school, Fred Weasley had never heard her speak once. When George dares him to ask her to the Yule Ball, all of that is about to change.

———————————————————————

The transfiguration classroom looked entirely different today. The tables and chairs had been moved and a large space had been cleared in the centre of the room. Professor McGonagall had moved heaven and timetables to arrange a house meeting for all of Gryffindor.

The girls stood stiffly on one side of the room, arms linked or eyes rolling, while the boys formed an equally nervous, significantly more chaotic huddle across from them. It was like a schoolyard duel in slow motion - neither side eager to advance.

Minerva McGonagall, in her usual black robes, surveyed the crowd with the tight-lipped patience of someone who had survived many such evenings.

"In preparation for the upcoming Yule Ball," McGonagall spoke loudly as she stood in the centre of the room. "It rests with me to ensure that all of you understand the proper meaning of the occasion, as the Yule Ball is, first and foremost, a dance."

Excited murmurs erupted (from the girls) intermingling with exasperated groans (from the boys).

"Silence." McGonagall said sharply. "The house of Godrick Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the wizarding world for nearly ten centuries. I will not have you in the course of a single evening besmirching that name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons."

"Try saying that five times fast," Fred whispered to George, and both of the Weasley twins attempted this under their breath with varying degrees of success.

"Now to dance is to let the body breathe." She stated. "Inside every girl a secret swan slumbers longing to burst forth and take flight. And, inside every boy, a lordly lion prepared to prance."

The twins snickered even harder as their younger brother was beckoned up to demonstrate a waltz with the house leader. "Mr Weasly, will you join me?"

Ron stood up slowly, and sort of shuffled towards McGonagall, who grabbed his wrist when he was near enough and dragged him into the centre of the room with her.

"Now," she said. "Place your right hand on my waist."

Ron suddenly looked nothing short of mortified. "Where?"

McGonagall once again grabbed his wrist, forcing him to place his right hand on her waist. George promptly stuck his fingers in his mouth, letting out a shrill whistle, and Ron glared over at them as he attempted to make a rude gesture with his hand, but McGonagall's grip was suddenly vice-like and she forced Ron's hand back onto her waist, all in a matter of seconds.

"One two three, one two three, one two three..." McGonagall counted the steps aloud as she guided Ron in the most awkward looking waltz that any of them had ever seen, and it was downright hilarious.

Glancing over his shoulder at Fred and George, who were enjoying a laugh at their brother's expense as they mimicked him, Harry beckoned them closer.

"Oi!" He said quietly, as they leaned in. "Never gonna let him forget this, are you?"

Fred and George grinned evilly. "Never." They said in unison.

“I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you. I betcha five galleons we’re going to have to do this next.” Seamus Finnegan spoke up with a rather nauseous expression on his face.

“No way,” Harry muttered, shaking his head, “I’d rather face a three-headed dog than do this in front of everyone.”

“Oh, come on,” Fred said, sweeping a grand, sarcastic bow. “If you boys are so scared of a little dancing, how’re you going to keep your dates happy at the actual ball.”

Harry snorted. “You say that like finding a date will be easy.”

Fred grinned. “I’m Fred Weasley, mate. I’ll be fighting them off in droves. In fact—” he turned to George, eyebrows raising mischievously “—maybe I’ll make it interesting. Try going stag. See if I survive.”

“Oh, no,” George said, lips curling with danger. “You want interesting? Try this.”

He jerked his chin toward the far wall.

And there she was.

Leaning against the stone like she couldn’t be bothered to give the room her full disdain, gum snapping, one heavy-booted foot crossed over the other. Her hair was scraped back into an unforgiving twist, jet black strands gleaming beneath pins shaped like bones and crescent moons. Her eyes were heavily shadowed and lined with bold strokes that nearly reached her temples, like war paint from a darker age.

Black lipstick, maroon nails, and enough jewelry to make a small thief weep. Her rings were detailed with snakes, stars, blades. Everything about her screamed do not approach. She was intimidation incarnate.

Fred’s mouth opened. Closed again.

“Her?” he finally said.

George’s grin was diabolical. “If you’re so confident, why not go for the most unapproachable girl in school?”

Fred narrowed his eyes at her, curiosity blooming. “She looks like she’d hex me for breathing too loud.”

“Exactly.”

Fred watched her. She wasn’t participating. Hadn’t even uncrossed her arms. Just leaned there, blowing bubbles and judging everyone in a ten-meter radius. But now that he was really looking, he noticed the subtle things: the slope of her cheekbones, the precise arch of her brow, the gleam of some quiet fire in her eyes. Striking, strange, and impossible to ignore.

He’d heard many things about her. That she was the daughter of a pureblood family who cut her off when she wasn’t sorted into Slytherin. That she was planted in Gryffindor as a spy. That the reason she never spoke was because she was part siren. That she’d once hexed a hufflepuff girl for speaking to her. Of course, most of them likely weren’t true. But where there was smoke there was usually fire.

He straightened. “You’re on.”

“Pair up!” McGonagall called.

The room descended into a flurry of movement and nerves, boys and girls awkwardly tripping over each other in an attempt to pair off. Some laughed. Some looked like they were being marched to their doom.

Fred, however, walked with singular purpose.

She noticed him before he reached her. One brow raised, arms still crossed.

“D’you fancy a dance?” he asked, voice easy, theatrical. “Because I’ve got the oddest feeling I’ve been waltzing through your mind all day.”

She blinked. Slowly.

He stood before her now, hand outstretched. “Come on. Give us a whirl.”

Another snap of gum. Her stare could’ve frozen lava.

And then, without a word, she uncrossed her arms and slid her fingers into his. She didn’t reply, but she moved with crisp elegance into position. One hand in his, the other on his shoulder, cool rings biting through the fabric of his robes.

McGonagall barked out instructions and set the pace with a wave of her wand. The music began. A lilting, sweeping waltz that sent the room into motion.

Fred started forward. She moved with him, effortlessly matching his steps.

“Blimey,” he muttered, “you’re… actually good at this.”

No reply.

He grinned, unfazed. “So what’s your secret? Possessed by the ghost of a Victorian ballerina?”

Her expression remained a picture of indifference.

“Alright, alright,” Fred continued, undeterred. “Silent type. That’s fair. Adds to the whole dark enchantress vibe.”

She arched a single brow.

“Right, I’ll just keep talking then. I’m Fred, by the way. Not that you don’t already know that. I’m sure everyone does. Legend in my own right and all.”

Then she stepped - deliberately - on his foot. Her heavy black boot crunched over his toes in a loud thud.

Fred stifled a wince. “Ow. Okay. Deserved.”

Another step. Another toe crushed.

“You know, there are easier way of sending a message. Like using words, perhaps?”

She didn’t stop dancing. She didn’t speak. But she did keep stepping on him.

By the end of the lesson, Fred was limping.

McGonagall clapped her hands. “Excellent progress. That’s enough for today. You may go.”

As the music cut out and the students dispersed, Fred hobbled back to where George, Ron, and Harry waited.

“She didn’t say a word,” Fred muttered, wincing as he rotated his foot. “But I think she might’ve broken my fourth and fifth toes.”

George was doubled over laughing. “You’re hopeless!”

“She danced with me,” Fred said. “Didn’t curse me. Only minor physical assault. I’d call that a success.”

Harry shook his head, grinning. “So…what now?”

Fred glanced back over his shoulder. She was already gone.

“I’m going to make her talk,” he said, with a grin full of challenge. “Eventually.”

———————————————————————

Fred had tried to spot y/n around the grounds all weekend to no avail. The next time he saw her was on a clear and painfully cold Wednesday morning. The kind of weather that made you regret your very existence when your socks weren’t thick enough. Fred, however, had woken with a spring in his step and a still slightly bruised foot. And an unrelenting, absurdly powerful curiosity.

She hadn’t spoken. She hadn’t smiled. But she had danced with him, and that was more than anyone else could say. That had to mean something, right?

She was in the courtyard before breakfast, perched on a stone bench like a gothic gargoyle who’d just devoured a few first years. She was alone, as always. A heavy wool coat draped over her uniform, long dark sleeves spilling past her fingers. Her ears were plugged with some enchanted Muggle contraption he’d seen her wear before, with a sleek black cord disappearing into her pocket.

The metal of her jewelry caught the weak sunlight. Her fingers drummed idly against her knee, keeping rhythm with something no one else could hear.

Fred stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled toward her. “Afternoon, dark queen of my twisted heart,” he greeted, flashing a grin.

No reaction. She didn’t even look up at him, leading him to take a seat on the bench beside her.

He gestured to her ears. “What have you got there? Does it play music?”

Still nothing, but at least her dark-lined eyes flickered to lock onto his own for a few seconds before returning to the book she was reading.

“You know, I could be pouring my soul out here. Confessing my deepest secrets. Serenading you. And you wouldn’t even know.”

Still nothing.

“I’ve decided,” he announced. “I’m going to make you laugh before the end of the week.”

No answer. No eye contact.

Fred glanced over at her. Her gaze remained locked on the page, but the way her head tilted slightly to the side, he could tell she was at least listening.

“Challenge accepted?” he offered. “I mean, technically you haven’t accepted anything, but let’s be honest - you’re intrigued. At least a tiny bit.”

Silence.

Fred ran a hand through his hair, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Look, I get it. You’re a mystery. A walking enigma. The human embodiment of ‘I hate everyone.’ But I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. I’m relentlessly annoying.”

She shifted slightly. His gaze dropped. Her foot tapped. Still in rhythm with the music in her head.

“Alright, I see how it is,” Fred continued dramatically. “You want me to earn it. Earn what, you may ask? A smile. A word. The occasional blink. Anything would be nice, really.”

Nothing. Still stone-faced.

“Well, maybe not anything. My toes are still recovering from last week.”

A flicker. The barest tilt of her lips before she popped another bubble with her gum.

Fred grinned. “Was that a smile? That counts. I’m counting it.”

She exhaled through her nose. Was that…was she holding back a laugh?

It was hard to tell. Her expression was steel, but Fred was starting to learn the language of her silences. There were degrees of blank. And this one…this one had a glint.

“I’ll take that as a win for today,” he said as he stood, stretching his arms overhead. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back. Persistence is my greatest flaw. That and my tragic addiction to chocolate frogs.”

Still no words. But as he turned to leave, he caught the faintest upward twitch at the corner of her mouth, before she leaned back against the bench like he was already old news. Fred walked away beaming.

George found him halfway to the Great Hall. “She hex you?” he asked casually.

“Nope.”

“She insult you?”

“Nope.”

“Trip you?”

“Nope.”

George narrowed his eyes. “Mate, you’re smiling. What happened?”

“She smiled.”

George paused. “You mean she showed teeth? Was it a snarl?”

Fred clapped a hand over his heart dramatically. “No. It was a smile, and it was beautiful.”

George barked a laugh. “You’re losing it.”

Fred didn’t reply. He was too busy trying to remember the exact way her lip had curled, and wondering how someone who never smiled could make him want to work so hard for it.

———————————————————————

Fred spotted her before she spotted him. Usually, she gave off the kind of presence that hit you like an ice bath - you felt her before you saw her. But this time, she was tucked into a corner of the hallway behind a crumbling archway, half-hidden by a particularly broody statue of a knight impaling something unfortunate. She wasn’t wearing her that music device in her ears.

Could this be another opportunity for him? He took a step closer, then another, analysing her like a particularly tricky niffler.

There was no music. No usual cloud of chewing gum bubbles. Just her, bent over a sketchpad, a fountain pen clutched in her ring-heavy fingers, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. The black lace at her collar fluttered faintly in the breeze.

Fred whistled low under his breath. “Well, well. What do we have here? The reclusive raven emerges from her nest.”

She didn’t look up. But her hand stopped moving - just slightly - in surprise.

Fred took a few more steps forward until he stood just a few feet from her. Close enough to see the thick, inky lines she’d been drawing: curling vines, crescent moons, something that looked suspiciously like a skull impaled on a sword.

“Romantic,” he said, crouching beside the bench. “Is that a self-portrait, or just how you feel about Tuesdays?”

Still no words. But she did glance at him this time. Just briefly. A sideways flicker of her eyes beneath dark lashes. Fred would have missed it if he weren’t watching her so closely.

He sat on the low stone wall across from her, elbows on his knees. “You know, we’ve shared classes for six years and I don’t think I’ve ever heard your voice. I’m starting to think you’re a figment of my imagination. Or under some ancient vow of silence.”

She capped her pen and leaned back slightly, arms crossed, eyes narrowing just a touch.

Fred grinned. “Ah. I see. We’ve entered the ‘silent judgment’ portion of the conversation.”

Still nothing. But the corner of her mouth twitched again. Once. Like a muscle spasm she couldn’t suppress.

He took that as a good sign.

“I told my mum about you, you know. Asked her what to do when a beautiful girl gives you the cold shoulder. She said ‘run, because that means she’s probably smarter than you.’”

A breath escaped her. It might have been a scoff. Or a laugh. It was hard to tell.

Fred leaned closer. “Was that a sound? Did I hear something? An actual response?”

And then - finally, like a crack forming in ice - she spoke. Just one word. Flat. Bored. Completely unimpressed. “Barely.”

Fred went still.

Then his whole face lit up like a Christmas tree. “She speaks! Bloody hell, I was starting to think it’d be easier to break into the Department of Mysteries than to get anything out of you.”

She rolled her eyes and uncapped her pen again.

Fred tilted his head, pretending to be offended. “So I’m back to being ignored now? Was it something I said? Was it all of the things I said?”

No answer.

“Or are you just trying to preserve your reputation as Hogwarts’ official goddess of gloom and doom?”

A small huff. Her pen stilled again, but she didn’t look at him this time.

Fred smirked. “I’m not trying to win you over, by the way.”

That got him a look. A full, head-tilted glance that screamed liar.

He held up both hands. “No, no. Really. I’ve accepted that you are far too dark and mysterious for mere mortals like me. I just enjoy poking the basilisk.”

Another flicker of a smile. She ducked her head this time, hiding it behind a shadow.

Fred felt his heart stutter a little. Damn. She really was beautiful. Not in the way Angelina or Katie was. Not like the girls who giggled in the common room or wore perfume and lip gloss and glittering earrings. She was striking. Electric. With cheekbones that could cut glass and eyes that looked like they’d seen too much to be fooled by anything.

And for some mad reason, Fred was drawn to her like a moth to a flame that definitely would incinerate him.

He stood again, brushing imaginary dust off his knees. “Well, I’ve officially achieved a word. And a look. And a not-quite-laugh. My self-worth has skyrocketed.”

Still no answer. But she didn’t go back to drawing, either.

Instead, as he turned to leave, she flipped to the next page in her sketchbook and began sketching again.

Fred peeked over his shoulder just once. The lines were different now. More curved. Looser. There were sparks in the margins. Little flames, maybe. He couldn’t tell.

But he walked back to Gryffindor tower with a smirk and a strange lightness in his step.

“Let me guess,” George said as Fred slumped onto the couch beside him, “she cursed you into silence?”

“She spoke,” Fred replied, sounding like he’d seen a unicorn tap-dance.

Ron snorted. “Sure she did.”

“No, really. She said something. I heard it. Witnessed it. It was glorious.”

“What’d she say?” Harry asked, half-amused.

Fred leaned back, eyes closed, arms behind his head. “She said: ‘barely.’”

“That’s it?” George said, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s it,” Fred said proudly. “And it was the most amazing word I’ve ever heard.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You’re losing your mind.”

Fred just smiled. Because somewhere behind that deadpan stare and thick eyeliner had been a spark. And Fred intended to culture it into a flame.

———————————————————————

Hogsmeade weekends at Hogwarts were usually chaotic affairs. Students crowded into Zonko’s, gorging themselves at the Three Broomsticks, and of course, descending on Honeydukes like chocolate-starved banshees.

Fred Weasley normally loved it.

Today, though, he wasn’t thinking about sugar quills or fizzing whizbees. His eyes were scanning the crowd outside Honeydukes with something far more pressing in mind.

Her.

He didn’t actually know her full name. He just knew the way people whispered about it in the corridors, like saying it aloud might summon a hex. The Slytherins called her “that witch,” the Ravenclaws referred to her as “Dark Matter,” and the Hufflepuffs didn’t refer to her at all.

Fred thought of her as The Girl Who Might Step on Your Soul - but lately, she’d also become The Girl With the Smile He’d Die to See Again.

And there she was.

Leaning against the shopfront beneath the peppermint-striped awning, arms crossed, blowing another pink bubble of gum that snapped like a wand strike. Her lips were dark plum today - nearly black - and her nails matched, glittering with tiny crescent moons.

Fred adjusted his scarf, smoothed his hair, and made his move.

He approached with a sideways lean, trying to look casual. “You know, most people go into Honeydukes to get sweets. You guarding it from the forces of evil?”

She tilted her head lazily toward him, bubblegum still popping. Her eyes dragged over his face, unimpressed.

Fred gestured dramatically to the door. “I promise not to steal anything. Unless you count your heart.”

A single eyebrow arched.

He grinned. “Yeah, no, that was awful. I’ll be quiet now.”

She rolled her eyes and turned toward the shop. He wasn’t sure if that was an invitation or a dismissal, until she paused in the doorway and looked back.

Not at him. But not not at him either. Fred took the hint and followed.

It was warm and humming with noise. Chocolate frogs hopped in their glass cases, and the air smelled like spun sugar and peppermint bark. Fred almost lost her in the busy crowd, until he caught sight of her just up ahead, paused in front of the Acid Pops.

He wandered up beside her, nudging her gently with his elbow. “Let me guess, you’re the type who eats the really dangerous sweets on purpose.”

She turned her head slightly. “Obviously.”

Fred smiled. Another word. “That explains a lot.”

She raised a hand to select one of the glowing red lollipops that fizzed with little sparks at the tip. He noticed the way her rings caught the light - each one a little silver dagger, a serpent, a set of star maps. When she held the lollipop up to inspect it, her sleeve slid back just enough to reveal a constellation tattoo on her wrist.

Fred tilted his head. “Already got ink?”

She gave him a slow, deliberate look. “If you mean pen ink, sure.”

He held his heart. “Ah, of course. You do like your doodles, don’t you? You excel at it too.”

That twitch again. The smallest hint of a smile.

“And you excel at being annoying,” she murmured, moving past him toward the chocolate section.

Fred trailed after her like a duckling with zero shame. “And yet, you keep talking to me.”

“I’m just responding to your constant barrage of commentary. That’s hardly a conversation.”

He held up a finger. “True. But I’ll take not being hexed yet as a victory.”

She turned down an aisle and paused at a bin of peppermint toads. Fred caught up to her side.

“So what’s your poison? Chocolate skulls? Licorice bats? Something dramatic and dark, I assume.”

She picked up a small box of sugar-dusted serpent tongues and wiggled it in front of him. “These.”

Fred blinked. “You’re joking.”

She wasn’t.

“Alright, well…I’ve never tried those. Any good?”

She smirked. Smirked. Not just a twitch, an actual visible curl of the lips. “Only if you like sour.”

Fred wrinkled his nose. “Can’t say it’s my favourite.”

He darted toward the counter with a flourish. “One box of serpent-tongues please - and throw in a pack of those chocolate frogs. My treat.”

She narrowed her eyes, suddenly cautious. “You don’t have to buy me anything.”

“I want to buy you something,” Fred said, lifting the box from her hands gently. “It’s not a bribe. Just a gift.”

“You know, I bet you don’t even know my name.”

He paused. Fair point. Fred leaned against the counter with a crooked smile. “Alright, then. Give me your name and I’ll buy you two boxes.”

She eyed him like she was debating whether it was worth it. Then she said it. Not what he expected, but it fit her.

Fred repeated it back to her with a broad grin. “…A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

She said nothing. But she did let him pay.

The sun was beginning to sink low, casting the cobbled streets in molten amber. Snow dusted the rooftops. Her boots crunched as they walked slowly away from the shop together, shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching.

Fred offered her one of the chocolate frogs. She declined.

“You don’t like chocolate?”

“I don’t like sharing.”

Fred snorted. “Alright, fair. I can respect a woman who guards her sweets like treasure.”

They walked in silence for a bit.

She was fiddling with the box in her hands, her rings tapping softly against the cardboard. Fred glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“You know,” he said eventually, “I never expected you to be a good dancer.”

She raised a brow.

He held up his hands quickly. “No offense! I just mean, you seem like the type who would stab anyone who tried to touch you.”

“I might still,” she muttered, but the corners of her mouth curved again.

Fred tilted his head, teasing. “You didn’t hate dancing with me, though. Admit it.”

She looked at him for a moment. Really looked. Then she said, “Your feet deserved what they got.”

Fred laughed. “And yet, I keep crawling back.”

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t walk away either.

The sun caught her hair and lit it up like a black flame. Her lipstick was still perfect. She smelled like cinnamon and something sharper.

Fred suddenly felt warm despite the chill in the air. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re intriguing, you know.”

She gave him a sideways look. “Is that a line?”

“No,” he said honestly. “It’s a fact.”

She slowed her pace, just slightly.

Fred hesitated before speaking again. “Does it bother you that people…always avoid you? Or do you like it that way?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, “Most people don’t know what to do with me. So they make things up.”

Fred’s voice softened. “So all that stuff everyone says about you - that you’re a pureblood, a blood traitor, that your family wanted you in Slytherin - is all just stories?”

Another pause. “I’m afraid the truth really isn’t that interesting at all.” She admitted. “My mother’s a muggle, dad’s a wizard. My parents couldn’t care less that I’m in Gryffindor. And no, I didn’t hex that Hufflepuff for talking to me. She tried to curse my favourite necklace.”

“So you did hex her, then,” Fred snickered and she rolled her eyes.

“That’s all you take from that?”

“Yes well you were right, the rest of it is quite boring,” he jested and she snorted.

But before Fred could say anything, she added - so quietly it almost got lost in the wind. “You’re…not as irritating as I thought you’d be.”

Fred’s jaw dropped in mock horror. “High praise! Merlin’s beard, I feel like I’ve been knighted!”

She rolled her eyes again. But there was something lighter in it now.

They’d reached the end of the main path where the trees started to curl around the snow-dusted edge of the village. The castle loomed in the distance, dark against the gold and pink sky.

Fred turned to her. “Well…this has been the best almost-conversation of my life.”

She snorted. And then she smiled. A real one. It lit up her whole face. Made her eyes softer. More human.

Fred felt his stomach flip.

“See?” he said, his voice going low. “Told you. You’re kind of nice when you’re not trying to murder me with your eyebrows.”

She looked amused. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’m sure I’ll earn a curse tomorrow.”

She didn’t deny it. But when he offered his arm for the walk back, she didn’t hesitate, either.

Fred was still smiling when he got back to the common room.

He didn’t even notice that George was waving a hand in front of his face until he snapped. “Oi. Earth to Freddie. You just spend your day snogging a Dementor, or what?”

“Almost, but not quite!” Fred leaned back, dreamy-eyed. “She’s…brilliant. Terrifying. Mysterious. Probably planning my untimely demise. But she smiled at me.”

George made a choking noise. “She smiled?! Bloody hell, did the world end while I was out?”

Fred grinned. “She smiled. And she let me buy her sweets. And we walked together. And she talked.”

“You mean she growled,” Ron muttered.

“She spoke, Ron. Multiple sentences. She has a sense of humour, even.”

George leaned in. “You think she’ll say yes to the Yule Ball, then?”

Fred’s grin faltered. “…Right.” The ball. He still hadn’t asked.

———————————————————————

The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet for a Saturday evening. Most students were still down at dinner, or tucked away in corners finishing last-minute essays for Snape’s surprise assignments. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering amber shadows across the floor.

Fred was stretched out on the couch, one leg slung over the armrest, lazily flipping through a Quidditch magazine. His mind wasn’t on the plays or broom models. It was on her.

He hadn’t seen her since Hogsmeade. Not properly, anyway. There’d been a glance across the Great Hall. A shadow in the corridor. The memory of her smile had been haunting him ever since - real, soft, devastating.

Fred closed the magazine, letting it flop to the floor. He tilted his head back against the cushions and stared at the ceiling.

“You’re not brooding, are you?” came a low voice from behind him. “That’s George’s thing. You’re supposed to be the funny one.”

Fred sat bolt upright, nearly falling off the sofa. He twisted around, and there she was.

Standing at the bottom of the staircase, arms crossed, her signature smirk curled lazily into her dark lipstick. Her black jumper was oversized, slouched off one shoulder, and the sword pin on her chest caught the firelight like a living thing.

She didn’t usually spend time in the common room. When she wasn’t out and about the castle, she was hidden up in her room. And she’d not only spoken, but she’d said something to him first. She’d willingly initiated a conversation with him.

Fred blinked. “I…how…what—?”

She rolled her eyes and sauntered down the last few steps, heavy boots tapping against the stone. “Relax, Weasley. Don’t swallow your tongue. However will you talk my ears off then?”

Fred scrambled upright, trying to remember how sitting up straight worked. “Hang on, you’re actually socialising? I thought your Saturday nights were full of sacrificial rituals and howling the moon.”

“You’re thinking of werewolves, Weasley. Besides, I got bored of chanting at my voodoo dolls.”

Fred gaped. “Do you actually have voodoo dolls? Do you have one of me?”

“Don’t be daft, Frederick.” She looked around the almost empty common room lazily.

“You came downstairs to talk to me willingly?” He arched a brow, still surprised.

“I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“And you spoke first.”

“Unfortunately.”

He pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “I may cry. This might be the best night of my life.”

She crossed the room slowly, deliberately, until she stood on the opposite side of the fireplace. She didn’t sit. She just studied him, gaze sweeping from his rumpled jumper to the soft heat still lingering in his expression.

Fred couldn’t stop smiling. “I didn’t think this day would ever come.”

Even though he was clearly joking, a small part of him meant it.

“Yes, well,” she said, tone dry. “You stalked me through Honeydukes. Thought I’d return the favour.”

“And?” he asked, breath catching. “Do you regret it yet?”

She tilted her head. “Still deciding.”

Fred cleared his throat and nodded, trying to play it cool, despite the fact that her just being here was rearranging his internal organs.

“You…want to sit?”

She eyed the empty seat beside him like it might bite. Then, with a sigh, she dropped down next to him, curling one leg beneath her and leaning back. Her hair brushed his shoulder. He tried not to combust.

“I’m not staying long,” she said casually.

“Of course not,” Fred replied, still beaming. “Wouldn’t want to risk actually enjoying yourself and cracking a smile in front of the inferiors.”

She smirked at the fire. “Exactly. Might ruin my reputation.”

He angled toward her. “If your reputation is what you’re worried about, I can help with that.”

“Oh?”

“Sure. I’ll spread a rumor that you hexed me after I gave you sweets.”

“People already think that.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Silence fell for a moment. Not awkward. Just…charged. The fire cracked and popped. Outside, the wind howled against the windows. Her fingers toyed idly with the edge of one of the cushions, rings glinting. Fred watched the motion, transfixed.

And then she spoke again.

“I told my dorm mate I was coming down here,” she said softly. “She asked if I was finally going to curse you.”

Fred grinned. “And are you?”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Not tonight.”

A beat.

Fred leaned in slightly. “Why not?”

She turned to look at him directly this time, and something in her expression softened - barely - but it was enough. “Because…” she said slowly, “you make me laugh.”

Fred blinked. His heart stopped. Not in a loud way. Not with gasps or snorts. But in that quiet, unwilling way that meant he’d wormed under her skin.

Fred whispered, “I’m shocked you would admit that.”

She shrugged. “You’ll forget by morning.”

“Not a chance.”

Another pause. Then she did something truly unfair. She nudged his knee with hers. Gently. Just once. A casual brush that said: I know what I’m doing. And I’m choosing to do it.

Fred felt his entire bloodstream short-circuit.

She stood abruptly. “I’ve seen enough. You lot really do live like feral boars down here.”

Fred rose too, still dazed. “Are you leaving?”

She didn’t answer. Just crossed to the portrait hole with that same graceful menace, boots echoing on the stone floor. Then, right as she reached it, she turned and said, with the faintest smile, “Nice jumper, Weasley. Shame it’s on you.”

Fred’s jaw dropped. She disappeared through the portrait before he could reply. He stood there for a full thirty seconds. Then sat back down slowly, blinking at the fire.

George came in moments later with Ginny and stopped short. “Mate. Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

Fred whispered, “Seeing a ghost would have been stranger.”

George narrowed his eyes. “What? Is this about y/n?”

“Mhmm,” Fred nodded solemnly. “And she likes my jumper.”

George stared at him, then started clapping slowly. “You know, you might actually pull this off.”

“Pull what off?” Ginny questioned and George instantly changed the subject. But Fred’s mind was still stuck on her comment and the way her leg had brushed his.

———————————————————————

The library wasn’t where Fred Weasley usually found himself on a Tuesday evening - unless he was helping George smuggle in firecrackers under the cover of dusty tomes. But tonight wasn’t about pranks.

Well…not entirely.

Y/n was already seated at one of the back tables, half-shadowed between the tall, towering shelves. Her nose was buried in Magical Maladies & Curses: Volume III. She didn’t glance up when Fred arrived. She didn’t need to. His presence was like static in the air. Loud, buzzing, annoyingly familiar.

Fred slid into the chair across from her with a grin that said ‘I’m here to cause trouble’.

“You’re late,” she muttered, not looking up from the book in front of her.

Fred propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I was picking our contraband.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled paper bag and dropped it onto the table between them. Out spilled several chocolate frogs and a handful of fizzing whizbees.

Her dark brows raised the tiniest bit. “No exploding bonbons?”

“Madam Pince would actually hex me out of existence.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He chuckled, unwrapping a chocolate frog and taking a bite. “So, what tragic, cursed thing are you pretending to study today?”

“Dark objects and their residual energy,” she replied, flipping a page. “Fitting, don’t you think?”

Fred squinted. “What’s a residual energy? Like…leftover bad vibes?”

She finally looked up at him. “Exactly that. It’s magic that clings to things. Emotions too strong to fade. Rage. Grief. Obsession.”

He nodded slowly, clearly not listening. “You just described me when I finish a Honeydukes bar.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Mmhm,” Fred hummed, stretching his legs beneath the table. “But you keep showing up.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she rolled up the silver wrapper from her chocolate frog and flicked it expertly with a thwack against his forehead.

Fred blinked. “You didn’t.”

She smirked in response.

“Oh, it’s on.”

Within seconds, Fred had rolled up his own wrapper into a tiny missile and launched it across the table. It hit her collarbone and bounced harmlessly onto her book. She stared down at it, unimpressed. “I expected better aim.”

Fred gasped. “Insulting my chocolate artillery?”

She flicked another one. “That wasn’t an insult. I can do worse.”

“Oh, you wish.”

The next five minutes devolved into a silent but intense chocolate-wrapper war. Both ducking, flicking, and dodging around ancient texts and precariously stacked books. Fred nearly knocked over a chair trying to dodge one of hers, and she had to stifle a laugh behind her hand when he tripped over his own foot and almost took down an entire shelf of Intermediate Incantations.

“Truce,” he whispered, holding up both hands, breathless with quiet laughter.

She narrowed her eyes, a wrapper ready between her fingers. “Swear it,” she mouthed.

“I swear on George’s lucky left eyebrow.”

“…Fair enough.”

She let the wrapper drop.

Fred leaned back in his chair, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her shake out her hands like a victorious duelist.

“Merlin,” he said quietly, voice lower now. “You have a killer aim.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had practice.”

“With wrappers?”

“With knives.”

Fred blinked. “…really?”

“No, you buffoon. But I am partial to snowballs.” She tilted her head slightly, studying him now that the war was over. His hair was messier than usual, a few strands curling where he’d run his hands through it. His tie was crooked. His lips stained faintly with chocolate. And his smile…that was the dangerous part.

He caught her looking.

“Why me?” she asked suddenly.

Fred stilled. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got options,” she said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “You’re loud. Popular. The kind of Gryffindor girls blush about behind their textbooks. And you’re not just hanging out with me because you got bored of George’s company. So why me?”

Fred tilted his head, voice softer. “You don’t blush.”

“Not on the outside.”

He blinked at that, caught off guard. His grin turned almost shy. Almost.

“Why you?” he repeated, chewing the thought for a moment. “Because you’re not easy. You don’t fake a laugh, or pretend to like something you don’t. Because you’re real, and a challenge. And I like a challenge. Plus, you’ve never even hexed me once.”

She chuckled softly. “No, but I considered it.”

“Which I respect, honestly.” He reached forward and tapped her book gently, just once. “You’re the most interesting thing in this entire castle. Maybe the most terrifying. Definitely the most beautiful.”

She blinked. “Don’t flirt with me, Weasley.”

“Oh?” he said, voice low. “Why not?”

“Because I might flirt back.”

And that was definitely a blush now, ghosting up his neck into the tips of his ears.

Before he could respond, the unmistakable sound of Madam Pince’s footsteps echoed like doom.

Fred whispered, “Act natural.”

“You’re glowing red.”

“I am calm,” Fred insisted, trying to stuff wrappers back into his bag.

Madam Pince rounded the corner and paused, nostrils flaring at the sight of them.

“I knew it,” she hissed, eyes narrowing. “You two. This is a library, not a picnic!”

She pointed a thin, bony finger. “Out. Now.”

Fred grabbed the bag and her hand without thinking, and together they bolted.

The wrappers scattered in their wake, fluttering behind them like silver leaves. They laughed as they ran, her boots pounding the floor beside his as they darted between bookshelves, rounded corners, and burst through the heavy double doors of the library, and only then did they stop.

He looked down. So did she, her eyes catching on their joined hands.

Fred immediately released hers like it burned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

She stared at him, then slowly lifted her palm and studied it. Like she was memorising the shape of his. “You didn’t even notice, did you?” she asked softly.

Fred’s ears went pink. “Nope.”

“And you’re red again.”

“Am not.”

She smiled, soft, not smug. Then walked a few paces down the corridor and stopped, twisting slightly to look back at him.

“Well?” she called. “You coming or are you just going to melt into a puddle out here?”

Fred scrambled after her, heart still doing somersaults.

“You like me,” he teased as he caught up.

“Please. I tolerate you.”

“You held my hand, you absolute menace.”

She bumped her shoulder into his as they walked. And she didn’t let go the second time he reached for her fingers.

———————————————————————

It was early morning in the Gryffindor common room. The kind of soft, golden hour where the fire cast warm halos on the stone walls and laughter bubbled lazily from card games in corners and Quidditch debates from overstuffed chairs.

Fred Weasley wasn’t paying attention to any of that.

He was sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, legs stretched out, one arm draped across the back of the couch behind her. Not touching. Just near.

She was cross-legged beside him, head tilted back slightly as she tried to balance a jelly slug on your nose.

“Don’t move. Don’t laugh,” Fred warned, holding up both hands like a wizard defusing a bomb. “You’re so close—”

The jelly slug slipped off her nose and plopped onto the floor. She stared at it. Then snorted. Fred’s laughter followed like lightning behind thunder.

“Oh, tragic,” he teased, reaching to retrieve it. “The noble art of slug balancing. Lost forever.”

“I blame you,” she muttered, poking his ankle with her boot. “Your voice distracted me.”

“Oh, I distracted you, did I?” He grinned.

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Impossible. I’m charming, not cocky.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smirk gave her away.

They’d been like this for the past week - circling closer, teasing, smiling without warning. It wasn’t the same icy standoff from that first dance lesson. Something had changed. Melted. Or cracked.

She’d leaned her head back against the couch now, eyes half-lidded, hair fanned across her shoulders in lazy waves. She looked - Fred didn’t even want to think it - breathtakingly beautiful.

And not in that brooding, mysterious, sharp way she usually carried herself. Just…peaceful. Real. She laughed like she didn’t care who heard. She made jokes under her breath that only he caught. She didn’t flinch when he looked at her too long, didn’t scowl when his shoulder brushed hers by accident. She was just…her.

And Fred liked being around her more than he’d liked anything in a long while.

She reached over and took a second jelly slug without asking. Fred watched, eyebrows raised. “Do you even like those?” he asked.

“No.”

He laughed again. God, it was so easy. Too easy. Like gravity. Or breathing.

She glanced over and caught him looking “What?” She asked, suspicious.

Fred blinked. “Nothing. Just, how the hell do you make those boots look comfortable?”

“Trade secret.”

“Tell me and I’ll trade you three whole chocolate frogs.”

“I want five.”

“Highway robbery.”

They both grinned. It was effortless. It was dangerous.

Fred didn’t even notice George until his twin flopped down on the couch behind them, a casual thud of limbs and mischief.

“Well, well,” George drawled. “What do we have here?”

Fred didn’t even glance over. “Don’t start.”

“Shit,” y/n muttered. “I’ve got Arithmancy in ten minutes.” She started gathering her things - books, wand, bag slung over one shoulder.

Fred scrambled to his feet beside her. “I’ll walk you—” he started. But she shook your head.

“You’ve got Divination next. Go pretend you can see the future or whatever it is you do up there.”

He hesitated. She reached over and tapped the tip of her index finger to the center of his chest. “Keep me a seat at dinner,” she said. “And maybe save me something edible.”

Fred laughed softly. “What, no love for haggis pie?”

She cringed. “If I see any mystery meats on my plate I’ll curse you where you stand.” And with that, she turned and disappeared through the portrait hole, a blur of black boots and maroon scarf. Fred stood staring after her.

George leaned forward, head tilted. “Looks like someone’s been busy. I didn’t realize you’d be so dedicated to your strategy, Freddie.”

That made Fred finally turn. “What are you on about?”

George gave him a look. Fred blinked, and then he remembered. The bet. The dare. The stupid bloody challenge they’d cooked up. The entire reason he’d walked up to her in the first place.

Get the scariest girl in school to go to the Yule Ball with him.

He felt like someone had poured cold pumpkin juice down his spine.

George, oblivious to the twist in Fred’s gut, grinned and asked, “So? Did you ask her yet?”

Fred’s mouth opened, then promptly closed. He forced a laugh, casual and airy. “Yeah, course I have. Just, figured I’d make it official later.”

George narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t even asked her, have you?”

Fred elbowed him, hard. George winced but didn’t say more. He leaned back again, letting Fred spiral in silence. Which he was. Stressing about that stupid bet, or dare, or whatever it was. One thing was for sure, he certainly didn’t want her to ever find out. Because suddenly this wasn’t about a joke anymore. It wasn’t about a win or a dare or getting the last laugh. It was about her.

The way her eyes darkened when she was thinking. The way she spoke so little but said so much with just a look. The way her smile made something real twist behind his ribs.

He’d been playing a game at the beginning. But he wasn’t playing anymore.

George stood up beside him. “Mate.”

Fred didn’t move.

“Fred.”

Still nothing.

George waved a hand in front of his face. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’ve caught actual feelings.”

Fred swallowed hard. “She’s…she’s something else, Georgie.”

“No, she’s terrifying. That was the whole point.”

Fred shook his head. “No. She’s…funny. And sharp. And weird, but the good kind. And she makes me laugh, and she listens. She listens, George. Like, properly.”

George’s smirk faded. Fred sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

George clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then maybe…don’t.”

Fred groaned. “You’re the worst advice-giver.”

“And yet you keep talking to me.” George winked.

Fred looked over. “You think I should tell her?”

“About the bet?” George grimaced. “Absolutely not. You’ll be dead before the words can even leave your mouth.”

Fred winced.

“You’ve got time to figure it out. Just don’t wait too long. Girls like that? They don’t wait around forever.”

Fred nodded, but his heart was already somewhere else, following the sound of her boots down the stone corridor.

———————————————————————

The Great Hall was half-empty during lunch, the buzz of upcoming exams only rivaled by the undercurrent of Yule Ball chatter. Dates had been secured, dresses ordered, nerves fraying in little flutters across the four tables.

Fred was sitting with George and Lee, halfway through a pumpkin pasty and trying to concentrate on the latest idea for a portable swamp prototype.

It wasn’t working. Because she wasn’t there yet.

She always turned up around now - late, of course - sweeping through the Hall like the bloody queen of nightfall, smirking when Fred moved over on the bench without being asked, tossing her bag down with just enough flair to look like she hadn’t been searching for him in the crowd. And he’d pretend not to watch her the whole time. Pretend like he wasn’t waiting.

And today, the moment the doors creaked open, Fred’s head lifted. There she was. Boots. Black sleeves. A faint smudge of ink on her cheek. And she was smiling.

Fred’s stomach twisted. She was walking quickly - excited, flushed. She looked…happy. His heart sank before he even knew why.

She didn’t sit down right away. She planted her hands on the table in front of him and leaned in, eyes glittering with some secret she couldn’t wait to share.

Fred blinked. “Alright?”

“Guess what came this morning?” She asked, practically vibrating.

Fred blinked again. “Er, your new set of throwing knives?”

Y/n scoffed. “Close. My dress.”

Fred’s mind blanked.

“My—” she mimicked swishing about a flowing skirt. “Dress, Weasley. For the Yule Ball? You know, the one that’s in like two weeks?”

Fred stared and swallowed thickly at the mention of the event. George kicked him under the table.

She plopped down beside him with a dramatic sigh, hands flopping into her lap. “It’s perfect. Blood red, beading all over, slit to the knee…I mean, barely, I’m not trying to get detention.”

Fred was still staring, tongue feeling leaden as she pulled a folded bit of parchment from her pocket and slid it toward him. “I sketched it after Charms. Don’t judge the drawing. I was using a chewed-up quill and I think I spilled ink on the bottom.”

Fred looked down. The drawing was shockingly good. A rough outline, yes, but clear enough - corset-style details, a swoop of long matching gloves, dark elegance without being overdone.

“I look like I could dethrone a royal,” she said fondly. “It’s even more gorgeous on.”

Fred couldn’t breathe. She was excited. She’d dressed up for this in her mind already. She wasn’t planning on going ironically. She wasn’t going to sneer in a corner and sip pumpkin fizz alone. She was looking forward to it.

“—I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she was still talking, oblivious to the fact that Fred had stopped chewing completely, “I almost just went in my uniform robes and called it a ‘statement,’ but honestly? It’s kind of nice. Doing the whole ball thing. I haven’t…really done anything like that before.”

Fred’s fingers tightened around his fork.

“And I’ll need help with my hair,” she added, elbowing him lightly. “Which I would ask you for, but something tells me you’d turn it into a biochemical hazard.”

Fred forced a weak chuckle. George glanced at him sideways, sensing the shift in the air.

Y/n picked up a piece of toast and continued casually, “I bet Ron’s date is going to faint when she sees the state of his robes. I overheard Ginny threatening to set them on fire if he doesn’t get them cleaned.”

Fred managed a noise that sounded vaguely like agreement.

You looked over then, finally noticing the odd tension in his jaw. “What’s wrong with you?”

Fred blinked. “What?”

“You look like someone told you the Chudley Cannons were folding.”

He laughed automatically, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. How was he supposed to react - what was he supposed to say - when the very topic he’d been avoiding with her was suddenly all she wanted to talk about.

She squinted at him assessingly. “Is it the dress? Was it too much? I knew the slit was pushing it, didn’t I—”

“No!” he said, louder than he meant to. “No, it’s…It’s great. You’ll look…brilliant.”

She paused. Something flickered across her face. Not quite suspicion. Something softer. Confusion? Like she was weighing whether or not to say something. But she didn’t. Instead, she smiled. Something that used to be so rare but now came so readily.

“Well. You better look sharp, then. Don’t think I’m gonna carry the aesthetic on my own.”

Fred nodded slowly, a million thoughts running through his head and yet none that he could verbalise. She was heavily implying she expected they would go together. Yet she had no idea. No idea that this whole thing had started as a dare. She just assumed that he would be asking her. Because why wouldn’t he?

They’d been spending time together. They’d laughed together. They’d shared secrets over chocolate frogs and made fun of Trelawney’s predictions together. He walked her to class and stayed up too late in the common room waiting for her to finish assignments. Of course she’d thought it was settled. Of course she’d thought it was real. Because to her, it was. And now Fred wanted to crawl under the bloody table and vanish.

She stood suddenly, brushing crumbs from her skirt. “I’ve got to meet Luna about that stupid constellation chart. If I’m not back for dinner, tell everyone I’ve been abducted by a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.”

Fred smirked faintly. “Should I avenge you, or…?”

You pointed at him. “Write an epic poem in my honor.”

“I’ll get Lee to compose the music.”

“I expect a choir.”

Fred stood too, automatically. “Need me to walk you?”

“Nah. I don’t want you slowing me down.”

“Rude.”

“But true.” And then she was gone again, off in a blur of black fabric and sarcasm, leaving Fred in the wake of her storm.

He sat back down slowly. George didn’t say anything for a long beat. Then, “You’re screwed.”

Fred buried his face in his hands. “So screwed.”

George took a bite of his sandwich. “You know, I usually enjoy watching you suffer. But this? This is tragic.”

Fred groaned. “She’s excited, mate. Actually excited.”

“I know.” George leaned in. “You’re gonna have to tell her.”

Fred shook his head. “I can’t. Not now. Not when she thinks it was all real.”

“So what, you wait until after the ball? Hope she doesn’t find out from someone else first?”

Fred went quiet.

George studied his brother. “You like her.”

Fred didn’t answer.

“You really like her.”

The older twin sighed. “Yeah.”

“You want it to be real?” George sat back. “Then stop being an idiot and make it real.”

Fred lifted his head slowly.

“Ask her. Properly,” George said, voice gentler than Fred was used to. “Not because of a dare. Not because you’re trying to win anything. Just…because you want to.”

Fred exhaled hard, like he’d been holding something in for weeks. “I’m scared she’ll hate me,” he admitted quietly. “If she ever finds out.”

“She might. But if you don’t tell her,” George said, “you’ll hate yourself more.”

———————————————————————

The Gryffindor common room crackled with its usual warmth and chaos. A low hum of laughter, games, and the glow of firelight bouncing off ancient stone. It was nearing curfew, but the students showed no signs of winding down. Someone had bewitched a pile of sweets to explode like miniature fireworks every time a Chocolate Frog was unwrapped. Across the room, a small group had started dancing on the rug to a barely-audible Wireless spell.

Fred Weasley stood on the armrest of a lumpy old armchair, balancing with casual ease, wearing that dangerously mischievous expression. The one that usually preceded detention.

George slouched nearby, smug as ever, while Lee Jordan prepared to document the chaos with a borrowed magical camera.

And her?

Y/n was tucked in the window seat, knees drawn up, an open book on her lap that her eyes were focused on. Her lips were pulled into a half-smile, like whatever she’d been reading had completely enraptured her.

Fred felt his stomach twist. Because this was it. This was the moment. Now he was in too deep. He couldn’t back out without hurting her, and he couldn’t go forward without hating himself.

But he was already standing there. Already smiling. Already speaking.

“Oi!” he called, arms wide, “Bit of attention, if you please. I have an important announcement to make!” Laughter rippled across the room as Fred clapped twice. “Alright, alright, pipe down! This’ll only take a moment of your pitiful lives!”

Laughter echoed. Someone threw a chocolate wrapper at his head.

Fred caught it and bowed. “Cheers. Now, as you may have noticed, the Yule Ball is fast approaching—”

“You’re not proposing, are you?” called Seamus.

“Not yet,” Fred shot back with a grin. “But it has come to my attention that the clock is ticking and one can only be charmingly mysterious for so long before people start calling you tragically single.”

The room laughed again. Crowd work was a particular talent of his. Fred’s eyes skimmed the crowd, trying not to land on her. But they did. And she was now watching him. Her fingers had stilled on the page. Her eyes, framed in charcoal liner like twin thunderheads, met his. Fred felt it like a jolt straight to the ribs.

She was smirking faintly. Not wide or exaggerated. Just a small, sardonic curve of her lips. Expectant. Like she already knew he was about to make an idiot of himself, and she was patiently waiting to be amused by it. And Merlin, she looked good like that. Relaxed. Present. Almost…happy.

His grin faltered for the first time. But he was already up there. Already committed. Even if his stomach was taking a dive straight to his bowels.

Fred cleared his throat, speaking louder now.“So. Uh. I figured…now’s as good a time as any to…you know…do this properly.”

His palms were sweating. His heart was hammering. Y/n sat up straighter, leaning forward slightly. Encouraging him.

“Right,” Fred said, voice higher than it should’ve been. “There’s a girl, see. And she’s…bloody brilliant.”

He felt the shift in the room then. The drop in noise. The attentive hush. Dozens of eyes turned toward him. But he only looked at one person.

Her hands moved to close her book, slowly, deliberately. She tucked it under her arm, but didn’t stand. She just watched him, expression unreadable save for the faintest lift of her brow and the ghost of a breath caught in her throat.

Fred swallowed hard. His heart galloped in his chest. The words came out softer now. Less performance, more confession. Fred’s voice cracked on the next line. “So, yeah. I’d really like her to go to the Yule Ball with me. If she’ll have me.”

His throat closed. Y/n was glowing. She was beautiful. There were a million things running through his mind but none that he could vocalise. How would she react if she found out about the dare? How would she feel if she discovered it was all an elaborate plot. That he’d been playing her like a half-baked prank?

His mind screamed tell her, tell her it’s her, just bloody say it—

Fred faltered. Just for a second. But it was enough.

Because as heart screamed her name, in a split moment of panic, his lips said, “Angelina Johnson?”

It was the first face to come into his view when he tore his gaze away from y/n. The first name to pop into his head. His eyes instantly found her again, though. The muscles along y/n’s jaw shifted, just slightly.

“Oi, Angie!” someone shouted.

Heads turned. Angelina looked up from her conversation near the fireplace, blinking in surprise. She arched a brow. “You serious, Weasley?”

Fred forced a grin. “Wouldn’t stand up here if I wasn’t.”

And the common room exploded. Cheers. Applause. Wolf-whistles. Fred’s name being chanted like he’d just scored the winning goal for the Cannons.

Angelina strode forward, confident as she always was, and threw her arms around him in a hug that made the crowd roar louder.

Fred hugged her back stiffly. Over her shoulder, his eyes found hers.

She was still sitting on the window seat. Her hands had clenched into fists on the cushion. Her smile was gone. Gone like it had never existed. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t say anything.

But Fred could see it - all of it - in the flicker of her expression. Confusion. Then hurt. Then the wall. That terrible, familiar wall he’d worked so hard to break down.

Her expression had gone perfectly blank - like someone had drawn a curtain across her face. Not angry. Not sad. Just…empty.

Then, she stood slowly. Her movements were calm. Controlled. She brushed off her skirt, lifted her book under one arm, and turned without a word.

Her steps were steady as she climbed the stairs to the girls’ dorms. She never looked back. But Fred felt the wound she left behind anyway.

He barely noticed Angelina still standing beside him, basking in the attention. He didn’t hear the teasing comments or feel George elbow him in the ribs.

He just stood there, still on the chair, staring at the place she’d been. Something curdled in his chest. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He’d only wanted to protect her. To keep her from the truth. He hadn’t expected it to carve out his heart like this.

“You complete tosser,” George muttered under his breath, finally pulling him down from the chair.

Fred stumbled, nearly tripping as he hit the floor. He looked around, dazed, as if the world had shifted and he hadn’t been warned. His twin was staring at him, frowning.

“I know,” Fred rubbed his hands over his face. His palms were shaking. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Ask the girl you actually wanted, maybe?” George snapped. “Or at least not ask someone else in front of her.”

Fred opened his mouth. But he had nothing. Because it was too late. The crowd moved on. People were laughing, clapping Angelina on the back, dragging her into conversation.

And somewhere above them, behind the thick stone walls and locked doors of the dormitories, the girl he should’ve asked was probably sitting in the dark, staring at the ceiling, wondering how she’d gotten it so wrong.

Fred had never wanted to crawl out of his own skin more. Because everything he’d tried to avoid just happened anyway. And now the girl he really wanted was gone.

———————————————————————

The Great Hall hummed with early morning chatter, the clink of goblets and scrape of plates echoing beneath the enchanted ceiling’s soft winter grey. Snow fell lazily outside, but inside was warmth and light and the usual pre-class chaos.

Fred spotted her instantly.

She was sitting at the Gryffindor table, further down toward the end, flanked on one side by a half-asleep Neville and on the other by an open stretch of empty bench. Her head was bent over a copy of A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, dark lashes casting shadows against her cheek, her black nails tapping thoughtfully against a mug of tea.

She looked tired. Not her usual artful, brooding kind of tired. This was the bone-deep kind. The sort that dragged the corners of her eyes down and dulled the gleam in her ear cuffs.

Fred hesitated only a moment. Then he crossed the floor. Each step felt heavier than the last, his shoes thudding against the stone like distant thunder. He reached the spot beside her and gently rested his palm flat on the table.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low. “Can we talk?”

She didn’t look up. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

So he tried again, softer. “I didn’t mean—”

Before the words could fully form, her hand shot out. The fork hit the table like a bolt of lightning. Right between his splayed fingers. Sticking upright out of the wood. The silver handle trembled slightly from the force of the strike, and Fred froze.

His mouth parted soundlessly as he looked down at the gleaming tines buried in the wood between his index and middle finger. It hadn’t grazed him, but it had been close. Too close.

Slowly, his eyes lifted to hers. She was finally looking at him. Not with a scowl. Not even anger. Just cool, steady calculation, like she was measuring his worth and finding him utterly insignificant. Her expression was almost unreadable, but her meaning was crystal clear.

Fred lifted his hands slowly, fingers raised in surrender. His throat bobbed as he stepped back from the bench.

“Right,” he said weakly. “Understood.”

He turned and walked away, heart sinking like lead. And still, she didn’t look back.

The next day, Fred tried again.

He spotted her near the stairs just after Transfiguration, alone as usual, her schoolbag slung over one shoulder. She was digging through it for something - quill ink, maybe - her hair spilling like silk down her back.

He approached cautiously. “Listen, I just…can we please—”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she gave her wand the smallest flick.

In a flash of motion, Fred’s tie jerked tight around his neck. He choked slightly as the red-and-gold fabric twisted like a noose, until it slithered down his shirt front and landed coiled at his feet with a soft hiss.

It had transformed into a very real, very irritable-looking boa constrictor. Fred stumbled back with a yelp as it reared up slightly, tongue flickering in warning.

Students shrieked. Someone burst into laughter. The snake stared him down.

Fred scrambled to the side and waved his wand to reverse the spell before it could strike, coughing awkwardly as he straightened his robes.

Y/n walked right past him without a word.

He didn’t try again that day.

By the time the day before the Yule Ball arrived, Fred felt like a shadow of himself. Every joke fell flat. Every laugh felt forced.

Even George had started to notice the quiet beneath Fred’s usual bravado. He didn’t mention it aloud, but he’d stopped making quips about Angelina and started giving Fred the kind of long, silent looks that said ‘you better fix this, or I will’.

Fred didn’t know how. Until he saw her again. This time, not alone.

She was sitting on a low stone wall in the courtyard, where the winter sunlight spilled through the archways in cold gold streaks. Ginny sat beside her, swinging her legs and laughing at something, but y/n wasn’t. She was quiet, her eyes focused on the snow-dusted fountain ahead, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her robe like she was afraid of what they might do.

Fred hesitated again. But he couldn’t keep running. He crossed the courtyard slowly, his footsteps crunching softly in the snow. He stopped just a few paces away, heart thundering.

“Hey,” he said, voice hoarse. “Please, can we talk for a minute?”

She stood without a word. Didn’t even meet his gaze. She just turned and walked away, the edges of her black skirt fluttering around her knees as she disappeared through the archway.

Fred blinked, stunned. “Seriously?” he muttered, spinning toward Ginny. “She won’t even—?”

“You don’t get to be surprised,” Ginny snapped. She stood up, arms crossed, looking exactly like their mum when she was furious “She liked you, Fred. A lot. And she thought - Merlin, I thought - you liked her too.”

“I do!” he protested. “I do like her—”

“Then why did you stand on a chair and pick someone else in front of the whole common room?”

Fred winced. “It wasn’t…it’s complicated. And since when are you two friends?”

“She was crying,” Ginny interrupted coldly. “In the girls’ bathroom. The night you did that. I found her in the stall with her makeup running down her face.”

Fred felt like the floor had opened beneath him. He staggered back a step, shame like acid in his throat.

“She acts tough,” Ginny continued, quieter now. “She is tough. But you made her feel like a joke. And she doesn’t trust people easily. So when she let you in - when she started letting you see her - that meant something. And then you just shattered her.”

Fred’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ginny said flatly. “You still did.”

The wind blew softly through the courtyard. Fred looked down at his hands, then toward the archway where she’d vanished.

“She won’t even look at me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then you’d better do something worth looking at,” Ginny said, turning away. “Fix it, Fred.”

He stood there a long time, long after Ginny had gone, until the sky began to turn the palest shade of evening lavender. He didn’t know what he’d do yet. But he knew this much: he had to fix it somehow. He had to get her back.

———————————————————————

The Great Hall had been transformed into a sparkling palace of winter, draped in frosted garlands and enchanted snowflakes that never melted. A low hum of violins floated through the air, silver strings humming with delicate grace, but Fred didn’t hear any of it.

Not really.

His eyes were locked across the room, where y/n sat alone at a small round table, elbow on the polished surface, chin in her hand. She looked like a painting caught mid-breath - haunting, lovely, and entirely unreachable.

Her dress clung to her frame like droplets of glittering blood, a deep maroon that shimmered darkly with every flicker of candlelight. The hue matched her lips perfectly. Her hair, usually pinned back, now fell in soft waves past her shoulders. She looked softer this way, like some part of the armor had been peeled back, revealing the fragility underneath.

It made Fred feel sick. Sick with guilt. Sick with longing. Sick with the memory of her face lighting up when he’d looked at her, standing on that chair…and then that light burning out the moment he’d said Angelina’s name.

She didn’t look at him now. Not even once.

Every boy that dared approach her was met with a death glare that turned them into statues of retreat. Her fingers played with the swathe of crimson fabric around her throat like a noose. Her expression was carved from marble. Even at such a distance, she took his breath away.

Fred had blown it. Completely.

Across the table, Angelina sighed, resting her chin in her palm. “Are you going to keep brooding all night?” she asked, dryly. “You haven’t said a word since we sat down.”

Fred blinked, startled from his daze. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“About her?” she asked, arching a brow. She didn’t sound angry, just tired. Her tone was neutral but knowing.

Before he could answer, George appeared, hands in his pockets, a crooked grin on his lips.

“I’m stealing your date,” he announced cheerfully, offering a hand to Angelina. “You look positively bored to death, Angie. May I tempt you with a dance?”

Angelina rolled her eyes but stood anyway. “Please. Save me.”

As George swept her onto the floor, he leaned toward Fred on the way past, murmuring low:, “You already lost the bet, mate. Don’t lose the girl too.”

Fred sat there a moment longer, jaw clenched. The weight in his chest hadn’t lifted, but it had shifted, sharpened into resolve. He shoved back his chair.

Across the hall, she didn’t see him coming at first. Her eyes were on her goblet, untouched punch still glinting crimson inside. But as soon as his footsteps reached her side, she looked up.

Her gaze hit him like ice water. She didn’t wait. She stood without a word and turned away, walking briskly toward the edge of the ballroom.

“No, wait—” Fred caught her wrist gently, spinning her back to face him. Her expression was unreadable, but her lips had parted, just slightly.

“Just listen,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to say anything. Please, just…let me explain.”

She didn’t yank her hand back. Didn’t hex him. Just stared. So he took that as a miracle and forged ahead.

“It started as a dare,” he admitted, voice low, unsteady. “George dared me to get you to go to the ball with me. Said it’d be a challenge. I said it wouldn’t be. I didn’t even think, I just—” He exhaled sharply. “It was stupid. I was stupid.”

Her eyes didn’t soften. Her face was flat, still unreadable.

“But then I got to know you,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “And everything changed. You were brilliant. You are brilliant. And funny, and smart, and you make this face when you’re pretending not to be amused that’s just—” He stopped himself, hand scrubbing over the back of his neck.

“I forgot it was a bet. Honestly. I didn’t want to win it anymore, because it felt wrong. Because it was wrong. I didn’t ask you to the ball because I didn’t want to ask you for the wrong reasons. But I wanted to. I wanted to ask you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Because I like you. I really like you. And I guess I’m wondering if I ruined it all for good, or if you’d be willing to give me another chance?”

Silence. Her expression didn’t waver.

Fred shifted, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “Could you, just tell me that much, at least?”

“I thought you said I didn’t have to say anything,” she said flatly.

Fred’s heart froze mid-best. Her voice. Godric’s ghost, her voice. Dry as parchment, low and unimpressed, but still like music to him.

A smile tugged at his mouth. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“What about Angelina?” she asked, arms folding across her chest, though the edge of her lip twitched just barely.

Fred glanced toward the dance floor. George had spun Angelina into a dramatic dip, and she was laughing, genuinely, without restraint.

“She’s having a lot more fun with George than she ever would with me,” he said honestly.

She arched a brow. “You’re an idiot.”

The light faltered as he turned away from her, about to cut his losses and retreat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she said sharply.

Fred paused, blinking. Then pivoted slowly. She still wouldn’t look him in the eye, but her shoulders were tense, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides.

“You’re lucky I already knew about the bet,” she said, her voice sharp, like a knife being honed.

Fred’s breath caught. “What?”

She finally looked at him, mouth curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Did you really think I was daft enough to believe you made a beeline to dance with me for any other reason?” she asked. “I knew what was fake, and what was real, Weasley. Which is the only reason I haven’t hexed you where you stand.”

His mouth opened and closed. “So…you were mad because…”

“I was mad,” she interrupted, stepping closer, her stiletto heels clicking softly on the floor, “because I thought you were going to ask me anyway. And then you got up on that table and proved me wrong.” Her eyes flicked to his, pupils dark and gleaming. “For about five seconds.”

Fred blinked, confused. “But—”

“You’re a god-awful actor, Weasley. But I needed to let you stew on it for a good week or so.”

He laughed then, startled and bright, and it broke something in her too because her mouth finally, truly curved into a smile.

Fred stepped closer, heart thundering in his chest. “So,” he said quietly, “will you let me do this right this time?”

He bowed low, dramatically, and took her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles reverently, eyes never leaving hers. “Will you be my date?” he asked.

She looked him up and down, head tilted. “To the ball?” she clarified.

His grin widened. “To everything.”

For a heartbeat, she didn’t answer. Then her smile returned, sharp and gleaming and achingly beautiful.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight,” she said, and tugged him toward the dance floor. “But you’d better watch your feet, Weasley. I’m still bitter.”

Fred let her pull him into the music, heart soaring. “Noted. I’ll brace for impact.”

Despite her warning, she didn’t step on his toes once.

[glamourscat]

FLOWERS? ISAGI YOICHI X READER

the bastard münchen vs pxg match HAS FINALLY ENDED. A lil (late Valentine’s) childhood bestie! x Isagi fic because I love him so much

Pathetic.

That’s how Isagi felt; truly and utterly pathetically in love.

It was foolish of him, really, falling for his childhood best friend. The one person who knew him better than anyone else, the one constant in his life. And yet, he had fallen anyway.

He had known you since before you could even string proper sentences together, back when the biggest problem in your tiny world was who got to play with the fluffy teddy bear. He had been there for every phase of your life, just as you had been for his.

The bad haircuts, the breakouts, the braces. The cringe stylistic choices that made you both groan whenever old pictures resurfaced. The triumphs and failures, the reckless dreams and harsh realities. Every best and worst moment you had been by each other’s side.

And because of that, maybe he should have realized sooner.

Your parents, his parents, had always teased. “You two will end up together eventually.” A statement so casual, so inevitable in their wise eyes. Maybe that was why he held back for so long. Maybe it was out of sheer defiance, or maybe it was the terrifying truth that you already saw him. Every flaw, every insecurity, every crack in his carefully built walls.

And yet, you still chose to stay.

To love someone who truly sees you, all of you, and still stays by your side? That scared the shit out of him.

But Blue Lock is over now. He felt like he had aged thirty years in that soccer prison, but it had been worth it. Because now, he was here. Walking freely through the streets with the weight of his dream in his hands. He was part of Japan’s World Cup team.

And you, his best friend, his everything, would be by his side, not just as his anchor but also as the team’s manager.

Isagi exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the selection of flowers before him.

He had faced some of the greatest strikers in the world. Outwitted geniuses on the field. Fought, struggled, won.

And yet, confessing to you on Valentine’s Day? Felt like the biggest challenge he had to yet face.

“Roses are too much, right?” he mumbled under his breath, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stared at the bouquets like they were an opposing team’s defensive lineup. Puzzle pieces hardly connecting in his brain. “I mean… yeah, they literally scream romance, but isn’t that kind of obvious? Too predictable? Shit.”

The old lady behind the counter glanced at him, unimpressed. She had seen countless lovesick fools in this exact position before, hell, today alone and Isagi fell right into that category.

Tulips? Too plain. Sunflowers? You might think he was calling you bright and cheerful, which—yeah, fair, but what if you took it as a joke? Lilies? What do lilies even mean?!

“You need help?” the florist finally asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he admitted immediately. “I mean—yes? No. I’m just trying to figure out what flowers match a card that I, uh, may or may not have rewritten six times… as a valentines gift. Which turned out fine! I think. Maybe. Hopefully.”

The florist hummed, giving him a long, knowing look before glancing at the selection in front of her. “Alright, what kind of message are we going for here? Romantic? Sweet? ‘I’ve been in love with you since childhood and only just realized it because I’m a dumbass’?”

Isagi choked. “Why would you say it like that?!”

She gave him the flattest stare of his life. “Because that’s exactly what’s happening.”

He groaned, running a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah, fair point.”

The florist smirked before plucking a bouquet from the display. “Here. Go with these. A mix of daisies, lavender and forget-me-nots. It says you care, but you’re not coming on too strong. Subtle romance, but meaningful. Perfect for an idiot in denial.”

He took the bouquet, staring at it like it held the secrets of the universe. “Huh. Yeah. This… this actually works. How did you—”

“Experience, kid. Now go before you start overthinking again.”

Isagi nodded, clutching the flowers like they were the winning ball in a match. Alright. Flowers? Check. Card? Done—well, kind of. Cake? As good as it was gonna get.

Now, he just had to actually go back home and give them to you.

…Oh, shit.

This was really happening.

This might actually kill him.

He is pretty sure his heart is beating faster than the last goal he scored while playing for bastard münchen. He feels like throwing up. Was this normal? Probably not. But despite everything he wants you to know. He needs you to know that at the end of the day, pathetic or not, Isagi Yoichi is in love with you. And it was damn time he did something about it.

But for his luck, as he walked out of the flower shop, he almost crashed into someone.

“I am so—“ before he could even get the words out his soul almost came out of his body.

YOU. Out of everyone, you. In front of him. With a bouquet of flowers too. Wait, FLOWERS? Who— you…. Did— who gave you those?

“Yoichi” you say, words coming out slightly higher pitched than intended, trying to act normal, but you’re pretty sure the panicked expression you were trying to fight off with a smile came off more as you were constipated, more than anything else.

“Y/n” he says, seemingly unaware of your mental state, thankfully? Or maybe you should be worried that he was so oblivious to it.

“ Are you g—“

“Who— gave you those?” He said so quickly, not even allowing you to finish your sentence.

Your eyes fall to the flowers in your arms, if your cheeks weren’t red before, you’re pretty sure they are now.

“Who gave you those?” you say, nodding to the flowers he had in his arms. Trying to change the subject.

“I asked first.”

“I asked second”

A moment of silence before you two burst out laughing from the strange moment.

“Alright— alright. On the count of three? Together?” You says amused

One. Two. Three.

“I got them from you” you two say in unison.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

That’s what his brain was screaming. He probably looked like an absolute moron, standing there with a confused expression and jaw open as he looked at you. Huh? Him? YOU GOT FLOWERS FOR HIM— AKCKEPWLCNGIVVIFNRNWPW.

“You— eh?”

That was it. That was all his brain could come up with. World-class striker, future ace of Japan, but the second you said you got flowers for him? Immediate system failure.

You smiled, shy but warm, the edges of your expression softening in that way that was playful yet so beautiful. It made his heart feel like it was about to spontaneously combust. “Yeah, you—is that so weird?”

Yes. No. Maybe. His brain was still rebooting.

“You—you got me flowers?” he repeated, as if the words might make more sense if he said them out loud.

“I mean, yeah,” you said, shifting your weight from foot to foot. The bouquet in your arms crinkled as you fidgeted with the wrapping. “It’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it? I figured i had to be clear because you’re so dense sometimes.”

“I’m not dense!” he argued immediately.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Okay, fine. Maybe a little dense,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out the rest of the world. “But—wait, why did you…?”

The words hung heavy in the air. Why did you get me flowers?

You took a shaky breath. “Because I like you, idiot.”

“I—wait—what?” He blinked, gripping his bouquet tighter like it might hold him upright. “Like… like-like?”

“Damn… and you say you aren’t dense” a small snort left your lips. “Yes, like-like!” you huffed, but your voice trembled a little. “I’ve… kinda liked you for a while. And I figured—if I didn’t say anything today, I’d probably chicken out forever and cry myself to sleep for the next month. Maybe two.”

“You like me,” he repeated dumbly, trying to wrap his head around it.

You tilted your head, exasperated. “Yoichi, please tell me those flowers are for me or am I about to die of embarrassment right now?”

“What? NO—I mean, yes! Yes, I like you too!” The words practically exploded out of him, way louder than he meant to. “I’ve liked you since—God, I don’t even know when. Probably since that stupid teddy bear fight when we were kids.. And—” Lord, he is rambling now. “And I have made you a card. A beautiful one, I think you will like it. And a cake. Though I burnt it the first time. Maybe the second time too. But, fuck yes, I like you too”

For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, two idiots clutching flowers, blushing like middle schoolers with their first crushes.

Finally, you exhaled, shaking your head as you tried not to laugh. “Wow. We’re really bad at this.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “But, like… at least we’re bad at it together?”

You rolled your eyes, but the teasing smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “Together, huh?”

“I mean… if you want that. If you want me.” He said, trying not to look more giddy than he already is.

“I wouldn’t be standing here holding flowers and trying to not burst into flames after a confession that I definitely did not rehearse in my head twenty times for you if I didn’t, genius.”

In a rush of courage, Isagi moved closer and wrapped his arms around you, bouquets squished in between your guys’ chests. You smelled like warmth and home.

“Can I—uh,” he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, “can I kiss you?”

“Yoichi, if you don’t kiss me after all that, I’ll start overthinking and we know—.”

He doesn’t need anything else. His smile shushed you, as his lips finally met yours in a kiss that was a bit messy, yet soft and sweet. You tasted like that tea you like so much. A mix of honey, flowers and sugar that makes him greedy for more. Despite being in the middle of the sidewalk and in retrospect, he will for sure be embarrassed about the pda later.

But that’s a problem for later. Because the realisation that fuck yes, he is finally kissing you, settles in. And for the first time that day, but perhaps in his entire life, his brain went completely and blissfully quiet.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[archivegyu]

masterlist

I’ll Grow If You Grow

The first time you met Kim Mingyu, you were six years old and very, very lost.

One moment, you were beside your mom, holding onto the shopping cart like a responsible kid. The next, you were staring at a box of marshmallow puffs, and when you turned around—poof. She was gone.

The supermarket, which had once been full of fun things like free cheese samples and toy displays, suddenly felt way too big. The shelves were taller than you. The people walking past weren’t your mom. Your throat tightened. You weren’t going to cry, of course—you were a big kid. But your fingers curled into the hem of your shirt as your heart thumped a little too fast.

Then, a voice popped up from behind.

“Hey! You look like a lost kitten.”

You spun around to find a boy; tall, a little lanky, with messy dark hair and a juice box clutched in one hand. He had a big, gap-toothed grin and a small stain on his shirt, like he’d been in the middle of some important snack mission before deciding to talk to you.

You frowned. “I’m not a kitten.”

“Well, you look like one. Your face is all—” He scrunched his nose and made a dramatic, wide-eyed expression that you assumed was supposed to be you.

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “I’m not lost.”

The boy took a loud sip from his juice box, looking completely unconvinced. “Sooo… you totally know where your mom is?”

You pursed your lips. “I was about to find her.”

His face lit up. “Oh! I can help! I’m really good at finding things.”

You eyed him skeptically. “Why would I trust you?”

“’Cause I’m taller than you, so I can see further,” he reasoned, standing up straighter as if that proved his point. “Also, I’ve never been lost before. Not even once. That makes me, like, a professional.”

You didn’t think that was how it worked, but he seemed confident enough. Then, without waiting for your answer, he held out his free hand. “Here. Hold on so you don’t get scared.”

You stared at his outstretched fingers, then back at his face. He had the kind of eyes that were always a little too bright, like he was waiting for an adventure to happen.

“I’m not scared,” you mumbled.

But after a second, you took his hand anyway. His palm was warm and slightly sticky from his juice box. Gross. Comforting.

“Don’t get used to this,” you muttered as he led you forward.

Mingyu just grinned wider. “Too late.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Years later, at the playground where your moms used to sit and chat, Mingyu knelt in the middle of the wood chips, holding up a candy ring pop like it was a diamond.

The playground near your house had been yours for as long as you could remember. You knew every swing that creaked, every slide that got too hot in the summer, and exactly which monkey bars made the best hiding spots.

Which was why, when Kim Mingyu suddenly dropped onto one knee in the middle of the wood chips, holding up a sticky, half-melted ring pop, you stared.

“What are you doing?” you asked flatly.

He puffed out his chest. “Marrying you, obviously.”

Your nose scrunched. “What?”

Mingyu grinned, his knee digging into the dirt. “We’ve known each other forever,” he declared, despite the fact that you were both only eight. “It’s the next step.”

You crossed your arms. “I told you I wanted a prince.”

“I am a prince.”

You gave him a long, doubtful look. He wasn’t wearing a cape. He didn’t have a horse. Just a messy t-shirt and the same sneakers he always wore, the ones with the untied laces because he kept forgetting to fix them.

“I also wanted a castle,” you pointed out.

Mingyu nodded solemnly. “We can build one. I have Legos.”

You glanced down at the ring pop. It was red, probably cherry-flavored, and definitely a little melted from being in his pocket.

You sighed. “I wanted a diamond.”

Mingyu grinned. “Candy is better! You can eat this one.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers twitched at your sides. Mingyu was annoying. He was loud, clumsy, and always in your space.

But he was also the only person who shared his snacks without asking for anything in return. The only person who never left you out of games. The only person who made even the most boring days a little brighter.

“…Fine,” you muttered, snatching the ring and slipping it onto your pinky.

Mingyu gasped. “You said yes!”

“I said fine.”

“Same thing.” He bounced to his feet, absolutely beaming.

You took a bite of the ring pop, scrunching your nose at the sweetness. Mingyu did the same, and you both sat on the swings, pretending the playground was your kingdom.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Later that night, there was a sleepover at Mingyu’s house. You were both curled up on the floor of his living room, wrapped in blankets, while he flickered a flashlight against the ceiling, making weird patterns in the dark. His parents were already asleep, but neither of you felt like closing your eyes yet.

“Do you think we’ll always be like this?” Mingyu asked suddenly, his voice softer than usual.

You turned your head to look at him. “Like what?”

“Y’know… together.” He waved his flashlight vaguely. “Like, even when we grow up. When we have driver’s licenses and… taxes and stuff.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why are you thinking about taxes?”

Mingyu groaned dramatically. “I dunno! I just—” He flopped onto his back, sighing. “It’s weird thinking about growing up.”

You stared at the ceiling again.

“I think we’re stuck,” you said finally.

Mingyu peeked at you. “Like glue?”

You shook your head. “Like gum on a shoe.”

He snickered. “That’s gross.”

“Exactly.” You smirked a little, closing your eyes.

Mingyu nudged your foot with his. “I think we’re more like ring pops.”

You cracked an eye open. “What?”

“Sticky,” he said matter-of-factly. “And kinda impossible to get rid of once you’ve had one.”

You thought about it. Thought about the ring pop still tucked in your pocket, even though it was just a mess of candy and plastic now.

“…Yeah,” you murmured. “I guess that works.”

Mingyu grinned, satisfied.

And as the flashlight dimmed, the two of you drifted off to sleep—stuck together, somehow, always.

[steddieas-shegoes]

as the poets say

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote “he is half of my soul, as the poets say” from the song of Achilles by Madeline miller

rated m | 2589 words | cw: injury, hospitals | tags: angst with a happy ending, soulmate au, canon adjacent but diverged like two roads in a yellow wood, friends to lovers, first kiss

💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍

He walks into the room, bleeding, crying, wishing that death would take him. He feels ripped apart, and maybe he is. The wounds he’s suffered externally are minor in comparison to the pain in his heart.

Steve can’t be found.

He’s gone.

Eddie failed him.

_______

It’s easy to lose your mind when you find your soulmate, to forget that the world continues to spin, that good things and bad luck continue to happen around you. The fullness of your heart clouds your brain, that’s what his mom always told him when he was young. She would know better than anyone.

When his Uncle Wayne took him in, he said the same thing. He’d never found his soulmate, had never felt the need to go looking.

If they’re out there, we’ll find each other.

Eddie didn’t want to find his. Not after what happened to his mom, not after seeing the faraway look in his uncle’s eyes when he saw two people holding hands or laughing together in public.

A soulmate would just cause heartbreak.

_______

Steve is easy to get along with. He joins the group despite Eddie’s hesitation, and he fits right in.

Gareth is the least enthused, but even he gives in when Steve bakes him his favorite cookies. It’s not a bribe. Allegedly.

Eddie is immediately drawn to him, but keeps his distance. He pretends that the effect he has on him is nothing more than an easy friendship.

It lasts roughly six weeks, three days, eight hours, and 52 seconds. 53 if you count how long it takes Steve to start kissing him back.

He realizes the moment their lips touch.

He almost backs away, but what good would that do? The damage is done.

Steve’s eyes blink open as they part.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers.

“I hoped it wasn’t you,” Eddie replies.

His words ruin what should be a joyous moment. Steve flinches, backing away as if he’s been burned.

Eddie regrets the words immediately, feels the ache he caused Steve like a wound in his chest.

“Oh,” Steve breathes out, looking lost. “Okay.”

“It’s-” Eddie tries to backtrack. “It’s not you.”

“No, right. It’s not you, it’s me. Got it.”

Eddie hates what he’s done, and the pull in his body is screaming at him to shut up, to take it all back, to apologize and kiss him again. Steve deserves better than this, better than him.

“No, it’s…that makes it sound like I’m brushing you off. I-”

“That’s kinda what you’re doing,” Steve interrupts. “And it’s fine. I get it. I’m not what you expected and no matter what I do to try to make you see me for who I actually am, you’re not gonna.”

Steve leaves and Eddie goes home.

He doesn’t tell Wayne about it, but it’s easy to hide shit from Wayne when he works so much. It’s even easier when all he does is lay in bed and cry into his pillow like the pathetic loser he knows he is.

Eventually, Wayne catches him hobbling to the bathroom with red, swollen eyes and hunched shoulders and he can’t keep it in.

“You go tell that boy you didn’t mean a damn thing and you’re sorry for turning him down,” Wayne says when Eddie explains. “You’re not gonna be a sad sack in my home for the next 50 years just because you’re scared of having a soulmate.”

“I’m not scared!” Eddie argues, but he knows he’s lying and he knows Wayne knows he’s lying.

“Ed,” Wayne sighs. “I know I’m a little to blame for this. I coulda told ya so much sooner about why I get so worked up about soulmates.”

“Yeah, you coulda,” Eddie crosses his arms defiantly, leaning back against the couch.

“Watch your mouth,” Wayne points at him, then rubs his hand over his face. “Your mom was the greatest person I ever met.”

“I know.”

Where is this going?

“Losing her is somethin’ I never recovered from.”

Wait…what?

“Me…either?” Eddie feels like he’s being tested on a subject he never took a class on all of a sudden, like the answers are obvious, but not to him.

“She was my soulmate and I was too late,” Wayne continues, dropping a bomb on Eddie’s lap with no instructions on how to defuse it. “She said we could lie and say you were mine and Al would never know, but I didn’t feel right doin’ that to him at the time. I’ve come to regret it.”

“You were…” Eddie stands, pacing the floor of the trailer. “You two were soulmates? Why would she stay with my dad if she belonged with you?”

Wayne gives him a sad smile. “Because she didn’t believe in soulmates before she met me. She’d been with a few guys in high school, and then stuck with Al for a bit before she met me. They’d broken up when we started talkin’, but she was already pregnant with you. Couldn’t do that to my brother no matter how shitty he turned out to be.”

“But,” Eddie opens and closes his mouth for a full minute as he realizes what Wayne’s saying. “But if you loved her and she loved you, and you were soulmates, something could’ve been figured out.”

“Maybe. Lookin’ back, I think we coulda done things different. But we made our choices then and I gotta live with ‘em now.” Wayne stands, puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Don’t live with the regrets I have just because you’re scared, son.”

_______

Eddie drives to Steve’s house, ready to apologize, but finds his eyes rolled back in his head, unresponsive.

He doesn’t run, but he wants to.

Something tells him to call Dustin, the freshman who gets on his nerves, but has looked up to him since the first day he joined Hellfire.

The next three days are chaos. Steve is barely present, headphones covering his ears as much as physically possible to keep this Vecna guy out of his head. Eddie doesn’t leave his side, can’t.

They don’t talk about the soulmate thing. There’s too much going on outside of that. It’s awkward, conversations between them stilted at best, but Steve accepts that Eddie isn’t leaving his side.

When Eddie is sitting across from Steve, watching as his eyes roll back in his head, waiting to be the distraction for Vecna so everyone else can kill him, it’s like his entire heart is outside his body, beating against the floor and the walls.

He’s not supposed to interfere unless he starts to float.

But even when he does, Eddie can’t do anything to stop it. He tries to sing, he tries to pull him back down, but it’s useless. Vecna’s going to win this battle, even if they do manage to win the war.

_______

The hospital is packed when he carries Steve into it, broken and bleeding, unconscious with the barest pulse to prove he’s still alive. Only one person is manning the front desk, turning people with minor illnesses and injuries away and telling them to come back tomorrow. The moment she catches Eddie holding Steve out of the corner of her eye, she pages a code and two nurses come running with a bed.

He sets Steve down and tries not to think that this will be the last time he touches him.

He promises himself that when Steve wakes up, when he makes it through this, he’s gonna make everything okay again.

_______

Steve doesn’t wake up.

The doctors don’t quite know why, but they also aren’t being given the entire story. They can’t have it until Owens shows up, and even then, it won’t be everything.

El got here four hours ago and hasn’t left Steve’s side, but she keeps giving weird grunts of frustration. Dustin didn’t tell him everything about El, but he knows she’s a government experiment with superpowers and if she’s frustrated, the situation isn’t great.

Dustin and Robin are inconsolable, and Eddie feels like he’s one more hour of unknown futures away from joining them.

He sneaks off to call Wayne to check in, let him know he’s alive. Wayne tells him not to leave Steve’s side, he’ll bring him clothes and food soon. Eddie tries to wash his hands and face, get rid of as much of the blood and dirt smudged on his skin, but realizes too late that it won’t matter.

Wayne will know he’s been hurt, too.

“He is gone,” El says quietly.

“What?” Eddie steps to the bed, checks the monitors still beeping to prove that Steve’s heart is still pumping and his lungs are still working. “He’s not gone.”

“He is not there,” she continues, tears gathering in her eyes. “I cannot hear him or see him. He is not in his mind.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Eddie knows he sounds crazy, and this is a kid he’s talking to, but he’s confused as to how she can make that determination.

“El can see into people’s minds when she concentrates. It’s easier with people she knows, but she didn’t know Steve as well as some of us do, so it’s taken her a while to get in there,” Will explains. “If she can’t find him in his mind, Vecna may have gotten to him faster than we could save him.”

“But he’s right here!” Eddie yells, much too loud for the quiet in the room.

Robin is crying in the corner, too scared to be close to where Steve is practically lifeless in the bed. Dustin is shaking his head. The others are just staring at Steve as if they can blink and he’ll be awake and telling them all how they’re annoying the hell out of him.

“He is physically here, but he is not in his mind.”

She leaves. Mike and Will follow her, and everyone slowly leaves the room while Eddie just watches Steve breathing.

_______

El doesn’t come back. No one does for over a day.

Eddie sits.

He waits for any sign that El is wrong.

He tries not to blame himself, but he knows deep down if he hadn’t rejected Steve, if he hadn’t been so fucking scared, maybe he could have seen this coming sooner. Maybe he could’ve stopped it from happening at all.

Robin swings by the next day, says she begged her mom to bring her for hours. Her parents want to leave Hawkins, and she’s already said she’ll run away before she leaves Steve here alone.

He isn’t alone, but he knows what she means.

She must not know about the soulmate thing. She wouldn’t want to be near him at all if she knew about him breaking Steve’s heart into a million pieces.

Except she makes a comment a few hours later, after a nurse has stopped by to once again check on Steve’s vitals, about how lucky Steve is for having such a great real soulmate.

So she knows, but she must not know.

He’s gotta tell her.

“Robin, I-“

A few quick beeps interrupt him, followed by a sharp intake of breath, and then a choking sound.

Eddie jumps up and Robin rushes to press the call button. Steve’s eyes are open and he’s trying to claw at the tube down his throat. Eddie grabs them as gently as he can, whispering that it’s okay, the nurse will take care of it, he just has to wait a minute.

Steve’s eyes are wide with panic.

He’s squeezing Eddie’s hands with a surprising amount of strength for someone who was basically dead only a minute before.

Eddie cups his cheek, and he falls in love.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. They’re gonna help you. I’m glad you’re here,” Eddie says quietly while Robin decides to run to the hall to get help.

He feels it growing the longer he’s awake, the more they touch. The reason he didn’t accept El’s words was because Steve was still there, Eddie could feel half of his heart still beating in Steve’s chest and half of his soul still deeply intertwined in Steve’s.

Steve won’t let go of him, even when the nurses try to get him to so they can check him. Eddie apologizes to the nurse closest to him, and while she must be annoyed at the inconvenience, she gives him an understanding smile.

“I wouldn’t let go of mine either,” she whispers to him before turning back to Steve’s IV line in his arm.

Eddie doesn’t let go.

Doctors come and go. Steve can barely talk, but they expect him to gain his voice back within a day or two. They suggest he have honey sticks and ice chips to soothe his throat and prescribe a breathing treatment to help clear up anything in his chest. He’s told to take it easy and stay as horizontal as possible until they can get him in for more scans. They don’t want him to start bleeding anywhere before they can reassess wounds.

Most of his physical injuries are broken bones, and there’s nothing to do for them except wait for them to heal.

He may never walk again, at least not without help.

His vision is worse than after his third concussion, but they’re already planning on prescribing glasses for him.

Things aren’t great, but they’re moving forward.

Robin has to leave before she gets a chance to really talk to him, which Eddie is secretly grateful for. He wants to have a minute alone with him, even if all they do is sit in silence, holding hands.

Which is all they do for a while. The hospital is still packed full of people in surprisingly worse condition than Steve, and extremely understaffed, so they just enjoy the peace of the room while they can. Now that Steve’s awake, they may put someone else in here to free up a room.

Steve taps his wrist.

“Hm?” Eddie watches as Steve tries to speak.

“Okay?”

Eddie knows what he’s asking.

“Everyone’s fine. Just worried about you,” Eddie smiles, rubs his thumb along the back of Steve’s hand as he answers. “You got the worst of it.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault the evil mind wizard clockmaker decided to try to kill you one bone at a time, Stevie,” Eddie picks up his hand and kisses the back of his fingers. “But let’s try to avoid other evil mind wizard clockmakers in the future.”

Steve doesn’t quite laugh, but his smile is enough for Eddie.

He’s quiet for a bit, his eyes closing like he’s falling back asleep. It only makes Eddie a little nervous.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says when he thinks Steve did actually drift off. “I was scared. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

Steve smiles, but keeps his eyes closed. “Mhm.”

“And I will make it up to you in any way I can for as long as it takes. Even if that’s forever.”

“Mmm.”

“And I can’t tell if you wanna yell at me or not right now, but if you want to, you can. You should, actually. Wayne was way too nice to me when I told him.”

Steve opens one eye and raises a brow. How the hell is he doing that?

“Do you?”

Steve snorts and closes his eye, settling further into the pillow and squeezing Eddie’s hand.

It could be a yes or a no, but either way, Eddie’s fine with it.

His soulmate is alive and he’s not afraid anymore.

[impracticalcrybaby]

Drunken Mistake

Ellie Williams X Fem!Reader

Summary: Ellie confronts you about what you guys did last night after the party.

Contains: 18+ content fingering r!receiving, strap use r!receiving, slight hair pulling, mention of alcohol

"C'mon wake up."

I groan. I hated waking up. I shove my face into the pillow. "Five more minutes." I mumble. I wanted to finish my dream of riding my horse into an open field and there was a little house that my parents were watching me from the porch. That was all ruined when I feel my body being flipped over.

I open my eyes slightly seeing Ellie holding onto my hip with a stern expression on her face. "Wake up." She insisted. I start to close my eyes again. "Y/nnnnnn" Her voice cooed softly. With my eyes still closed, I groan shifting my body to sit up. I hear her shuffle on the ground and then come back. "Arms up." I lift my arms up and feel a shirt being put over my head.

I finally open my eyes to see Ellie adjusting the shirt to fit my body. That's when it hits me. Last night we went to a party and I drank a lot. And when I say a lot I mean...A LOT. Ellie must have taken me home. I suddenly feel embarrassed. "Ellie I got it." I mumble and shoo her hands away to fix the shirt myself.

Ellie furrows her eyebrows but listens and stands back with her hands in the air. She watches from afar and I can feel her eyes on me. "Can you turn around?" I say with a bit of embarrassment. She turns around with a sigh. I stand up from the bed with a groan, finding my shorts on the floor I swiftly put them on. “Jesus why’d you let me drink so much?” I walk past Ellie holding on to my head in pain.

She follows me out of the bedroom door with a nervous chuckle. “Listen honey, I tried.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You are one stubborn girl.” I looked at her and rolled my eyes. As I’m chasing ibuprofen down with a swig of water, I hear Ellie let out a sigh. I look at her with tight eyebrows. “Can we please talk about last night?”

My stomach has sunk to the floor. I almost choke on my water as I’m remembered of the scene of what went down. “Ellie.” I warn. “No. We need to talk about it.” She begs me and holds on to my arm. I look between her eyes as I try to form words. “It was a mistake?” My breath got caught in my throat and the words croaked out of my mouth.

The look of hurt washed over Ellie’s face. “A mistake?” Her eyes wonder my face as if she’s trying to find a sliver of comfort. I rest my shoulder with a sigh. “Ellie…We were drunk…” She lets go of my arm and shakes her head in disbelief. “No drunk person fucks their roommate, tells them they’ve been dreaming of this moment, and then admits they are in love with them.”

I stand there in shock. My eyes wide and my jaw clenched. I wanted to forget that. The slip of words that oozed out when I wasn’t in control of them. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ellie asks in a whisper. Her eyes haven’t left my face and they have pierced themselves right through me. I am at loss of words. The courage I had to say what I did last night has disappeared. Ellie raises an eyebrow as she waits for me to answer.

“I-I…I was scared.” I admit. My cheeks a shade of crimson. Ellie finally removes her eyes from my face, looking down at the floor. Her face in a scrunched expression. I stand in front of her like a deer in headlights. With her face still to the floor her voice creeps out “So…You meant it?” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, throwing my head back. “Yes Ellie, three whole years I have loved you. Three years I held in these feelings.”

Ellie looks back up at me, her expression hard to read. We make eye contact in silence. A tense silence. Ellie let out a small smirk, sending a confused expression to my face. “Three years is nothing compared to my six years.” She admits and in a quick motion she grabs my face in her hands, hungrily smashing her lips on to mine. The shock ran through my blood but simmered down melting into the kiss.

I copied her hunger. She pulled my body closer to hers. Feeling her heat made me go even more crazy. Her tongue didn’t wait for permission and entered my mouth sloppily. I move my hands into her hair slightly tugging at her auburn locks. Her hands found their way down to my waist, moving up and down my abdomen. Our mouths are moving in sync with a few pathetic noises escaping.

We pull away for a second out of breath. Ellie’s hands make their way down just below my ass. “Can we finish what we started last night?” She asks with a sly smirk. I roll my eyes with a smile, “Shut up and kiss me.” Without hesitation Ellie connects our lips in another hungry kiss. She gently picks me up off the ground letting out a small gasp from me. My legs wrapped around her hips as we continue to deepen the kiss.

With me still wrapped around Ellie, she walks over to the kitchen counter placing me on top of the cold marble. Ellie’s lips leave my lips down to my neck. Sucking and biting at the skin, she leaves a few marks. “Oh fuck~” I throw my head back onto the cabinet. Ellie makes her way down from my neck down to my chest. She kissed over my clothed breast. “Take this off.” She demanded. The tone her voice sent shivers down my spine.

I took too long for her because she ripped it off my body in second. With my bare skin in the open she immediately attached her lips back on to my chest. Sucking at every inch of skin. Leaving marks here and there. My soft whines and moans were the only thing you could hear in our apartment. Her hand made its way up to my left breast. Kneading at the fat and her thumb rubbing circles on my nipple.

I tug at her hair harder, making Ellie moan. She moves lower down to my stomach and then down to my thighs. She was practically on her knees at this point. I look down at her with my mouth agape. She looked at me with puppy eyes. My eyebrows tighten and a whine escapes my mouth seeing Ellie like this. Her fingers snake down my abdomen down to the waistband of my shorts. She tugs at it for approval.

I give her an eager nod allowing her to pull them down. As quick as she could she stood up and pulled my shorts down with my help sitting on the counter. She takes in what she sees in front of her. I become a little nervous being so exposed in front of Ellie while sober. “Oh baby, don’t get all nervous on me now.” Ellie chuckles kissing down my body back to where she was before.

She looks back up at me with those puppy eyes. Begging for me. Her hands hold on to my thighs massaging them to keep me stimulated. I bite my lip looking down at her from this angle. Her fingers begin to creep their way to my inner thigh. They move higher up and just slightly graze right where I need Ellie. A small high pitched whine leaves my mouth.

Ellie liked the reaction I had and did it again to tease me. She had a taunting grin on her face. My legs began to squirm under her. Ellie hummed, “Poor girl…so needy.” She pressed her fingers down on my clothed cunt sending a loud scream like moan from me. She continued to press down getting slightly deeper and kissed my knees.

“Fuck Ellie…I need more.” I whined out. My eyes begging for her more. She gave me a sly smile before hooking her fingers in the waistband of my underwear, pulling them down. I was fully exposed displayed right in front of her. “Fuck.” She said under her breath before licking a stripe up my cunt. “Mmphm~” I bit my bottom lip, throwing my head back.

Ellie didn’t hesitate to up her pace. Finding my clit and making circles with her tongue around it. Licking up every inch of surface. “Ah fuck Ellie!” My hands pull at her hair as my thighs squeeze around her head. Her hand then pull my thighs down, pinning them to the counter as she continue to suck and lick against me.

My heavy breathing and moaning echoed in the kitchen. Ellie continued to lick up every drop of me as my hips began to buck against her face. “I-I’m gonna c-cum.” I rode out my high onto Ellie’s tongue. “C’mon baby.” Ellie hummed against my clit, vibrating it and making me come undone on her face. A loud moan echos our kitchen as I have reached my high and finished. Ellie continued to lick up any remaining drop of me. “Good girl.” She smiled as she slowly stood up from the ground and kissed my cheek.

She pulled away from my face to look at me. I was breathing heavy while staring deep into her eyes. My mouth slacked open and my legs still spread. I looked like a fucked out slut. She had a teasing grin on her face, “I’m not finished just yet.” I felt a wince leap from my throat. I didn’t know if i should be excited or scared. But I was both.

Ellie softly grabbed my hand and helped me off the counter. I stumbled as my feet hit the floor. She ate me out that good damn. As she lead us to her bedroom I followed behind like a lost puppy. Holding her hand and staring so lovingly at the back of her head. Once we made it to her room she let go of my hand, “You get on the bed and I’ll be right there princess.” She kissed my forehead and without any questions I did as she said. I walked over to her bed and sat down comfortably.

She left the room and shortly came back. But this time she had something on. A strap on. I felt my stomach tighten as I stared at it. Ellie chuckles, “Didn’t think I would come back with this?” I gulp and look back up at Ellie, “N-no…I just didn’t think it’d be this…” I look down at it. Her tongue pokes the inside of her cheek with furrowed eyebrows. “Big?” She says. I laugh nodding and covering my face with my hands. I hear her shuffle over the to bed, “Oh shut up.” She chuckles and removes my hands from my face.

My face red I look at her and she’s smiling. A sweet smile that I fell for years ago. I admired her freckled face. The curve of her nose and the way her eyes were shaped. I was in love with her. “I love you.” I whispered, my eyes filled with love. She looks at me with the same look. Her eyes filled with love she whispers back, “I love you more.” She kisses me gently at first. Then the kiss deepens. She gets on top of the bed and hovers over me. As I hungrily kiss her she shifts us into a position. My legs open around her thighs and her strap perfectly lined up with me.

We pull away out of breath, “Are you ready?” She asks with a nervous crack of a voice. “Y-Yes.” I look down at the strap as it slowly enters me. A exasperated sigh leaves my mouth as Ellie fills me all the way. She makes small and slow thrusts, kissing my shoulders. My mouth falls open and breathy moans escapes. Ellie slowly picks up her pace, leaving me to moan louder. My nails dig into her back for support. I can hear a moan from her when she begins to go faster.

The sound of skin slapping together and our moans combined are filling the room. “Mmm fuckk~” I can’t even feel the shape of her cock because of how fast she’s going now. “Fuckfuckfuck.” I feel myself reach my edge. Ellie continues to thrust in and out of me faster and faster. Her hands are roughly holding onto my hips. They will be bruised later from how hard she had a grip on them. A groan leaves Ellie’s lips. “C’mon princess. Be a good girl for me and cum.” Her voice was deep and breathy.

“I’m gonna cum!” I yelp. Ellie thrusted deeper, reaching right on a sweet spot. That sent a scream come out of my mouth. With my eyes tightly shut, I let out a last moan. “Oh fuck~ Good girl.” Ellie growled. She slowed her thrusts and they became sloppy. Ellie then pulled out with a wince coming from me. She plopped herself right next to me. Both of us out of breath and sweaty.

She puts her arm above my head and starts playing with my hair. I look over at her with a smile. She smiles sweetly back. “Was that okay?” She whispers and takes her other hand to my cheek. I blush under her touch, “Of course it was.” My smile grows as big as it gets. Ellie blushes and pulls me closer to her. With our close proximity her scent becomes more prominent. I take a deep breath of it and close my eyes. My body being in her arms and her chin resting on top of my head, we doze off.

a/n: i’m sorry if it’s rushed or if the ending isn’t as good as you wanted it to be. this is my first time writing a one shot so please be considerate!! HOPED YOU LIKED IT!!! 🧡🧡

[redrose10]

< Little Birdies >

Detective Yoongi x Female Detective Reader, Friends to Lovers

Warnings: Some suggestive bits, mentions of violence, guns, injuries

I hope you like it and thanks for the request!

*******************************************************

“Your friend seemed nice.”, you mumbled after another sip of your coffee. The thought of the strange woman carrying her bra and underwear in her hands while she tiptoed out of the apartment you shared with Yoongi making your stomach turn just a little.

The shutter of the camera made a loud clicking sound. After making sure he got the shot Yoongi turned and smirked at you, “You want her number? You seem more interested in her than I am.”

“No thanks. Not my type.”, you scoffed.

“Mmhm…yeah I forgot…you like assholes named Hoseok that somehow forget to text you for days at a time and spell your name wrong in birthday cards that they give you three weeks too late.”

“Yeah well at least I don’t have a revolving door of different women because I’m a manwhore that can’t go more than three days without getting my dick wet.”

“Ouch…”, he said clutching his chest in fake hurt but still with a smile getting you to giggle along with him.

“Seriously though Y/N, you should dump him. You deserve better.”

“Like you?”, you playfully responded.

“Umm yeah, I’m a great catch.”, he proudly exclaimed before grabbing a few more photos.

You snorted in response, but deep down you knew he was right. He was kind, thoughtful, funny, brave, and on top of that he was incredibly handsome. You’d had a crush on him since his family moved in next door to you when you were both six years old. The two of you became pretty much inseparable while growing up even joining the police force together and getting an apartment to live in. You weren’t entirely sure of his feelings towards you and you were just too scared to make any move that could possibly ruin your relationship. So you kept them a secret all these years.

Yoongi took a few more pictures as a group of men walked out of the restaurant you had been scoping out for the last few hours before placing the camera on the back seat. “I think we got enough for now. Let’s get back to the office and search for any updates.”, he said putting the car in drive.

The thing was that you had no idea how much Yoongi liked you, he knew that he even loved you. It killed him watching you date guys who treated you poorly or didn’t care about you like he did. Even when you dated Taehyung who was actually very nice and caring and never did or said anything to make it seem like he didn’t love you, it still didn’t sit right with him. Yoongi always knew he could love you better, he could love you more.

He hated that he couldn’t bring himself to stay in a relationship longer than a few months because he always ended up feeling like he couldn’t fully commit to them since you were always on his mind. He hated sneaking in random women that he met in bars or through friends just to spend the night pretending that it was you moaning his name in his ear as he thrusted in and out of them. He hated that he could stare down the barrel of a gun like it was nothing, but he didn’t have the courage to really tell you how he felt about you. He dropped hints. He thought he was being very obvious at times. Everyone else could see it, but for some reason you never did. A part of him wondered if you did catch on, but didn’t feel the same way and you just didn’t want to embarrass him or ruin the friendship you guys had. The thought of that made his chest ache.

“Good morning Y/N, where is your other half?”, Jimin smirked while Jungkook giggled next to him. You wanted to say something harsh in return but you reminded yourself that they were good kids and just liked to push your buttons a little. They were rookies and were assigned to work in the same office as you and Yoongi. They were in charge of paperwork and smaller tasks, but mostly they just gave you and Yoongi a hard time.

The thing was you actually didn’t know where he was. He had a date last night, like an actual date and not just a one night stand. You fell asleep on the couch waiting for him to get home and when you got up for work he wasn’t there. The date must’ve gone really well was your first thought. Your second thought was that it must have gone so well that he didn’t even come home last night because he never lets you sleep on the couch. Something about it being bad for your posture so he always carried you to bed. It seemed like someone else had kept his attention.

Before you could answer the two men he came walking into the small office. “I was buying you guys some breakfast, but I guess I’ll just have to eat it myself.”, he said while purposely letting the large bag of food smack Jimin in the back of the head as he walked by.

“Caramel Latte.”, he smiled handing you a to-go cup.

“Thanks… did you forgot the —“

“Blueberry bagel extra toasted with extra cinnamon cream cheese.”, he smirked handing you the still warm bagel.

“Thanks Yoongles.”, you smiled already digging in.

From the side Jungkook mocked in a high pitched voice, “Yeah thanks Yoongles.” Jimin joined in, “Yeah maybe for lunch Yoongles can give Y/N some of his own di—“, he couldn’t finish because Yoongi had taken a half of a bagel and shoved it into Jimin’s mouth to shut him up earning a laugh from everyone in the small office.

Once everyone ate and and got their briefings and you and Yoongi were in your car off to scope out a new location that was suspected of being a mafia hangout, you finally took a moment to ask the question that had been bothering you since the night before.

“So uh your date went well I’m guessing…you know since you never came home last night.”, you slightly cringed at how petty and desperate you sounded. You weren’t his mother so you had no say in when or if he even came home at all.

“It was alright.”, he mumbled.

“Mmm do you think you’ll see her again?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe. Unless someone else want to go on a date with me instead.”

You smiled, but didn’t say anything else. Instead you turned to look out the window pretending you were taking notes. You missed the way Yoongi looked you up and down.

The truth was he didn’t really have any plans to ever see that woman again. As horrible as it sounds he thought that she could maybe be a distraction for a while, a way to get his brain to stop thinking about you every minute of every day. But for the entire evening all he could think about was the look of sorrow in your eyes when he told you about the date. And right before he was about to leave you dropped the bomb on him that Hoseok had broken up with you that same morning. He felt awful. He offered to cancel the date, but you begged him not to. He was miserable and decided to end it early. He stopped at the convient store and grabbed all of your favorite snacks and a cute little stuffed poodle to add to your collection of stuffed animals he’d gotten you over the years. But when he got home you were already sound asleep on the couch. Normally he would carry you to bed not wanting you to wake up sore, but you looked exhausted and his shoulder had been acting up worrying him that he’d end up dropping you if he tried. So he grabbed another blanket and tucked you in instead before placing a soft kiss to the top of your head and getting in bed himself so that he could get up bright and early and surprise everyone with breakfast in the morning.

You hated working nights. You were so glad when your rookie years were over and you could have first dibs on the more desirable shifts. But they were super backed up on paperwork and you needed a distraction. Yoongi was on another date. He wouldn’t confirm or deny if the date was with the same woman so you chose to assume it was a second date and in Yoongi world being lucky enough to get a second date with him is basically like a marriage proposal so you were feeling a little heavy hearted.

“You two should just tell each other how you feel.”, Jimin spoke from the cubicle across from yours after noticing you staring into space. “Yeah it used to be fun to tease you guys, but now it’s just sad.”, Jungkook added after popping a handful of chips into his mouth.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Oh come on Y/N…it’s clear that you two like each other. Childhood best friends that have always had a thing for each other, but were always too afraid to say anything in fear of ruining the friendship so they yearn after each other in secret while trying to force love elsewhere.”, Jimin snorted, “It’s a tale as old as time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s my best friend and there’s no way he’d like me any ways.”, you spat feeling a little irritated.

“Yeah…but do you give all of your friends big puppy dog eyes every time they walk in the room?”, Jungkook questioned which pleased Jimin judging by the smirk on his face.

Rolling your eyes you continued to type away on your computer without giving them a verbal response.

“And Yoongi has it down bad for you.”, Jimin said making you stop your actions.

They snickered back and forth knowing they got you.

Jimin continued, “Seriously Y/N, he buys you food all the time.”

“So? He buys the whole office food.”

“Yeah, but we get the stuff that was 50% off because it was about to expire while you get the premium fancy coffees and the hot fresh sandwiches.”

“So what? I’ve known him since we were kids.”, you shrugged, “I’d do the same for him.”

“Yeah well what about these?”, Jungkook said pointing at a bunch of pencils that were snapped in half on Yoongi’s desk.

“They’re just pencils…I don’t really understand?”

Jungkook laughed, “Yeah they’re all just poor innocent pencils that Yoongi has snapped with his hands because he was squeezing them so tightly in anger every time you get all flirty with the ballistics guys…uh what’s his name? Namjoon, yeah that guy.”

“I do not flirt with him. He’s just nice and has cute dimples.”

Jimin snorted, “Don’t let Yoongi hear you say that. I don’t think we have any room in the budget for more pencils.”

“Okay and like he actually took a bullet for you. I’m not sure I would even sprain my ankle for this guy.”, Jimin sighed pointing over at Jungkook earning quite the glare.

He did have a point with that one. You were both new at the time. You were closing in on a well known and dangerous drug dealer. A shot was fired and you froze. If Yoongi hadn’t acted quickly and stepped in front of you it would’ve hit you right in the forehead. Instead he took the bullet in his left shoulder barely missing a major artery. It’s been nearly seven years and he still hasn’t 100% recovered, still having pain from time to time. You’ve always felt awful about it but that was him just doing his job and protecting his friend, nothing more.

You shook your head, “That doesn’t prove anything. That was just him doing what he was sworn in to do.”

“Yeah well he also turned down that promotion because of you.” The sound Jimin’s hand made when it connected to the back of Jungkook’s head would’ve made you laugh at any other time, but instead his words kept repeating in your head, “What promotion?”

Jimin put his hands up in defense and looked at Jungkook., “This one is on you. Yoongi made us promise not to tell her and I do not want to receive the wrath of a man who can easily snap a pencil with one hand.”

Jungkook swallowed before nodding, “Well a few months ago Yoongi was offered a promotion to captain. But he uh…he turned it down because he didn’t want you out in the streets without him. He said no one could or would protect you like would so he declined it.”

“W-wait, he actually turned down a promotion like that because of me?” Both of the guys nodded but remained silent.

“I’m sorry…I um…I have to go.”, you mumbled grabbing all of your things. You felt sick and you needed to talk to Yoongi and make him go beg for that promotion.

You stood in front of your door for a minute praying that you weren’t going to walk in on anything you didn’t want to see so you took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Thankfully the apartment was empty. You were going to take a quick shower and then decide on your next move. But as you were taking off your shoes the door opened and Yoongi came walking in.

“W-What are you doing here?”, you asked shocked to see him home so early and also (thankfully) alone.

“Well last time I checked I lived here? Wow you must have a fever setting in.”, he chuckled.

“F-fever?”

He grabbed your hand and took you to the kitchen where he started unboxing the soup he had picked up for you, “Yeah Jimin texted me and said you left in a hurry because you weren’t feeling well so I got you some soup and some tea and some medicine and this cute cupcake because cake makes everything better.”, he smiled.

“Did you leave your date for this?”, you questioned feeling a little sicker by the minute.

“Uh yeah, but it’s no big deal.”, he said handing you a bowl of the soup and encouraging you to eat it.

It all started repeating over and over in your mind. The missed dates, the promotion, the bullet. You wondered how much else he’d given up for you.

“No Yoongi, you have to stop doing this.”, you said taking a step back.

“Doing what?”, he laughed, “Taking care of you?”

“Yes Yoongi! You can’t keep skipping out on dates and taking bullets and rejecting promotions. You need to start…you need to start doing what makes you happy. You need to stop focusing on me so much.”

He stood still and licked his lips. His hands were tightly gripping the counter.

“Peppermint or chamomile?”, he asked.

“What?!”

“Do you want peppermint tea or chamomile tea? I got both just in case.”, he asked again already reaching for a mug.

“Yoongi I don’t want any tea! Are you listening? You can’t keep giving up things because of me. I just want you to be happy. I want you to achieve your goals. I want you to find the woman of your dreams and spend the rest of your life together in love and stop worrying about me all the time.”

Yoongi was normally a very stoic slow moving man so when he moved so quickly that he had you caged in against the counter within seconds it somewhat startled you.

He stared deeply into your eyes, something he rarely did, “Y/N did you ever stop to think that maybe THIS is what makes me happy. That maybe I enjoy taking care of you. That maybe my dream is to have you close to me forever. That maybe I found the love of my life when her and her parents came over to introduce themselves to the new neighbors and she came walking up to me with cute pigtails and a gorgeous smile to give me one of her moms famous brownies. Did you ever think that maybe the day I took that bullet I didn’t just do it because it was my job…that I did it because I would rather die myself than have to spend the rest of my life without you. And the promotion? Sure it would’ve been nice. The money could’ve helped. But the risk wasn’t worth it to me. You’re all I need to be happy. I’m done trying to pretend that you’re just a friend to me. I’m done going on dates with other women pretending that they’re you. I love you Y/N and as long as I have you then that’s all I need in this life.”

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until he reached up to wipe away at the tears that had settled on your cheeks. Those were the words you’d wanted to say for so long but we’re too afraid that they wouldn’t be reciprocated.

“I-I love you too Yoongi.”, you whispered before burying your face in his chest and feeling his arms tightly wrap around you to pull you even closer.

You had already felt a million times better, but Yoongi did what he did best and made sure you ate all of the soup and drank the tea. Then you guys decided to dig into the cupcake which you happily shared with him.

“Soooo how did you find out about the promotion?”, he asked before feeding you another bite of cake.

“Ohhh a uh some little birdies told me.”, you mumbled trying not to make eye contact with him.

He nodded, “Mmmhm I see. And do these little birdies have impeccable hair and irresistible smiles?”

“Well… you know…I don’t think the hair of these birdies really matters…and I really don’t think birds can even smile.”, you said trying to distract him, “And you should be nice to these little birdies because they’re the ones that helped get us together.”

He leaned in and gave you a long awaited kiss, “Jimin and Jungkook are still going to be on car washing duty for the next three months.”, he laughed before going in for another kiss, “Which is better than the crime scene cleanup that I originally had planned.”

“But I do have the nicest smile right?”, he asked when you guys were finally done laughing.

You sat in silence deciding to tease him a little bit.

“Riiiggghhhtttt?”, he questioned again with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Weeeelllll Namjo-“

Before you could finish the statement he stuffed the rest of the cupcake in your mouth to stop you and then breaking out into a big gummy smile that always had been and always will be the best to you.

[butchersboobs]

Inside

God, you love Billy Butcher. But he acts like you don't even exist.

If only you could hear what goes on inside his head...

NSFW under the cut - MDNI

Warnings: angst, swearing, smut references

Huge thanks to @babyfri3dric3 for her support and encouragement

_____________

Couldn’t bloody sleep again, could I? Nah, 'course not. You’re in me 'ead, swannin' about like you own the place. Worse than the bleedin' voices of all them bastards I’ve put in the ground. Least they shut up after a pint or two. But you? Nah, love. You’re stickin' round, ain’t ya? Lingerin' away.

What is it 'bout you, ay? The way you walk in, light up the fuckin' room like you're the bloody sun - not that I’d admit it to your face. God forbid. Gettin soft gets you dead. But then there’s you, with that laugh, that bloody laugh that echoes in me chest. Makes me feel things I’ve spent years buryin'.

Christ, you’ve got me twisted, aintcha? Can’t look atcha too long without feelin' like me insides are on fire. Get rock 'ard just finkin about'cha.  But you ain' just a pretty face, are ya? Nah, you’ve got grit. The way you stare down danger like it’s nuffin'. Like yer invincible. Makes me wanna shove ya up against the nearest wall n'fuck yer brains out. 

I wanna wrap ya up, keep ya safe, too. But you’d hate that, wouldn’t ya? Too bloody stubborn. Too much fire in ya. That’s part o' why I’m so buggered, innit? You ain't no damsel, waitin' for a knight in shinin' armor. You’re the one wavin' the bloody sword.

Still, I’d kill for ya. Fuckin' die for ya. Not that I’d say it out loud. Gotta keep the walls up, keep the monster in check. But if anyone - anyone - laid an 'and on you, they’d be meetin' the business end of me crowbar faster than you could blink.

Sometimes, I catch meself watchin' ya when you’re not lookin'. Little moments, y'know? When you’re busy doin' whatever it is you do, hair fallin' in yer face. And I’m standin' there like a right knob, memorizin' every detail. Like I’m scared I’ll forget - like I could ever forget. You’ve branded yourself on me soul, love, and I ain’t got the faintest idea how to rip you out.

Fing is, I know I’m no good for ya. Never 'ave been, never will be. You deserve better. Someone’ll give ya the world, not leave it burnin'. But I’m a selfish git, and I want you anyway. Want ya so bad it hurts. It’s like a constant ache, a hole that only you can fill. But 'ow do I tell ya that wivout soundin' like a right twat? Wivout givin' ya another reason to run?

So, I keep it locked away. Buried deep, where it can’t 'urtcha. Where it can’t ruin whatever this is we’ve got. But every time you look at me, every time you laugh or smile or call me out on me bullshit, it gets 'arder to keep quiet. 'Arder to keep me 'ands to meself. And God, do I wanna touch yer. Just once, just enough to know if you’re real. To feel that spark, that electricity I’m sure’d bloody well knock me flat.

But I can’t.

So, I’ll just stay 'ere, stuck in me own twisted 'ead. Wantin' ya, needin' ya, lovin' ya in all the ways I’ll never say out loud.

And maybe one day, when I’m six foot under, you’ll know just 'ow much you meant to this broken, stubborn bastard. But until then, I’ll keep watchin', keep wantin', and keep bloody sufferin'.

[radioactivatedspider]

Till Death Do Us Part, and Not Even Then

Main Masterlist Supernatural Masterlist

My Wattpad📖

Radio's Café☆ - my official discord server!

Want to be added to my taglist? Just a few clicks away! -> Taglist Form

Pairings; Dean Winchester x Wife!reader

Genre; supernatural drama, tragedy, romance, angst

Warnings; violence, gore, death of major characters, emotional trauma, vampires and supernatural combat, blood and injury,(Sam losing his big brother and sister in law:[)

Summary: After decades together, Dean and Y/N face a deadly fight that leaves them both mortally wounded—chest to chest, fighting for their lives and their love. Sam watches as their final moments unfold, bound by a promise: till death do us part.

631 words

The fight was a blur.

A symphony of snarls, broken bones, blood, and silver. But in the chaos of it all, there were two things Sam Winchester would never forget: the sound of metal piercing flesh—and the silence that followed.

Dean had gone down first.

Shoved hard by a vampire twice his size, the jagged rusted rod sticking up from the broken floor impaled him clean through the back, tearing through muscle and bone and heart.

But then… then came the moment Sam would see every time he closed his eyes.

Y/N.

She screamed his name. Lunged forward before Sam could stop her.

And the same rod—still buried in Dean—ran right through her chest too when she collided into him. Their bodies, chests pressed tight against one another. Their blood mixing. One weapon. Two hearts. Pierced straight through.

Together.

Always together.

“No…” Sam’s voice cracked as the last vampire turned to dust under his blade, and the silence that followed was louder than any war.

Dean’s eyes were wide, locked on the woman in front of him—his wife. His everything. His always.

“Baby,” he choked, voice broken. “No....no, no, no—”

Y/N coughed, her blood staining Dean’s flannel. “Dean…” Her hand cupped the back of his head, eyes fluttering. “You’re so warm. Still.”

“I’m gonna get us out of this,” he lied, tears falling freely now. “I swear to God, I’m gonna pull us off this damn thing—”

“You move me, and—” Her voice was soft. Kind. “we both know what happens then.”

Dean let out a sharp breath. “No, no, you were supposed to make it. Just you. Sam was supposed to get you out.”

“I wasn’t going to live without you,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. “What would be the point?”

Sam fell to his knees beside them. He couldn't stop shaking.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

His big brother. His sister-in-law. The people who raised him more than their father ever did. The only constant love he’d seen his entire life—breaking, bleeding, dying in front of him.

“You’ve been together since high school,” he whispered, choking on the words. “You were supposed to make it to the end.”

“This is the end, Sammy,” Dean said, voice hoarse but steady, one arm somehow wrapping around her back even as he bled out. “It’s not the ending we wanted. But… I’m not alone.”

Twenty years old when they got married. Four years before that, they’d been those reckless teens sneaking kisses behind the school bleachers. Twenty-six years of marriage. A lifetime of hunts and heartbreaks, kisses and kitchen dances, bruises and beers on the hood of the Impala.

“I’m not scared,” she whispered. “I’ve lived a good life, Dean. Because of you.”

His lips trembled. “Don’t leave me yet.”

“I’m right here.”

“I love you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers.

“I love you too."

Dean’s hand gripped the back of her shirt like it could anchor her to him just a moment longer. His other hand reached for Sam’s.

“Sammy…”

Sam sobbed as he grasped his brother’s hand tight.

“I’m so proud of you. You hear me?” Dean’s words came slower now. “Keep fighting. Don’t let this… be the end of you too.”

“I—I can’t—” Sam shook his head, chest heaving. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Y/N whispered faintly. “Because that’s what Winchesters do.”

Their breathing slowed. Bodies pressed close. Two heartbeats slipping away together.

Dean’s lips brushed hers. Gentle. Final.

“Till death do us part,” he breathed.

And Y/N… with the smallest smile, answered, “And not even then.”

Then—quiet.

No more pain.

Just peace.

Sam was left alone in the silence. Kneeling in blood. Shattered.

But they were still together.

Even in death.

Taglist: @globetrotter28 @star-yawnznn

[dramioneshipperz]

The Handmaid’s Tale—Season 6, Episode 9

Spoilers + Full Rant: Nick Blaine deserved better.

It's been hours. I’m not over it, and honestly? I don’t think I ever will be. These are my thoughts on the second-to-last episode of The Handmaid's Tale. Just my opinion.

CW: mentions of character death, abuse, and assault (including references to rape). Please read gently. Take care of yourself.

Nick’s downfall, if we can even call it that, wasn’t earned. It wasn’t thoughtful. It wasn’t the slow moral descent of a man corrupted by power. It was maybe three episodes of rushed choices, forced betrayals, and a character assassination that feels like it was written for shock value, not truth.

After six seasons of restrained love, quiet sacrifices, and impossible choices, they (writers and cast) threw him away with no warning and expected us to accept it.

But I can’t. I won’t.

Nick Blaine was not “just like the other Commanders.” No matter how badly the writers wanted to draw those false parallels in the final episodes, we know who he was. Having June and Serena both say, "You're just like the rest of them," was not only inaccurate, it was completely unjustifiable.

He wasn’t Fred. He wasn't Wharton.

Nick wasn’t a man who reveled in power or used Gilead to abuse women. He was a man caught in a system he never asked to be part of. He tried to survive, yes, but more than that, he was one who loved. One who tried to do good inside a world built to crush it.

Let’s talk about Serena Joy. If Serena can be "redeemed" after being an architect of women’s suffering—after holding June down to be raped—if she can cry over a baby and suddenly be positioned as a symbol of complex womanhood, then Nick Blaine deserved the chance to live.

And Aunt Lydia? Who mutilated girls and said it was what they deserved? She’s being reimagined as morally gray, too.

But Nick? Nick, who gave everything to help the woman he loved escape—he gets a bomb. No closure. No voice. No grace.

Let’s not forget why Nick did what he did.

He killed Guardians because June, Luke, and Moira needed help.

He shared Mayday plans because June put him in a situation where he had to choose between death on the wall or betrayal. And from what we’re shown, Nick didn’t know or even think that those women would die. Just like June didn’t think that asking for his help over and over wouldn’t come with consequences eventually.

Then June just let him get on that plane. She didn’t warn him. She didn’t stop him. After everything. After all the quiet love, all the protection, all the things he never asked for in return. She let him die believing she hated him.

And I’m supposed to believe that’s justice?

This is June’s story. I’ve always supported her rage. Her choices. Her trauma. And I always will.

But what they did to Nick. What the writers did to that love story. That wasn’t just cruel. It was narratively dishonest.

It twisted years of slow-burn connection into a last-minute complicate-by-association arc that Nick never deserved.

And for what? Shock value is all I can think of.

One more corpse to stack under June’s story?

I’m not mad because Nick was perfect. I’m mad because he wasn’t, and that’s what made him real. He was scared, restrained, and loyal. He loved June so deeply, he disappeared into it.

And they killed him off like he was a plot device.

Nick deserved redemption. At the very least, he deserved the truth. And I will never forgive them for denying him both.

I am heartbroken about Lawrence. But it made sense. Nick didn't.

That’s my rant. I will be watching the last episode next week.

[hikaru-hayashi]

DMC x (child) Reader

Dante⊹₊🔥⋆｡°✩

Being the child of Dante isn’t always easy, you always have to wait for your father to come home late at night. He had been covered in blood which made you worried every single time. Because in the mind of a five year old like yourself, this was absolutely horrifying for you to see. You would rush over to him with a worried look on your face with looking at him with those big curious eyes of yours,

“Y-You okay daddy…?” “I’m fine, just a little tired that’s all kiddo,” He would then ruffle your hair, causing you to forget that you were even worried that he came back really injured. However, in a stormy night, you got scared in the Devil May Cry Office. Causing you to run towards where he was and belly flopped on him causing him to make an “oof” sound. But he wasn’t mad, but he comforted you, “Shh, it’s alright daddy’s here and he’ll never let you go…” He said that mostly to himself since many demons were still after him and his child. And he would do anything to protect you even if it means fighting to the last breath. Even with his child they still shared the same dynamics of loving each other. And having an unbreakable bond. Which means you putting cute princess stickers on his face and random My Little Pony clips in his hair. And he would look like this always causing Nero try not to laugh and Vergil groaning in the background. Vergil.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ϟ ⚡︎ ϟ ˖ ݁ 𖥔.

Vergil wasn’t “the best father,” but he still tried. He was very awkward around you. Since, he mostly gave up sometimes. Because a particular event, you decided to color on Yamato with a red crayon. Which took months to take off. However, he still tried to be a good father, to make up his past mistakes with his eldest son, Nero. He would read to you every night since you gained his love for reading. Which he wouldn’t admit out loud, her was proud. When you throw a tantrum because you wanted a toy he would respond with, “Child, you do not need an insolent thing as a mere toy. You can keep yourself occupied by training and wanting more power.” “But dad…I don’t want that…I want to spend time with you…” Which caused Vergil to be surprised but his face softened a bit from his usual stoic expression. “If that’s what you want, then you’ll have to earn it.” Which made you more confused, since you were only six years old. And your father’s words didn’t make sense sometimes. Neroᯓ★🎸

Nero was the youngest father, but he still loved you even though he had a short temper sometimes. He would mostly spoil you with gifts, like Dante would. He would always play with you and cuddle with you if you needed a hug. One time, it was the most hilarious thing he saw in his life. You were three years old, and you drew on Vergil’s and Dante’s faces with a marker. Which Nero tried to hold in his laugh, but he full on laughed when he saw this. Since, you gave them scribbly mustaches and “eyeliner.” “Little one, that’s not nice…” “Ba…? Dada…?” You quite didn’t understand what he meant, since you were still a young toddler. So you kept Drawing on Vergil and Dante. Which Nero went in the other room causing him to full on laugh. While Kyrie looking concerned at him. When you were a baby, you had the same taste as him, which came into music. You would listen to “Master of Puppets,” by Metallica. Which Kyrie disapproved, but it put you to sleep. So, she wasn’t that mad about it. Even though you’re still a toddler you were the exact copy and paste of him. With your own mischievous little stunts at times.

[theabigailthorn]

Hey I’ve been a fan for a little while now, and I just wanted to say that you’ve been an inspiration for me, a younger transfemme. But I do wanna also ask: what’s it like being a trans woman with her life together? I’m 19 (as of sending), been on hrt for almost 5 months, and have been trans for a year and change. But I’m scared. So, I guess, I wanted to ask: does being trans ever become the norm, my baseline? What’s it like after 2-3 years? And does it get any less confusing or scary?

I think there are a few things going on here.

I don't have my life together as much as it might seem; I just don't show you all the ways it's not. I don't talk publicly about the auditions I don't get, or the things I try and fail at, or the insecurities in my own head that hold me back sometimes, or the handful of decisions I've made that were bad calls and which still keep me up occasionally. I've talked about trauma and mental illness in the past, but I only ever discuss stuff I'm comfortably over - when I'm overwhelmed or in the middle of a crisis I don't post about it. I don't set out to deceive you by presenting myself that way, I just keep my most private stuff private. Everybody has failures and regrets and insecurities: "it's a sign of having lived," as my friend Phoebe told me today. But you see a curated version of me that appears not only more together than the real person, but more together than any real person.

Also, if you're 19 a lot of your life hasn't been in your control until pretty recently and a lot of it still might not be. I'd say it's okay to not feel like you have it all together. You just transitioned, which I think is one of the hardest things a human being can do: you can give yourself credit for that even if you feel like you're not settled into it yet. Congratulations!

As for it becoming the baseline, I mean yeah? Kinda? At least for me. Sometimes I forget. I had a moment today in the gym where I saw a man and I was like "Oh yeah, I used to be one of them, sortof? Weird!" The first year is the hardest, or so they say. I wouldn't say I get less confused or scared now, just scared and confused in different ways. I worry less about getting attacked in the street than I did in my first year, for example. (I'm lucky and privileged in that regard.) But I worry a lot more about other people. I struggle a lot with survivor's guilt, which is something only people who survive get! Anyone who's had a drink with me in the last six months has heard me beat myself up because the night of The Prince premiere in New York was the night of Brianna Taylor's vigil in the UK. That wasn't a deliberate decision - the premiere was booked and paid for months before she was even killed - but I've become a lot more sensitive to those sorts of feelings precisely because I spend less time worrying about myself. I'm more aware now of what my transness means for other people. Like, I made an ironic joke when I came out that I'd become The Transgender Princess of TERF Island, and it's kindof haunted me since - I didn't set out to become "a famous trans person" but it's happened a little bit and it's going to happen a lot more next year. That comes with serious responsibilities and a few mild drawbacks, as well as perks, obviously. So I guess that's a longwinded way of saying I might be a weird person to ask this question because, at least for right now, my transness, my whole self, doesn't just belong to me.

Oh also, some great advice I got from my friends: Paris: "Only change the things that bother you on your good days," and Mattie: "Don't believe anything you think about your life after 9pm."

[imtryingbuck]

Timeless Love part two

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky and Y/n’s life after he finds her in the base.

Word count: 2,037

Warnings: angst (nightmares). fluff. medical inaccuracy (probably, most definitely). pregnancy.

Part 1

Masterlist

“I made a promise didn’t I?”

~~~

True to his word - nearly eighty years later - Bucky got down on one knee by the lake near the tower and asked her to marry him and of course she said yes.

Six months after he proposed, a year after she woke up, Tony had the large room that was normally used for his luxurious parties transformed into a magical, picture perfect wedding venue.

Bucky’s eyes welled up with tears as he watched the love of his long life walk down the aisle towards him, Steve and Sam stood next to him with soft smiles on their lips, Nat and Wanda standing on opposite sides of them with the same expression on their faces, Tony’s arm was wrapped around hers as they walked closer to her happiness.

Their hearts beating as one once they were announced as man and wife, both had tears running down their faces as they shared a passionate kiss.

In the year they’ve been married everything was perfect by day, full of laughter, happiness and love but by night as the compound grows completely silent Bucky would flinch as her cries would wake him up, he knew better than to touch her when she’s having a nightmare since the first time - and only time - he did, she had him pinned faced down on his stomach and his right arm put behind him painfully, his heart had pounded violently against his chest not because he was scared of her but for her, his calming soft voice finally managed to wake her up; for the rest of the night she clung on to him as her tears wet his naked chest.

That night was no different.

He watched in agony as she tossed and turned from her side of the bed, her eyes moving frantically behind her closed eyelids, mumbling quietly but what he could pick up was ‘no’, ‘I’ve been good’, ‘please stop’.

“Doll, sweetheart. Doll come back to me, you’re safe I promise.” He said softly. “Come on my love, wake up.” After over five minutes of him trying to coax her back awake it worked.

“B-Bucky?”

“I’m here darling, you’re okay I promise.” He sat there watching as she came to her senses, hearing her heart beat settle he knew she realised where she was and that she was safe. “C-Can I hold you?”

She doesn’t answer verbally, instead she crawls over towards him and climbs on to his lap and into his welcoming embrace. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry doll?”

“I… I woke you up didn’t I?”

“It’s okay.” Running his fingers up and down her naked back feeling the scars as he does, Bucky places kisses to her forehead and hairline. “Do you want to try and get some more sleep?”

“Can I stay here?”

“Of course my love.” He shifts them both whilst he pulled up the pillows to be behind his back, then grabbing the covers and pulling it over her. “Goodnight doll, I love you.”

“I love you too Buck, please don’t forget that.”

Having a medical degree really came in handy when someone was injured on a mission. Sam had just been shot down out of the sky landing hard on the ground, as Nat and Steve covered Y/n she cut Sam’s suit to get to his side where she made a hole to drain the blood that was filling his lungs. “Steve we need to get him back to the tower and quickly.”

“Let’s move him.”

“Y/n… are-are you carrying me?” Sam’s voice stuttered with a slur.

“I am.”

“I’m never going to live this down.” Nat couldn’t help but laugh and nod in agreement. “Y/n?”

“Yeah?” She replied as she laid him gently on the table in the jet.

“P-please don’t let me die.”

“You’re not going anywhere, I promise.”

Y/n let Steve carry Sam out once they landed back at home just so no one teased him about being carried by a woman who was smaller than him. But it was too late Tony and Bucky teased him the second they were allowed to see him.

“If Y/n didn’t do what she did Sam wouldn’t be here right now.” Helen Cho stated once she had finished giving the team an update on Sam’s condition. “Y/n can I speak to you privately?”

Once they were in an empty room, Y/n grew anxious thinking she did something wrong and that Helen was going to tell Fury which meant Fury would kick her off the team and she would be send to the Raft and she would never see Bucky again and he would move on and forget all about her and she would be alone an-and-

“Y/n breath! Deep breath in, slowly exhale.”

“I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to hurt him-“

“You saved his life. You did an amazing job and that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I want to offer you a job in the medical bay.”

“Bu-but will Fury allow that?”

“I don’t see what the problem will be, I’ll speak with him but whatever he says just know the offer is still there.”

“I’ll do it, unless he says no.”

When she told Bucky that she was potentially going to be a nurse again he beamed with pride, picking her up and spinning them around, telling her how proud he was of her. Two days later Fury called her into the office he had at the tower to discuss how she would split her time between missions and working in medical bay. Bucky didn’t think it was fair that she would still have to go on missions but she didn’t care, she was just happy she could be a nurse again and help people.

For six months she had been separating her time between missions and working in the medical bay Bucky had to admit that he was missing his wife and he understood that she was busy, but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss her nonetheless.

He had gone down to the med bay to see if he could grab lunch with her, Helen shook her head at him and told him that Y/n had gone up to their apartment, the place he was now standing outside of. Slowly opening the door - just as he and the team did in order not to scare her and send her into a panic attack - he stood leaning against the doorframe and it felt like he had been transported back in time at seeing her sitting at her small desk hunched over it with paperwork in front of her, he couldn’t help but smile.

“I can feel your eyes on me” her whispered voice snapped him out of his memory.

“Are you alright doll?”

“I’m okay just tired, how are- what’s wrong?”

“Stand up.”

“What?” Crossing over to where she was sat he took her hands in his and helped her stand, his eyes squinting as he looked her up and down. “Buck? What… are you doing?”

He gets down on his knees and presses his ear against her stomach, a soft gasp falling from his lips, one hand on her waist the other holding the back of her thigh. A chuckle falls from his lips as he pushes his ear further into her stomach.

“Buck?”

“Doll” he looks up at her with tears glistening his eyes making the blue even brighter. “Baby you’re pregnant.”

“What? I-I can’t- are you sure?”

“There’s a heartbeat! I can hear it! Strong, a very strong heartbeat, doll.”

“We’re… are we having a baby?” Bucky looked up seeing tears fall from her eyes, he nodded with a huge smile on his lips before he goes back to listening to the heartbeat of their unborn baby.

When Helen confirmed that there was indeed a baby in Y/n’s stomach Bucky wrapped his arms around the love of his life and all but took the air out of her lungs by kissing her and telling her how much he loves her.

“I have some more news for you.” Helen’s voice made them pull apart.

“What? Is it okay? Is something wrong?” The panic in Bucky’s voice was clear as his eyes bounced from Y/n’s stomach to Helen.

“Everything is fine, they are both healthy.” She smiles.

“B-Both? As in-“

“Twins?”

“Congratulations James and Y/n, you’re having twins.”

Bucky passed out.

As the months passed by the bigger Y/n’s stomach grew, at seven months pregnant she looked like she was carrying five babies - as she put it. Bucky loved it though. Watching as her belly swelled with not one but two of his babies did something to him, he was already protective of her as it was but now it increased a thousand times over. And now he never let her do anything for herself, if she needed food? He got it, needed a drink? He got it, hell even if she needed to go to the bathroom? He took her.

And when Bucky wasn’t there and on a mission he had someone else running around for her.

“Hey doll, I’m just finishing off my run and I’ll be right home. How are you?“ He panted lightly down the phone, rolling his eyes at Sam as he runs around him in circles.

“I’m okay, my waters broke, how are you?”

“I’m good- wait, what did you just say?” Bucky’s eyes widen hearing her words.

“I’m o-“

“No not that bit, doll did you just say your waters broke?”

“Oh yeah, I’m on my way to Helen now.”

Bucky ran as fast as his legs would carry him back to the compound with Steve and Sam right behind him. His heart was pounding in his chest the closer he got to his world.

“I’m here! They aren’t here yet are they?” He panted as he got around the corner.

“No Buck, not yet.” Sighing a breath of relief that he hadn’t missed the birth of his children, he leaned his head against her shoulder.

Seven hours after her waters broke she was gripping onto Bucky’s and Steve’s - they had asked him to be there after they announced to the team that she was pregnant, Steve cried whilst saying ‘yes’ - hands for dear life as she pushed the first baby out, followed a few minutes by the second baby.

“Boys. Two healthy boys.” Helen beamed as she handed the crying babies to their momma.

*four years later*

Tony had surprised the married couple with giving them their own floor in the tower, it was quickly transformed into a perfect family home for the four of them. Bucky was currently walking through the door that led him to his family, a smile instantly lighting up his face as he heard the excited squeals coming from the twins, no doubt causing chaos.

“Dada!”

“Hey little man.” Picking up his son, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Been good for momma?”

“Yes!” Liar he thought to himself.

“Buck?”

“I’m here doll.” He smiled at hearing his other trouble maker come running towards him.

With his two sons in each arm he walked towards the kitchen where his better half was cooking dinner, his eyes never leaving her form even when the twins wiggled to get out of his arms.

“I can feel your eyes on me.”

“I’m just admiring my view.” Wrapping his arms around her, his hands going straight to her deflated bump - which he missed so much - he places a kiss to her neck. “Where’s my little princess?”

“She’s asleep, but she needs to wake up now so she can sleep through the night.”

“I’ll go and wake up our little grumpy pants.”

As he walks out of the bedroom, he stands in the doorway watching as Y/n gets the boys into their chairs, both of their attention focused on the food in front of them, he smiles softly. His family was completed by the newest addition which he currently had in his arms, their three month old baby girl.

He made a promise so many years ago, a promise he made sure he kept to.

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[glassbxttless]

Homecoming

derwin (d.f.) grunauer x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k+

summary: Derwin’s finally coming home.

warnings: themes of ptsd, Derwin’s a US Army Combat Medic and Paratrooper so if that makes you uncomfy— skip this one, It’s the 1940’s

notes: Tara sent me so many 40’s references for this baby. I love Derwin and the story i’ve got in my head for him. Thanks to @prettycalla and @getaapologist for reading over this sucker. And big thank you to @peachyproserpina & @keeryhours for editing!

Derwin hadn’t slept the whole ride. They had slapped him on a train somewhere in Virginia with a one way ticket back to Miami. Like they’d expected him to return to what normal had been years prior? He couldn’t. Not really. So he dozed in fits, lulled to sleep by the low clatter of the train tracks and the hum of voices from the other soldiers who couldn’t quite believe they were heading home either. Some were laughing far too loud, some were dead silent. Derwin sat somewhere in the middle— his elbows resting on his knees, his dog tags tucked into his shirt— cold against his skin, his hands were clasped together and his thumb was rubbing circles over his wedding band like he needed the confirmation it was still there.

He was still married.

He was still here, alive, and on his way back to you. 

He kept seeing your face, every time he closed his eyes. Not the way you looked in the letters you had sent or the photos you tucked between the pages— though he’d memorized the way you looked in those too— but the way you looked the day you married him. Just a few weeks before he shipped out. You were just eighteen then (he was twenty), crazy about him (just as he was crazy about you), and just insane enough to believe that getting married right before he left would be a good idea. Your hair was pulled back, your smile brighter than every star in the sky, that yellow dress you wore was hugging your hips so beautifully, he’d never forget it. You hadn’t worn white. Didn’t have time to pick out a dress. You’d decided it over a quiet moment tangled up in the sheets of Derwin’s bed. His parents in the room next door, your head against his chest as he let his fingers trail up and down your arm. It was a whisper, marry me, and without a second thought you’d agreed. It was just a run to the courthouse that weekend, a justice of the peace, and the way you’d looked at him when you said “I do,”. You had let the words fall from your lips like you meant the word forever with every part of your soul.

And then the next week, he was gone. 

The war had become everything. 

Derwin leaned back against the seat and let his head hit the window. His ribs still had a dull ache from the last jump he’d done. The one that went bad, the one he doesn’t talk about. The limp in his left leg was lighter now— barely noticeable unless you were looking for it— but the weight in his chest? That was harder for him to hide. He could still hear the gunfire ringing through his ears when things got too quiet. He could still feel the dirt under his nails from when he’d pulled comrades from what would’ve been their graves with his bare hands. He can still see the boy from Omaha Beach plain as day when he closes his eyes, he had never gotten back up.

He should be grateful to be here. To be going home. Hell, he was grateful. But he was also tired. So goddamn tired.

And he was scared in a way he hadn’t been since that first night he had spent in France. Now there were things for him to lose again. He wasn’t jumping out of planes or sprinting through mortar shells anymore— he was just a husband on his way home to his wife who still wore yellow and wrote him letters that smelled like her lilac perfume. A woman who had only spent six months of their relationship physically with him before he left her for years on end. 

He twists his head a bit and presses his forehead to the glass, eyes hooded as he watches the green blur by. “I’m coming home, baby,” he whispered, still as in love with you as he had been those first few weeks. “I’m really coming home.” He’s so quiet, he didn’t think anyone could hear him. Maybe he didn’t want them to. The words were just for you, somewhere. So he passes the time by thinking of your hands. How soft they’d felt and how cold your ring was the last time you touched his face— right before he boarded that bus and promised you he’d write every week. He thought of how you kissed him, raised up on your tiptoes and how you’d smoothed down the front of his uniform.

 How you whispered, “Come back to me, D. I don’t care how, just come back.”

He had come back. Mostly, anyway. He was a little banged up, a little bruised. Different in his head. But he was breathing. His heart was still beating. His ring was still on, he was still married.

The conductor called out the next stop— home— and Derwin’s throat tightened. His fingers curl around the edge of his seat as he sat up straighter. He wipes his palms against his uniform slacks, and ran one hand over the short stubble on his jaw. He’s not clean-shaven today, not neat and smooth like he used to be, like he likes to be. But he’d done what he could with what he had. Outside the window, metal clangs against metal— screeching as they begin to slow once the station breaks into their view at the top of the hill. There’s person after person lined up on the platform, no doubt waiting for the cabins full of men he sits among and his heart nearly stops. 

The train pulls in with a long, low whistle that cuts straight through his chest and your own, standing on the platform. Everyone around you had erupted with noise— shouts, cheers, feet running, laughter breaking into sobs— but you can’t seem to move from your spot. Your fingers fist into the skirt of your yellow sundress, the one you’d gotten married in. Derwin used to tell you how much he loved it with a grin and a tilt of his head. Your feet still planted right where they were when the stationmaster shouted they’re here. You couldn’t see him. 

But back on the train, he stood and grabbed his bag. The glass of the windows scraping against their tracks as the soldiers he’s spent the better half of the last week with, lean out the windows. They’re cheering, hollering for their girls, their kids, their families. Happy to be home. Derwin smiles, a bit too tired, and then he shuffles out behind the others to the door. His breath caught deep in his chest. His boots hit the platform with a solid thud, and that Miami air hit him like a wave—hot and loud, filled with shouts and weeping and women calling out names that didn’t belong to him. Until he heard your voice. 

There he is.

At first, you barely recognize him. His uniform is the same as it had been the day you sent him off— creased and heavy with dust settling against the fabric from the journey— but Derwin is a bit broader now. A little older. The boyish 20-year-old  glow he left you with is gone. It’s been replaced by something quieter, something that settles behind his eyes like he'd seen things so unwelcoming overseas, and the look doesn’t leave, not even when he smiles. But he does smile, almost just like he used to, the second he sees you on the platform waiting for him. 

“Derwin,” you speak, too afraid to raise your voice— like if you do this will all just be a dream. You must’ve spoken loud enough for him to hear because he finally turns to you— eyes meeting, and then your feet finally start moving.

He’s still a few yards away from you, but he’s dropped his bag and he’s moving too. And then you’re running. Not gracefully, no— your shoes feel wrong, your bag falls off your shoulder, the skirt of your dress is getting twisted up— but you don’t care. You don’t care about the noise or the people or how ridiculous you might look as you make your way to him. You would never care again, because he’s here. He’s really here.

When you crash into him, you don’t kiss him. Not yet. You’re in his arms. Yours tangled around his neck and back, and his are wrapped tightly around your waist. You bury your face into his shoulder and breathe him in— he smells faintly of sweat, dust from the train car, and just a tinge of his aftershave— it’s the smell you had tried so hard to remember for three long years. The one that never came no matter how hard you tried. Now suddenly you can picture the empty space in your bed being filled with it. You’re pulled from your thoughts by the shaking in your arms.

 “I’ve got you,” you whisper softly, one of your hands pressing him closer. “I’ve got you, D.”

He locks his arms around you just a bit tighter. His breath shaky against your cheek.

“God,” he rasps against your hair, nudging his nose against your temple, “You’re real. You’re really here. I thought—” He cuts himself off, not allowing the thought to even tumble out before he presses his face into your neck. 

You rub his back gently, just holding him as tightly as you can, like he might slip through your fingers if you aren’t paying attention. You can’t wrap your mind around it. He’s here. He’s home. He’s standing right in front of you, wrapped in your arms, as tears well up in your eyes and threaten to fall down your cheeks. He’s got his own tears, streaming down silently and wetting your neck. You’ve never seen him cry, not when he got his draft letter, not even when he left. But his shoulders hitch like he might cry harder now. And your Derwin, your brown-eyed, smiley boy, who used to dance you around his parent’s kitchen like a fool, looks like the world’s been pressing on him for far too long. And it unfortunately had. He’s spent the better half of your relationship shipped off, first Harvard, then Europe. Now he’s finally here. Finally crying. Letting everything he’s been feeling for the last half decade catch up with him. 

You pull back just far enough to look at him, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek. You swipe a tear away with your thumb and tuck a loose curl away under his hat. His hair had grown out, he’s got some stubble now, a little scar over one brow that you don’t remember being there. His eyes— still brown, still beautiful— won’t quite meet yours. Not yet. He drops his arms from your waist and takes your free hand in his.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers under his breath, like it physically hurts to say the words he’s been holding on his tongue for so long. One hand comes up to your face, fingers trembling as they trace your jaw, your cheeks, your lips. He settles on his thumb brushing your cheekbone as he cups your face. “God, I missed you so much.”

You press your forehead to his, letting your eyes flutter closed. Your hands slide from around him to grip the front of his uniform. “You’re home, D. You’re home with me now.”

“I don’t really know how to be here anymore,” he admits softly, his own eyes closed as he keeps his forehead pressed against yours.

“That’s okay,” you whisper, hands smoothing out his collar. “We’ll figure it out together, yeah?”

He nods once and swallows hard, he’s afraid if he doesn’t he’ll start to fall apart before he even has a chance to settle in. His free hand curls around the wrist on his chest, anchoring himself in place.

 “Did you wear this for me?” he asks, letting go of your cheek to run down your body, pinching the hem of your sundress between his index finger and thumb with a tired smile.

“Of course I did.” You smile as his eyes lift to meet yours, “You always said it was your favorite.”

He lets out a breath at that, that’s almost a laugh, and then his mouth finally finds yours. The kiss is gentle at first, careful, like he’s scared to push too hard and break you after all of this time. But when you don’t pull away from him— when you melt into him instead and thread your fingers through his growing hair— he kisses you like a man who’s been starved of touch for the better part of three years. Like your mouth is the first delicious thing he’s tasted since he left. Someone on the platform lets out a cheer for another couple not too far from where you’re standing, and the spell breaks just long enough for Derwin to rest his forehead against yours again.

 “I dreamed about this… coming home,” he whispers. “Every night. Had to come home to you. You made me promise.”

“I kept the bed warm,” you smile. “Figured I spent all that time moving, you might come back and wanna sleep in it.”

He rolls his eyes, but his lids are heavy and there’s another tear threatening to fall. “I love you. So much I can’t stand it.”

You wrap your arms around him again, taking a deep breath. “I know. I love you, too.” 

Standing there on the train platform with the world still spinning too fast and his heartbeat finally starting to slow, Derwin Grunauer lets himself believe he’s made it home.

And you don’t let go of him the whole way to the car.

tags ;; @peachyproserpina @djomorelikedelulu

[grantmentis]

A couple thoughts on the draft declarations mostly from an international hockey perspective but not exclusively:

-this is a very North American draft, def not many Sdhl players few pfwl players

-Mathea Fischer, Sara Hjalmarsson, gabby jones, Darcie lappen, Michelle Karvinen, marah Wagner, Lillian Perrault, Josephine asperup, Maddie posick, Alexandra Weiss, ena Nystrøm, emma Bergesen, Kate Stuart, and Erica fryer are all last season Sdhl players

-of those I think Fischer, Hjalmarsson, Karvinen, Bergesen, Nystrøm I think have a realistic chance of being selected or being camp invites. I could see Perrault and lappen being training camp invites.

-surprised at no Emma seitz but I’ve heard it’s maybe bc they changed the rules around the draft eligibility if you were a reserve in the 2025 season? But who knows they never give the eligibility rules straight up

-a couple players who signed in the sdhl as well like Sarah Marchand, ena nystrøm, Emma Bergesen, and aly mcleod, so they have opt out clauses and it’s cool to see sdhl teams work with them on that.

-really cool to see Rachel llanes back in here. She hasn’t played in a hot second but she played with Hannah miller and Susanna tapani and Alex carpenter on KRS and of course had cwhl / nwhl experience. Shes 34 which will scare teams away but I think she could be a good depth presence in an expansion team especially since she’s done that before

-ALLIE THUNSTROM MY QUEEN NO NEUTRAL THOUGHTS IM GOJNG HARD CAMPAIGNING FOR HER

-Fanuza Kadirova, Anna shokhina as two players from Russia’s league. Poniatovskaia also Russian but played at Yale last year. Shokhina was one of russia’s best players on the international stage when they were still in competitions, and I think it’s a good chance she gets selected. I am curious how political situations around visas effects where she might get taken. If a team is confident with her and gives her a SPA before training camp instead of being a try out like Markova (and i Think as a player she has a better chance of getting that advanced contract talent wise) may help her case

-Halušková is a player I would have never considered for the draft as much as I like her this time last year, but she took a major step forward this year and was Slovakia’s best forward at the Olympic qualifiers and women’s worlds on a roster that had hlinkova, tothova, and lopusanova. Still don’t know if she’d make my draft cut but she raised her stock significantly

-Elizabeth lang is an interesting one, she dominated the SWHL scoring wise but idk if she would translate as a depth player in the PWHL and I don’t think she’d crack top six on a roster but I’d love to be proven wrong bc I Like her

-Maddie leidt declared and while I enjoy watching her I just don’t think she did enough at the world championships to be a consideration

- interesting to me that Kayla tutino declared during the lead up to the Olympics but I can’t see her being drafted. Same with Kristen Guerrero tho she has a better chance

-Millie rose sirum is another player who raised her draft stock a lot for me during worlds. Maybe this will be the year of the Norwegian draft picks

-first Chinese born player to declare I believe in rui zhu unless I’m forgetting someone, she’s been a depth player for team China and plays for KRS