#so sorry if i said i was going to read your fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvendiary · 2 days ago

Text

nice to meet you / f. weasley

fred weasley x f!reader

summary: you and fred weasley keep getting introduced. you decide to play along, but secrets carry a burden of their own. a/n: this came to me in a dream. i had some trouble writting it, but i really like the end result. hope you like it as much. also, sorry that i can't put out fics as often as before. i'm doing an internship and i get home absolutely wrecked. i still write because it's what i love. 9.9k words. no use of y/n. not proof-read. suggestive content (no smut).

nice to meet you

Your parents’ work had always been a ticking clock.

When the move to England became official, it didn’t come with much fanfare — just a quiet knock on your door, a soft-spoken apology, and the usual promises: "It’ll be good for all of us," "It’s only for a few years," "Hogwarts has a wonderful reputation."

You didn’t protest. Not out loud. You just started folding your life into boxes again, familiar with the routine by now. America had been the longest stretch you’d stayed anywhere, and you’d actually liked it. Your school. Your friends. The way things felt… settled.

But your parents’ research was being relocated to London, and with it, your last years of magical education.

So now, here you were. In a borrowed room with a suitcase still half-unpacked. Trying to adjust to everything feeling slightly off: the weather, the accent, the way people said “reckon�� like it was a completely normal word.

Angelina Johnson was the only familiar face in the mess of it. You’d known her loosely through family connections—her mum and yours had trained together at one point—and she’d been quick to offer you some kind of lifeline.

“It’ll be fun!” Angelina insisted as she curled her eyelashes. Her mouth was slightly open, and she sported a really focused expression.

You stared at her through the mirror with a cynical expression. It wasn’t that you didn’t like parties —in fact, you loved them— but it wouldn’t be the same without people you liked being around.

“I’ll sit this one out,” you said as you tried to go back to reading your book.

The next thing you knew, she was crawling on the bed and had closed your book. “Please…” she said as she pouted.

“I won’t know anyone there…” you whined as you moved your legs, trying to kick her off of you.

She persisted. Probably the Quidditch player in her.

“You’ll know me!” she said as she practically jumped off the bed and started rummaging through your half-empty closet.

You sighed. You knew this was a lost battle.

Angelina had that look in her eye now — focused, determined, borderline smug. She flung open the mirrored closet doors like she was leading a mission, muttering to herself as she flipped through hangers.

“Too frilly… too boring… you didn’t pack this, did you?”

“I did,” you said dryly from the bed.

She pulled out a short velvet dress and held it up like it was holy. “This.”

You stared. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

You groaned, flopping back into the pillows. “I’m wearing jeans.”

“You’re not wearing trousers.”

“I’ll look weird.”

“You’ll look hot.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It is at Lee’s.”

You let her dress you like a very grumpy, very reluctant doll — the dress complimented your figure, hugging what needed to be hugged and letting loose what needed to be let loose. Angelina handed you a pair of black sneakers with an excited grin. You took them and laced them up. At least a part of your outfit would be somewhat comfortable to you.

By the time you stood in front of the mirror, half-made-up and blinking at your own reflection, you had to admit—begrudgingly—you didn’t look bad.

Angelina popped into view behind you, adjusting one of your earrings.

“There. If anyone hits on you tonight, just glare. Or hex.”

You rolled your eyes. “Comforting.”

“I mean it, though,” she said, her tone dipping into something quieter for the first time that night. “You don’t have to impress anyone. You’re not here to fit in—you’re just here. And anyone who doesn’t get that can shove it.”

You smiled, soft but small.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t get mushy on me now,” she said quickly, already turning away to grab her jacket.

The night air was sticky with the kind of summer heat that clung to the back of your neck, even after the sun had dipped below the trees. You both apparated just outside Lee Jordan’s place—a two-story house with music rattling the windows and what appeared to be a bonfire happening in the back garden.

Angelina didn’t give you time to hesitate. She grabbed your hand, practically dragging you up the front path and through the door like a woman on a mission.

Immediately, the noise swallowed you.

Laughter, loud music, and the faint scent of something burning (in a good way?) hit you all at once. People were everywhere—sprawled on armchairs, dancing in the middle of the living room, leaning against the kitchen counters with drinks in hand. You were hit with the overwhelming sense that they all knew each other. Knew this space. Knew where to find the good drinks and which room was off-limits and which bathroom door not to open.

You, on the other hand, felt like someone who’d wandered into the wrong photograph.

Angelina disappeared into the crowd with a promise of “back in a sec,” and a minute passed. Then five.

Then you started planning your exit.

You sighed, edging toward the nearest wall and gripping the plastic cup she’d pressed into your hand during the walk. The music changed. Someone whooped. A girl bumped into you, apologized without really looking, and kept going.

You scanned the room, debating if it was too early to fake an emergency and leave.

Then someone brushed past your elbow.

“Hey—sorry, mind if I—”

You turned.

He was tall, all lazy angles and warm skin and reddish hair that curled just slightly at the ends. He looked like someone who never really hurried unless it was worth it. His eyes landed on yours for a beat longer than necessary.

He gave a slow, easy grin. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your…”

“Irish goodbye,” you offered as you stared up at him. A brow raised, unimpressed but not annoyed.

You saw him trying to suppress a smile. He failed. “Well it’s a shame we’re in England then.”

You opened your mouth—probably to make some snarky remark about how not even being a continent away from Irish grounds had stopped you from disappearing from events before—but before you could speak, a familiar voice cut through the hum of music and voices.

“Of course you found her first.”

You glanced past him just as Angelina returned, dragging a tall boy with dreadlocks and a redhead girl. She looked at the scene in front of her like she’d just walked in on her own punchline.

The boy turned his head lazily toward her. “You know her?”

“Yes, I brought her,” Angelina said, shooting him a look. “I was literally gone for two minutes.”

Dreadlocks smirked. “That’s on you for thinking Fred wouldn’t sniff out the new girl the second you blinked.”

The redhead was already eyeing you with a polite kind of curiosity.

You tried not to let your face show anything except mild amusement as Fred turned back to you, still wearing that infuriating half-smile.

“Well, I feel like we’ve been robbed of a proper introduction.”

Angelina rolled her eyes, but there was a glint of satisfaction in it.

She introduced him as Fred Weasley. The redheaded girl was his sister, Ginny Weasley. And the other guy was Lee Jordan, the host.

You nodded at each of them, offering polite, half-distracted greetings.

Fred, for his part, didn’t look away from you once.

“So you’re the American transfer,” Lee said, already grinning. “You don’t sound American.”

“I don’t?”

“I expected a bit more yee-haw in the accent.”

You gave him a flat look. “Sorry to disappoint, darlin’,” you made sure to include that southern drawl which was not at all native to you.

“Give him five minutes,” Angelina muttered. “He’ll ask if you’ve ever ridden a dragon across the Grand Canyon.”

“Have you?” Fred asked, deadpan.

You looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “That’s not even geographically possible.”

“So you haven’t?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out—low and involuntary. Fred lit up like he’d won something.

“So what’s the biggest difference so far?” Ginny asked, nudging her shoulder against yours.

You hesitated. “Well… the weather’s worse. People say reckon unironically. And every time someone mentions ‘O.W.L.s’ I think they're talking about actual birds.”

Fred grinned. “We do have actual birds too. You’ll love the post system.”

Lee leaned in. “Have you seen a Hippogriff up close?”

“I’ve seen worse,” you said without missing a beat.

They seemed to hold their breath, waiting for you to elaborate.

“American teenage boys,” you said finally, and that got a full round of laughter, even from Ginny.

“Okay, okay,” Angelina said, waving a hand. “Let her breathe. You’re gonna scare her off before the party even hits its stride.”

“I’m fine,” you said, but she was already grabbing Ginny by the wrist.

“Come on. We’re getting drinks. Real ones,” she said.

Ginny smirked, sending you a knowing look before letting herself be pulled away.

And just like that, it was just you, Fred, and Lee again.

Well. Briefly.

Because, within seconds, someone slipped up behind Lee and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Oi. You stealing all the good company without me?”

Fred groaned. “Really?”

You looked up—and paused. Another redhead. Nearly identical to Fred, except his grin was wider, his eyes crinkled more, and his shirt was somehow worse.

“George,” Fred said, lazily.

You blinked. “So I am seeing double.”

George grinned. “It’s a common reaction.”

“She’s American,” Lee added, like it explained something.

“Ohhh,” George said, nodding solemnly. “That explains why she hasn’t hexed you yet.”

Fred elbowed him gently.

George clapped Fred’s chest. They appeared to say something to each other briefly before both him and Lee slipped away.

Fred gave you a long look as Lee and George headed off, disappearing into the din.

And then it was just the two of you again.

He turned toward you, expression softening, a bit less smug now that his audience was gone.

“You dance?”

You laughed. “I do. But you don’t seem like the dancing type.”

“I’m not,” he said honestly. “But I am a ‘you’ type.”

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment. Your fingers curled slightly around your empty cup. You were so used to people pushing, performing—trying to impress or one-up or drag something out of you.

Fred Weasley didn’t seem like he was trying anything at all.

And somehow, that was worse.

“Fine,” you said, finally putting the cup down on a nearby shelf. “But you’ll have to keep up.”

You didn’t wait for his reply. You were already making your way to the dance floor, hips already moving.

The room had thickened with music—low bass, scattered vocals, something old and funky that made it easier to move without thinking. Bodies swayed in lazy, rhythmic pulses, half-drunk limbs brushing too close in places, the air clinging with heat and smoke and the vague sweetness of perfume and cologne.

Fred caught up with you just as you started to sink into the tempo.

There wasn’t much space between the two of you, and even less so once his hands found your waist. Lightly, not possessive—more like a question he wasn’t asking out loud.

You didn’t answer with words. You just turned into the music, letting it ripple through you. His hands followed naturally, sliding to the small of your back as you moved.

He smelled faintly of aftershave and something warm—clove maybe, or cinnamon. And he was warmer than you expected, like he ran hot under pressure.

Neither of you spoke.

There wasn’t a need to.

He wasn’t bad at dancing, either. A little cocky, sure. A bit loose with the rhythm, but he moved with intention, letting your lead guide him just enough. His palm ghosted along your side as you shifted, the space between your bodies closing, your movements syncing up without effort.

The music slowed.

Not dramatically—just enough to pull everyone into a deeper sway. Shoulders softened. Conversations turned murmured.

Your eyes flicked up, finding his already on yours.

You cleared your throat quietly, peeling your hands from where they’d found his shoulders.

“Got a cig?” you asked, casually—like you weren’t just buying yourself a second to breathe.

Fred raised a brow. “Do I look like I have a cig?”

You tilted your head. “Yes.”

He smiled. “Come on.”

He took your hand and led you toward the back of the house.

The patio door stuck a little before giving way. You slipped through first, Fred close behind, and the sound of the party dimmed instantly behind the glass.

Outside, the air was still heavy, but cooler than inside—thank God. Crickets buzzed lazily in the hedges. A few people were smoking further down the garden path, silhouettes caught in flickering firelight from the bonfire. But out here, on the little stone patio just off the kitchen, it felt… separate. Quieter. Like you’d slipped out of frame.

You sat on the edge of an old patio chair and leaned forward, resting your forearms on your thighs as Fred pulled a cigarette tin from the inside pocket of his jacket. He flipped it open, offering it without a word.

You took one, holding it between your fingers before he lit it for you with a quick flick of his wand. The flame caught instantly. You inhaled.

The smoke filled your lungs with something sharp and familiar.

Fred took one for himself but didn’t light it. He just held it, rolling it slowly between his fingers as he watched you.

“What?” you asked, not looking at him.

He shrugged, resting back against the low railing that overlooked the yard. “Just trying to figure you out.”

You gave a dry laugh, exhaling smoke toward the sky. “You’ve known me for twenty minutes.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I’m working fast.”

You took another drag and leaned back. The stone patio was still warm beneath your boots.

“You always this direct?”

Fred finally lit his own, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the cut of his cheekbone. His eyes found you again through the smoke. “That’s for you to figure out.”

You didn’t respond right away.

From here, you could still hear the low thump of the bass from inside, the occasional burst of laughter from the garden. But it all felt muted. Like background noise to something else entirely.

You took another pull from the cigarette, slow, measured. The paper crackled softly as it burned down, the orange tip pulsing like a heartbeat between your fingers.

Fred didn’t look away. His cigarette dangled loosely from his lips now, forgotten more than enjoyed. You could feel his gaze press into you—steady, assessing, but not in a way that demanded anything.

Just... watching.

You turned slightly, crossing one leg over the other, and let the smoke roll out slowly between your lips—right toward him.

It wasn’t a challenge, not exactly.

But it wasn’t innocent either.

The smoke drifted lazily in the air between you, curling toward his face before thinning into the thick night.

Fred blinked once, slow.

Then he laughed—low, under his breath. “Alright.”

You arched a brow, satisfied.

He leaned forward a little, cigarette finally lit and between his fingers now. “So what’s your game?”

You gave him a look. “You think I’ve got one?”

“I hope you do,” he said. “Otherwise I’m wasting good material.”

You smiled, but it was the kind that didn’t reach your eyes.

He sat down beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. The stone bench was narrow, and neither of you made any effort to create more space.

Fred’s voice dipped. “Blowing smoke at people is rude.”

You glanced at him sideways. “So is staring.”

“Didn’t realize I was being that obvious.”

You flicked ash off the end of your cigarette. “You were.”

A beat passed.

Then: “Does it bother you?”

You looked at him fully this time.

His cigarette glowed between two fingers, untouched. His lips were parted slightly, eyes darker now—less playful. More curious. Like he wasn’t sure what answer he wanted from you.

“No,” you said, quiet but clear. “If it did, you’d know.”

Fred hummed softly, his gaze flicking to your mouth for just a second before coming back up. He didn’t smile this time. And for a moment, the air between you felt weighted—like something might shift if either of you leaned too far in the wrong direction.

Or the right one.

You dropped your cigarette into the cracked ashtray on the table beside you, then sat back. Not away—just back enough to meet him head-on.

“I thought you were the charming one,” you said.

Fred tilted his head. “Who told you that?”

You smirked. “Are you saying you’re not?”

He grinned then, slow and sharp. “And here I thought I was being subtle.”

“Not even close.”

His hand brushed your knee—barely. A test, maybe. You didn’t move.

You let the quiet hang.

Then, softly, “You’re not trying very hard.”

Fred’s eyes sparked. “Don’t have to.”

You held that for a beat. The way his gaze pinned yours. The barely-there smile at the corner of his mouth. The air between you pulling tighter with each second.

You leaned in a little—barely. Just enough that your voice came out softer, closer.

“Prove it.”

That did something to him.

His breath hitched just slightly, and for a flicker of a moment, he looked like he might say something else.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, slow and deliberate, until you could feel the smoke still clinging to his breath. Until his hand brushed yours, then stilled. Until your noses were nearly touching and the world behind you blurred out into nothing.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

You didn’t.

So he didn’t.

His mouth found yours without hesitation—warm, steady, the kiss rougher than expected but nothing like careless. His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your cheekbone like he was trying to figure out what part of you to memorize first.

You kissed him back just as deliberately. Just as firmly.

No nerves. No butterflies.

Just heat. And pressure. And the sharp, clean snap of something starting.

When you finally pulled back, he didn’t move far. Just enough to breathe.

You looked at him through the haze, your lips still parted, the scent of smoke and clove hanging between you.

“Well,” you said. “That wasn’t very subtle either.”

Fred smirked. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

You didn’t.

And he knew it.

The summer went by faster than expected.

After that kiss—and everything it hinted at—you’d pulled a classic disappearing act. Slipped out of the party not long after, still tasting clove and heat and something you didn’t have the language for. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That the timing had been off. That he probably did this all the time.

Angelina didn’t let it go, of course.

She’d brought it up with a pointed look the next morning. Said something like “So… smoke break, huh?” with the kind of smirk that made it obvious she’d already heard the details from someone else—probably Lee. You brushed her off, played it cool. Changed the subject. Pretended not to check the mirror when you passed it, like you weren’t still replaying the moment in your head.

By the time September rolled around, Hogwarts felt like an entirely different orbit. Older. Colder. The train ride had been a blur of new faces and shifting accents and vague curiosity—some of it friendly, some of it sharp-edged. Most people just stared like you were a new animal at the zoo.

You didn’t mind. You’d learned how to shape-shift over the years. Being a new girl wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Now, on your first official day, you found yourself being escorted through the halls of the castle by none other than Professor McGonagall herself—sharp, efficient, and somehow still managing to make you feel like you were under examination even when she was being polite.

You hadn’t expected the castle to feel this vast. You’d heard it described—maze-like, ancient, full of trick staircases and portraits that moved when they shouldn’t—but no one had prepared you for how much space could hum with memory.

Every corridor echoed with a kind of lived-in noise: footsteps from nowhere, shifting walls, the creak of portraits repositioning themselves just outside your line of sight. The place didn’t feel haunted, exactly. But it was watching.

Professor McGonagall walked with sharp, even steps beside you, her expression unreadable in that way people wore when they’d mastered command.

“This wing connects back to the Charms corridor—though if the third-floor passage is sealed again this year, you’ll need to go around through the courtyard. I trust you’ll learn the difference in time.”

You nodded once. She hadn’t asked for your thoughts.

The halls were mostly empty, save for the occasional blur of black robes in the distance.

You were just about to ask a question when a blur of motion whipped across the hall in front of you.

It was as if the ghost of summer’s past was coming to haunt you.

You still couldn't help but try to suppress a smile.

Back in America, you would be able to go months without crossing paths with people from other classes. You had expected that the sheer vastness of the Hogwarts castle would ensure the same courtesy.

But here he was, in all his red-headed glory.

Fred Weasley.

Sprinting at full tilt, as he skidded into view. His tie was half-undone and his eyes wide with something between laughter and panic.

“Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said, tone arid as parchment, before he could collide into her.

He straightened immediately, breathing hard. “Professor. Fancy seeing you here.”

Behind him, a loud noise echoed through the corridor. Followed by a blue-ish floating figure that was carrying a bucket with a viscous-looking liquid inside.

“Thieves! Traitors! Ginger-haired goblins!” it shrieked.

McGonagall didn’t flinch. She turned slowly, gave the poltergeist a glare so precise it could’ve cracked marble.

The spectre froze midair.

“Peeves. I highly suggest you reconsider that course of action,” she said, voice like iron.

Peeves whimpered and vanished through the ceiling without another word.

Fred blinked. “That was almost impressive.”

“I expect silence unless it includes an apology,” McGonagall replied.

He smiled, easy. “Always sorry, Professor.”

She didn’t smile back.

Instead, she turned to you. The sound of your last name brought you back to reality. “...This is Fred Weasley. One of our more… spirited upper-years. Mr. Weasley, this is our new transfer student from America. I trust you’ll be a model student around her. For my sake.”

Fred turned to you fully now, something flickering across his face—surprise, humor, memory. But he recovered quickly, clearing his throat and putting on a perfect picture of polite interest.

He extended his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said.

You stared at him for a half-second longer than was strictly necessary. Then, you slid your fingers into his expression, unreadable.

“You too,” you said, letting your voice fall into that same effortless neutrality you used on strangers. “I’ve heard a lot.”

Fred’s smile twitched, just slightly. “All of it true, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm,” you replied. “I doubt all of it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted movement—a shadow just barely visible in the mouth of a side corridor.

George Weasley, unmistakable in stature and smirk, was half-hidden behind the stone archway, peering out like a feral cat waiting for the coast to clear. Lee Jordan crouched beside him, his hand flat against George’s chest, physically keeping him from stepping out into view.

You didn’t acknowledge them. You didn’t have to.

Your gaze flicked back to Fred, and you smirked—just barely. A warning.

Fred’s eyes glinted.

McGonagall had already started walking again, muttering something under her breath about detentions and stress-induced migraines.

“Shall we?” she called over her shoulder.

You nodded at Fred, voice perfectly cool. “Nice to meet you.”

He smirked. “The pleasure’s mine.”

As you turned to walk away, you caught it—the way his fingers curled slightly at his side, like he wanted to reach for something but wouldn’t.

You didn’t look back.

By mid-October, Hogwarts had cooled into something sharper. Even the sunlight in the mornings came through like it had somewhere to be. Nights arrived earlier. Hogsmeade weekends were a welcome relief—a sanctioned excuse to drift off school grounds, drown your essays in butterbeer, and pretend the real world didn’t live just beyond the hills.

It was dark now. Late.

The usual crowd had thinned in The Three Broomsticks. All the first and second years had been shuffled back toward the castle hours ago, and the only students left were the ones clever enough to not get caught—or charming enough to not care if they were.

You were tucked into a booth near the back, the dark wood sticky beneath your elbows, jacket slung behind you on the bench. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting everything in a gold haze that made the glass bottles behind the bar glow like treasure. The room smelled like clove smoke, wet wool, and spilled cider. There was a low hum of conversation, but it was mostly lazy now. Loose-limbed and late enough that the air felt more like velvet than noise.

Oliver Wood slid into the seat across from you, half-drunk and grinning, with the kind of flushed face that suggested he’d already started celebrating something—probably nothing.

He set his tankard down with a soft thunk and pointed at you like you were a question he hadn’t answered yet.

“You know,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever properly met you.”

You most definitely had met him. In fact, you had a lengthy conversation about American Quidditch teams. You had defended the Brazilian National team like your life depended on it. Because with Oliver Wood nearby, it most likely did. You had found middle ground in the fact that the team manager had called the Welsh Chasers “talentless hags”.

You blinked, sipping slowly from your mug. “Haven’t we?”

“Not officially.” He turned, waving someone over. “Oi—Fred!”

You didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.

You already knew the sound of his footsteps—easy, unhurried, a slight scuff to the heel like he dragged his feet just enough to be insolent. You’d heard it sneaking down to the kitchens three nights ago. And the night before that. And the one where he’d pushed you against the cold marble of the trophy hallway and said “You’re a menace” against your mouth like it was a compliment.

Fred Weasley slid into the booth beside Oliver, sparing you a single, unreadable glance.

“Weasley…” Oliver slurred. “This is…”

He stared blankly at you.

You stared back.

“What’s your name again?”

You offered him your name.

His eyes lit up. “The Brazilian lass!”

“Not Brazilian.”

Fred didn’t laugh.

He didn’t smile either.

Just reached for Oliver’s half-finished tankard, took a sip, and let the silence stretch long enough that it almost became a conversation in itself.

You let your body relax into the booth, playing the part. Arms folded loosely across your chest, one ankle tucked beneath the other. The picture of polite disinterest.

Oliver, meanwhile, leaned forward like this was a game he’d just decided to win.

“You two’ve never met, right?” he asked, blinking slow and sloppy. “You’d get on.”

You tilted your head. “No, I don’t think we have.”

Fred’s lips twitched. Not a smile. A crease.

“Pleasure,” he said, finally turning to face you full. He offered his hand over the table like it was the first time.

You stared at it a second longer than you needed to, just to be difficult. Then you took it. Warm. Familiar. Callused just enough to remember.

“Nice to meet you,” you murmured, like his mouth hadn’t been on yours three nights ago.

Oliver seemed satisfied, completely unaware of the low tension curling under the table like a wire left too close to fire.

Fred’s hand let go a moment too late.

Not long enough to be noticed.

Long enough to feel.

He leaned back in the booth, arm draped casually over the backrest behind Oliver, fingers curling against the edge of the wood. Not touching you, but not far.

“Brazilian at heart, though,” Oliver continued, oblivious. “You should’ve heard her. Practically hexed me for calling the Cannons a real team.”

“She’s got taste, then,” Fred said mildly.

You took another sip of your cider. It was lukewarm now, clove-heavy. Your hands stayed wrapped around the glass anyway.

“Fred, you should’ve seen her during the match last week—stood the whole bloody game. Thought she was going to throw her shoe at the Slytherin beater.”

“That true?” Fred asked, turning his face toward you just enough to meet your eyes.

The fire cast the side of his jaw in amber and shadow. His knee bumped lightly against yours beneath the table. You didn’t move.

“I considered it,” you said, evenly.

He smiled again—this time with teeth. Brief. Sharp. Gone just as quick.

Oliver knocked back the last of his drink, setting the tankard down with a clumsy kind of finality. “You two’ll get on, I think. She’s trouble.”

“Is she?” Fred said, still looking at you.

You gave a small shrug. “Depends who’s asking.”

Oliver groaned, loud and dramatic. “Merlin’s tits, I’m the third wheel, and I was here first."

Fred’s gaze didn’t waver. “You should work on your timing.”

“Piss off,” Oliver muttered, standing—too quickly—and nearly knocking over the bench as he did.

He mumbled something about going to find Katie and stumbled off into the haze of low firelight and laughter.

And then it was quiet.

Sort of.

The noise of the room existed, but far away—muffled like water.

Fred didn’t speak right away.

His arm hadn’t moved.

Neither had his leg.

“You gonna pretend again?” he asked finally, voice low. A private murmur between you and the table and the dark.

“I’m playing along,” you said, calm.

Fred’s eyes traced your face. “That what this is?”

You didn’t answer.

Not with words.

Instead, you reached for your drink again, took a slow sip, and exhaled like nothing about this felt dangerous.

Fred leaned in, just enough for the tips of his fingers to graze your wrist under the table.

Then he said—quietly, so no one else would hear: “You’re fucking cruel.”

You smiled over the rim of your glass. “You like it.”

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t have to.

Because the way he looked at you said it for him.

You let the silence stretch.

Then, finally, you slid out of the booth—slow and unhurried—pulling your jacket from the bench and slinging it over your arm.

“Walk me back?”

It wasn’t a question.

Fred stood without hesitation.

And when you stepped out into the night—under stars that glittered like they were watching—you didn’t bother pretending anymore.

You barely had time to inhale before Fred’s hand curled around your elbow and pulled you sharply into the first alley beside the pub.

A low gasp caught in your throat—not from fear. Not even surprise. Just the speed.

The wall was cold against your back, and his mouth was on yours before you could say a word.

His hands found your waist, thumbs pressing into your hipbones like they belonged there. Your own slid up the front of his coat, clutching at the wool as his mouth slanted against yours, hungry and certain.

“What happened to playing along?”

You smirked against his mouth. “I said walk me back.”

He kissed you again, slower this time—like he could memorize it, bite by bite.

Eventually, you did walk.

But by then your lips were swollen, your knuckles scraped a little from the stone, your legs a bit wobbly, and Fred looked like someone who’d just won a bet no one else knew he’d placed.

The walk back to the castle wasn’t short.

And neither of you said a single word the entire way.

The rest of Hogwarts passed like smoke.

A blur of whispered meetings in empty classrooms, stray parchment notes folded into pockets, hands clutching fabric in the dark. Kisses that tasted like winter and peppermint and secrets. You and Fred had become a study in stolen time—meeting in secret, parting with smirks and half-muttered promises you never expected to hold.

You still remembered the sound of his laugh echoing off the castle walls. The way his fingertips always smelled faintly of sulphur and sugar from whatever half-baked prank he’d been helping George with. The soft scrape of his voice when he said "just five more minutes." And how it didn’t fail to make you feel weak in the knees every time.

It was messy and light and dizzyingly easy—until it wasn’t.

Until the twins left.

That day the castle cracked open.

The sky above Hogwarts turned into a canvas of fireworks. Laughter. Screaming. A roaring exit worthy of the Weasley name, leaving behind a trail of chaos and a gaping silence Umbridge couldn’t fill, no matter how many decrees she tacked onto the walls.

You didn’t say goodbye.

Not properly.

There wasn’t a moment for it. Just the flash of red hair disappearing into smoke and the dull thrum of your heartbeat in your ears.

You couldn’t even be angry. Not without getting angrier at yourself for it.

Fred Weasley had never been yours — not properly anyway. And you never had been his.

That’s the thing about secrets. They are only ever yours to keep.

After that, everything quieted.

The war had its shadows. Your last year was subdued. You graduated with decent marks and restless hands, the kind that needed to dig into soil or scribble notes into field journals just to keep still.

You studied Herbology. Then Magizoology. Plants and creatures made sense in ways people didn’t. They told you what they needed. They never looked at you like you were supposed to be something you hadn’t figured out yet.

Your professional career came to a halt for a brief moment. The war destroyed everything it touched. And for a moment, you thought the darkness would never dissipate.

The letter came in the middle of the night.

You didn’t sleep much anymore, not since everything began to unravel in real time — not since the quiet rumors became battle lines, not since the list of names on parchment started including people you actually knew.

You arrived at Hogwarts under cover of dark, wand clenched tight in your pocket, the castle silhouette jagged and unfamiliar against the storm-lit sky. For a moment, it felt like walking back into a dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. It was a reckoning.

McGonagall met you in the courtyard.

She looked older. Not just tired, but aged in the bones — like the last year had asked more of her than magic was supposed to take. Her robes were singed, and there was a thin line of blood crusted at her temple, but she stood tall. Unshaken.

When she saw you, she didn’t smile. Just reached out and gripped your shoulder, firm and grounding.

“It’s good to see you,” she said softly.

You couldn’t answer. Just swallowed around the tightness in your throat and nodded once.

She led you through the castle — through corridors you used to sneak down with Fred, past classrooms where your name had once been whispered behind hands for other reasons. The walls bled smoke and light. Spells sizzled in the distance.

The castle was a battlefield now.

Still, you found some of the Weasleys — not all at once, but in flashes. You saw Ginny ducking beneath a shattered arch, her face streaked with ash. You passed Percy standing shoulder to shoulder with Charlie, both of them shouting hexes like they were pulling pieces of themselves apart. And George — you found George in the entryway, his lip split and wand arm trembling.

He caught your eye.

Stopped in his tracks.

Neither of you spoke.

But he looked like he wanted to.

Like there was a truth he needed to offer and no time to shape it into words.

Instead, he nodded — once. A small, brittle thing. And then he ran.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been fighting. How long the world had narrowed down to spells and blood and rubble beneath your boots.

It happened so fast.

The wall behind him collapsed.

Fred.

It came down with a thunderous roar, a split-second scream — too loud, too sudden — stone crashing like thunder. Someone shouted his name. Maybe it was you. Maybe it wasn’t.

You don’t remember running.

Just the dust choking your lungs, the crumbling brick still hot from spellfire, the way your fingers scraped raw trying to pull him out.

His body was limp when you found him.

Half-buried, blood running warm down the side of his face.

But breathing.

You held onto that.

You stayed by him all the way back to the Great Hall — now transfigured into a makeshift infirmary. Lanterns floated above broken bodies. Cots lined the stone floor. Madame Pomfrey was everywhere at once.

You stood by a wall. Letting the Weasleys have their space.

The moment he woke up, you knew it immediately.

You heard Goerge’s broken sob, as he went to hug his twin. Molly followed. Ginny was held by Charlie as she cried.

You didn’t go to him.

You couldn’t.

Not when all of them were finally able to touch him, to hold him, to know he was still there. It wasn’t your place—not really. You weren’t someone with a claim.

You’d been a secret.

And secrets don’t get to grieve out loud.

Still, he saw you. You knew it.

Your back was already half-turned when your eyes met across the Great Hall—his still cloudy with pain and potions, but sharp enough to land on you.

You didn’t wave. Didn’t smile.

Just held the gaze for a beat too long, and then—

You left.

Slipped past the wounded and the healers and the broken bodies beneath floating lanterns, into the corridor, into the silence.

You didn’t look back.

You stayed until the war ended.

You fought through the final night, knuckles blistered from your wand, spells coming out hoarse and ragged from your throat. You helped patch wounds with trembling fingers. You held someone’s hand—maybe a Ravenclaw fifth year—as they died.

And when it was over, you walked through the rubble of a place you’d once thought unshakable. You said goodbye to McGonagall—who held your hand a little longer than she needed to—and then you left.

No one stopped you.

No one even asked where you were going.

Slowly, everything went back to a semblance of normal.

But not really. Nothing would be the same as it was before.

You read the paper every morning, now more than ever, it was full of faces of people you knew.

The ones who you had lost, the ones who had decided to lose themselves, and the ones who were working on building back what they once knew.

You had started working doing what you loved again.

The old woman who owned the apothecary in Diagon Alley had lost her husband in the first war.

You never asked for details. She never gave them. But there was a kind of knowing in her—one that didn’t press when your hands shook while shelving bloodroot, or when you stood too long staring at the floating jars of calming draughts like they might give you answers.

Her name was Mildred. She wore too much perfume and kept tiny sweets in her pockets for the neighborhood kids. She insisted on closing the shop every Sunday, even though it made no business sense, and said the plants needed time to breathe just like people did.

You came to love her in the way you love the things that save you quietly.

You brewed. You blended. You took inventory. You learned how to listen to the hum of ingredients instead of your own thoughts.

Sometimes you’d hear fireworks in the alley behind the shop.

Your hands would freeze. Your heart, too.

But it was never them.

Until one Tuesday.

It was raining—a soft drizzle, the kind that clung to your eyelashes and soaked the stone roads in thin silver.

You were in the back room, labeling new deliveries of dried dittany, when the bell chimed softly at the front of the shop.

“One moment!” you called, brushing your hands against your apron.

You stepped through the doorway, still scribbling something on a notepad—

And stopped.

Fred Weasley stood just inside the shop, a small box of biscuits tucked under his arm, raindrops still clinging to his curls. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

And neither did you.

Because before you could—

“Oh, Freddie,” Mildred chirped from behind the counter, already bustling forward.

She reached up on tiptoe and pinched his cheek with the same maternal familiarity she reserved for her houseplants. “You always remember. Look at this—you brought the good ones, too.”

She took the box from his hands and cooed like he’d just handed her a crown.

Fred gave a sheepish smile. “Wouldn’t dare forget.”

“You two don’t know each other, do you?” she asked suddenly, turning between you both. “This is my newest assistant—bit of a genius, this one. Got a feel for herbs like no one I’ve ever met.”

You inhaled slowly. Steadied yourself.

Then you extended your hand.

Smiled, slow. Familiar. Practiced.

“Nice to meet you,” you said.

Fred looked at your hand.

Then took it, palm warm against yours, grip just the right side of firm.

“Pleasure,” he murmured.

He came back the next week.

You told yourself it was just a coincidence. Mildred was beloved by all sorts, especially the ones who’d fought. She’d mothered more than her fair share of broken soldiers and ex-Aurors. Fred Weasley showing up again wasn’t surprising. Not really.

He brought her a bag of pear drops and a tiny enchanted orchid that opened and closed like a sleepy yawn.

You were in the back when the bell chimed again. You almost didn’t come out—stayed shelving silverleaf and grinding dried asphodel into fine powder, pretending not to recognize the voice through the wall.

But then Mildred called for help identifying a mislabeled root, and you didn’t have the luxury of disappearing.

He was leaning against the counter when you walked out, arms crossed over his chest like he’d been waiting longer than he was letting on. His hair was still damp from the rain. A few curls stuck to his temple.

You didn’t greet him.

Just went about your task with quiet efficiency.

When you passed him to grab a jar from the front display, he shifted slightly. Like he wanted to say something. Like he had rehearsed it, and then lost it in the moment.

It wasn’t until Mildred was out of earshot that he finally said it.

“I think I saw you.”

You didn’t turn around. “When?”

“During the battle.”

Your hands slowed, brushing over the glass of a jar, the label half-faded.

“I couldn’t be sure,” he added. “I wasn’t exactly lucid. But I thought I saw you.”

You finally looked at him. Not with warmth. Not even curiosity.

Just that same unreadable look you’d always worn best—cool and clean and just a little bit sharp around the edges.

You didn’t answer.

He cleared his throat. “Are you—are you angry?”

You blinked, once. “Why would I be angry?”

Fred straightened. “Because I left. Because I didn’t write. Because I didn’t find you after.”

“You didn’t owe me anything.”

“That’s not—” he paused. “That’s not what I meant.”

You gave a short, humorless sound. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I do,” he said, and for the first time, it didn’t sound like banter. It didn’t sound like him at seventeen, cocky and golden and invincible. It sounded older. Tired.

You went back to labeling vials. “You shouldn’t.”

“I should,” he said. “I should’ve said something. I should’ve—” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair. “I should’ve found you.”

The silence between you stretched, elastic and unforgiving.

You didn’t say you could’ve. You didn’t say you knew where I was. You didn’t say I was right there when they pulled you out.

You just said, “I’m not angry.”

And that was true.

You weren’t angry.

You were hollowed out.

You had been, for a long time now.

The kind of hurt that didn’t scab over—just settled in your ribs and made a home there.

He watched you. And maybe—just maybe—he saw it.

But you didn’t let it show. Not fully.

You finished the labels. Shelved the bottles. Wiped your hands clean.

When you looked back at him, your voice was light. Almost casual. “Can I help you with something?”

You saw the hurt your words inflicted on him. His face shifted for a second.

In a sick way, you liked it.

Good, you thought. Let him hurt this time.

He called your name, but you didn’t let him complete it.

“Listren Fred…” you said as you cleaned out an empty glass jar with a cloth. “If you’re here because you feel guilty, or something like that. You don’t need to. You can go.”

He just stared at you, though you refused to meet his eyes for more than a second.

“We…” you paused. “We weren’t together. Not officially. You don’t owe me anything.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just stared at you, jaw clenched, like he was holding something heavy behind his teeth. You could see the words pushing up against his tongue, begging for release—but he wasn’t stupid enough to let them spill all at once. Not yet.

You didn’t look up again. You didn’t want to see what might be in his face. Not when you were still busy sweeping the last few pieces of yourself off the floor.

He left quietly.

Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t make some theatrical exit like the Fred you used to know might have. Just stepped out into the rain, letting the bell above the door chime in his wake.

You thought that would be it.

But the next time, he came back with a book on Scottish fungi and a tin of candied ginger.

“I figured you’d like the fungi more than flowers,” he said, placing them carefully on the counter.

You didn’t smile.

You didn’t thank him either.

But you didn’t tell him to leave.

Then he started showing up on Tuesdays.

Always early. Always pretending he needed something Mildred didn’t stock.

He once asked if you carried freeze-dried doxy wings.

“We’re not a bloody joke shop,” you said without looking up.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, glancing at the rows of glittering jars behind you. “You still haven’t come around to ours.”

You didn’t answer.

A week later, he asked about the Battle again.

“I keep thinking,” he said, “about that night. About what I would’ve done if… if I hadn’t made it out.”

You stilled, a bundle of sage in your hand.

“I saw you,” he added. “Really saw you. George told me you dragged me out. You stuck around, didn’t you? Until I woke up.”

You didn’t reply.

He leaned against the counter, shoulders slumping a little. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, you know. Like it didn’t matter. It mattered to me.”

You looked at him for the first time that day, voice like smoke. “I’m not pretending.”

His brows pulled together. “You’re not fine.”

“Did I say I was?” you asked.

His mouth opened. Closed again.

And then, in a voice quieter than you expected, he asked, “Are you angry?”

You scoffed, turned your back on him. “This again?”

You ran your thumb along the edge of a sharp glass jar.

“I didn’t think it meant anything to you,” he continued, persistent. “What we had.”

You turned then, slowly. And though your face was composed, your voice wasn’t as steady.

“Don’t rewrite history, Fred,” you said. “You didn’t ask. I didn’t stop you. We both knew what it was.”

His voice was hoarse. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You just stared at him.

“I was an idiot,” he went on. “I thought… I thought if I didn’t call it anything, then it couldn’t hurt when it ended. Or if it ended. I was seventeen. I didn’t know how to want something properly.”

You didn’t blink.

He took a step closer.

“I don’t want to be that kid again. I don’t want to show up like this and make you think this is some… guilt trip. Or nostalgia. Or unfinished business.”

You leaned against the shelves, arms crossed. Cold. Quiet. Your eyes flicked to the clock.

“Let me finish.”

You didn’t stop him.

“I want you to know…” He hesitated. “I think about you. I think about you more than I have the right to.”

A long silence stretched.

Then Mildred’s voice floated in from the back, humming off-key, interrupting the silence.

You turned away.

“You should go.”

But he didn’t.

Not that day.

And not the next.

He started staying longer.

He brought tea and ridiculous pastries. Talked about the joke shop, and how George started asking about you. Asked questions about magizoology and didn’t pretend to know the answers. Let you teach him about endangered fungi and which roots snapped when overhandled.

He didn’t try to fix things with grand apologies or flowers.

He just kept showing up.

And slowly—so slowly—you stopped expecting to feel that hollow ache every time the bell above the door rang.

Because when it did, and you saw that freckled, familiar face again…

You didn’t feel angry.

You didn’t feel nothing.

You just felt.

And that, more than anything, terrified you.

It didn’t happen all at once.

There was no moment of revelation, no grand epiphany where your ribs opened and the light came pouring back in. It was quieter than that. Slower.

The first time you laughed in front of him again, it startled you.

You had been restocking the mint root, hands stained green, and he’d said something ridiculous—something about how it looked like you'd punched a leprechaun. And it wasn’t even that funny, really. But something about the lilt in his voice, the sparkle in his eyes, the sheer Fredness of it—something cracked loose.

You laughed. Out loud.

And Fred just blinked like he'd seen a rare bloom unfold. Like you’d caught him off guard.

He didn’t say anything.

He just smiled.

You started stopping by the joke shop sometimes.

Always unannounced. Never for long.

You’d hover near the back, under the flickering sign George still hadn’t fixed, pretending to inspect something absurd—self-charming shoelaces or a shrinking hat. And Fred would spot you every time, a grin already spreading across his face before he even turned fully toward you.

He always had a clever comment on the tip of his tongue.

You’d roll your eyes and hand him your bag so you could dig through the box of experimental toffees, ignoring how your fingers brushed when he took it.

Mildred loved it. She’d caught on quickly, of course—had been around long enough to see something blooming even through frost. She teased you relentlessly, slipping heart-shaped sweets into your lunch and asking if Fred was still bringing her pear drops “or if the new girlfriend had replaced him.”

You always denied it. Always flushed.

But you stopped denying it quite so hard.

One day, he showed up just before closing.

You’d had a long shift. Your hair smelled like dried herbs and your wrists ached from pouring potions into vials all day. You didn’t even look up when the bell rang.

But then he said, “I brought dinner,” and your chest did that thing again—that hollow ache that wasn’t so hollow anymore.

He held up a brown paper bag.

“I know a place that does scandalously good curry. And I even got the poppadoms you like. Mildred gets first dibs, obviously.”

You stared at him. At the way he stood there like this was normal now. Like you were normal now. Like the world hadn’t ended and rewritten itself in ash and fire.

You didn’t say anything.

Just took the bag and set it on the counter.

He didn’t leave that night.

You ate on the floor of the back room, legs stretched out beside drying bundles of sage and shrivelfig. He told you stories about customers, about the way George kept “accidentally” charming his own shoes to squeak when he walked, about how they’d managed to get Zonko’s old supply closet enchanted to sing show tunes if you tried to open it without knocking first.

You watched him as he spoke.

Watched how the war hadn’t quite touched the corners of his grin. How he still had that boyish tilt to his voice when he got excited, but the lines around his mouth were deeper now. Like time had traced its fingers over him too.

When the meal was finished, he leaned back on his elbows and glanced over at you.

“Want to go flying tomorrow?” he asked. “I’ve still got my old broom.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to break my neck?”

He grinned. “You break anything and I’ll carry you home myself.”

You rolled your eyes.

But you didn’t say no.

You started smiling more.

It wasn’t conscious. It wasn’t performative.

It just… happened.

People noticed.

Mildred winked at you whenever Fred's name came up. Your owl, previously unimpressed with the world, started delivering notes with ridiculous frequency—usually folded bits of parchment with smudged ink and Fred’s increasingly absurd doodles.

You hung some of them on the wall.

You didn’t realize how heavy the numbness had been until it started to lift. The way grief hollowed you out and left you echoing inside your own skin. You'd grown so used to it—so used to functioning under its weight—that the absence felt foreign. Like walking on healed limbs you’d once assumed would never bear weight again.

Fred never asked for anything back.

He never demanded an answer or a confession.

He just kept showing up.

Day by day.

Touch by touch.

He made you tea without asking. Picked the daisies out of Mildred’s garden and tucked one behind your ear. Wrote you stupid poems that rhymed “mandrake” with “heartache” and compared himself to Shakespeare.

You caught yourself looking forward to things again.

And when he kissed you one night—soft and slow, standing in the doorway of the shop with your hands still dusted in lavender pollen—you kissed him back.

Because he hadn’t fixed you.

But he’d reminded you that you weren’t broken.

And that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

It was late again.

The shop had closed an hour ago, but you were still there. Fred was helping you alphabetize the fresh shipment of dried roots that had come in completely unmarked—because of course it had. Mildred had already gone upstairs to sleep, humming off-key and muttering about moon phases.

The lamplight was soft and amber. Dust hung in the air like settled silence.

You were both barefoot, the tiled floor cool under your heels. He was seated on the counter, legs swinging slightly, a sprig of rosemary tucked behind his ear—your doing. He hadn't even noticed you’d slipped it there mid-conversation.

You were labeling the last of the jars, writing in neat script even though your wrist ached. You hummed along to the song playing on the vinyl player.

Fred had gone quiet.

You looked up. Found him watching you again.

That same look—soft, unreadable, a little afraid.

You didn’t say anything.

Instead, you swayed your hips and slowly made your way to him. Your humming turned into soft singing.

He smiled as he held on to your waist.

You reached him and grabbed his hand, tugging him gently from the counter. “Dance with me.”

Fred raised a brow. “Here?”

“There’s music,” you said, lifting your chin toward the vinyl spinning in the corner. “Floor’s clear. You don’t have any excuses.”

He let out a quiet chuckle and slid down to stand in front of you, his hands finding your hips almost instinctively, like they always did. You moved together slowly at first—barefoot, swaying in lazy circles under the glow of the oil lamp. The scent of lavender and powdered sage hung low in the air, the faint hum of the music wrapping around your ankles like smoke.

You twirled under his arm, laughing as you nearly lost your balance on the pivot.

He caught you, hands firm at your hips, steadying you in place.

Your bodies stilled except for the gentle side-to-side motion of your hips. His thumbs pressed lightly into the fabric of your shirt as you breathed, matching him. The laughter faded. Not into tension—just into something quieter. Something closer.

His eyes were already on you, low-lidded and thoughtful.

He looked at you like you were still humming, even though your mouth had gone quiet.

He didn’t rush it.

Just lifted his hands from your waist and cupped your face, his thumbs brushing lightly beneath your cheekbones. He tilted your face up to his—not to kiss you. Not yet. Just to look. Like he needed to.

And then, in the kind of voice people only use when they’re afraid of the answer, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

You glanced up again. “Permition granted.”

He chuckled before letting a beat pass.

“Are we… doing this?”

You paused. Your swaying slowly stopping.

Fred’s fingers curled over your hips. He looked serious.

“Because I want to,” he said. “Not because of the past. Or the timing. Or… guilt. Just because I want to.”

You stayed quiet.

Let him sit in it.

He didn’t fidget. Didn’t fill the silence.

He just looked at you with a steady kind of honesty that felt harder to look away from than a wand pointed straight at your chest.

He exhaled slowly. “I know we weren’t ever really a thing. Not back then. Not properly. But I’d like us to be, now.”

You blinked.

He gave a small shrug. “I’d like to put a name on it. Not for the sake of it—but so I know what this is. So you know I mean it.”

You stared at him. Really stared.

At the freckles just below his left eye.

At the soft fray of his shirt collar.

At the fact that he wasn’t making a joke out of this, even though every instinct in him probably itched to.

You just smiled. “Alright then.”

His smile bloomed slowly. “Alright then?”

You gave the smallest of nods. “Let’s name it.”

He reached over, covered your hand with his.

And that was it.

No fanfare. No declarations or fireworks.

He leaned down and kissed you. Soft and warm and oh so tender.

His lips tasted faintly of peppermint and something sweeter—like he’d eaten a sugar quill hours ago and the ghost of it was still on his breath.

There was nothing showy in the way he kissed you. No urgency. No heat-for-the-sake-of-it. Just a kind of certainty. Like he knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly who he was kissing.

When he pulled back, he didn’t move far. His mouth stayed pressed lightly to yours, and he breathed out your name like it meant something different now.

And maybe it did.

You stayed like that for a moment. The soft crackle of the record. The quiet shift of your breaths. His thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Neither of you said anything.

There wasn’t much left to say.

Eventually, you smiled again—smaller this time, but real.

He squeezed your hand.

And the silence that settled between you didn’t feel empty.

It felt earned and familiar.

#x reader #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred gideon weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley #golden trio era fic #harry potter x reader #golden trio era #george weasley #harry potter

87 notes · View notes

pheastinyworld · 1 day ago

Note

hey phe! ik you said requests are closed and don't feel pressure to do this either if you're too busy. but i'm really bad at finding good fics and i was wondering if you had any recommendations for luke h, gabe or wsh?

hi nonnie! thank you for taking into account my stress but your ask is totally fine! actually, more than fine because i would absolutely LOVE to answer this; i've gone into more depth for everyone than i thought i would but oh well, hope this helps. this is a mix of ppl i follow and also my moots (im sorry if i forget to put people in here btw).

for luke: there are so many more, but these are the ones that are stuck in my brain.

literally anything by @star2fishmeg BUT i do strongly recommend this fic: its a long one and so well written, actually the first ever luke fic i read. (the small worlds series also has one for quinn and jack)

@withwritersblock this writer actually has a plethora of wonderful short and long fics for luke; i've cried multiple times to their work.

@lilhughesy cant stress how much i love this girl and her work. she has great works but also a umich au which is really good.

@ekybrini has a fun little dad!luke fic coming soon if that tickles your fancy.

this is a really cute fic by @stormsies adorable, fluffy, perfect, a short one for you but still packs a punch.

@sweetdispatch has so much to choose from, once you start reading her luke work, i promise you'll want to read all her other work too.

another long one for you is this fic by @cuteandhughesy : honestly such a comfort fic of mine, set during the umich years.

idk if you'd be into it because you didn't mention john but this au with luke x reader x john is TO DIE FOR by @wineauntie

again, not sure if you'd be into it but this fic also has a kinda love triangle with ethan edwards in it, honestly such a good read by @pucking-rowdy

this fic is a short one for you but there's so so so much fluff its gorgeous by @lovesickhughes

this one has a part two and i could not stop reading it when it came out, its amazing, by @nyl88ndrs.

the way this author writes is so special, i 100% recommend this fic in particular its a longer one for you by @nylqnder

also if you're looking for luke smut I'd go to @ruinix , literally perfection.

for gabe: i've got quite a bit as well in my own masterlist, but here are my fav's

needy boy by my girl @crazy4eky is GORG (smut for you nasty freaks). anything by my girl kay is stunning.

anything by @perreqult just go to her gabe section and you'll definitely not be disappointed

this fic by @peachhcs is great but she also has a whole gabe x oc au that is a very cute read (probably the only thing you'll get in terms of anything long written about gabe)

first fic i ever read for gabe was this one by @toasttt11, but also check out toasty's other au's.

here's some break up-ish angst for you by @casssssssi (has a part two as well, so pretty long) (cass also has some more fics you should read for sure)

@viennajoell go check out her stuff, all of it is wonderful.

@moonlight-ba3 has some fresh new gabe fics that are fun to read as well

for will:

this fic by @alliwritespuck; i actually remember reading this on the bus and laughing so hard when will's family walk in. but also definitely go through this authors masterlist for more.

this is willmack but still omfg amazing by @softsunnyy, i remember kay i think recommended this to me.

if you're into willmack stuff i'd 100% recommend anything from @wannabehockeygf tho i have a fav

this is dad!will if you're into that, i think its so cute by @fiastomatocheek

@belli5 definitely go read her will stuff, her whole wsh masterlist is recommended by me

nonnie, there are way way more but these are all i can think of right now, i'll try update the list when i have more time after exams! hope this help 💗💐

#phe's recs <3 #phe's mutuals <3 #luke hughes x reader #gabe perreault x reader #will smith hockey #will smith x reader

114 notes · View notes

yup-thats-me · 2 days ago

Text

—Dirty Little Secret• CHOI SAN

𐙚pairing; dilf!San x fem!reader 𐙚summary; even if San begs and cries, that's all you ever were. A dirty little secret 𐙚word count; 2.1k 𐙚content; okay this is just angst. smut, 18+, piv, unprotected sex (don't). morally grey characters, cheating, infidelity, kinda asshole! reader, no happy ending:‹ 𐙚a/n; this is based on the song Dirty Little Secret by Nessa Barrett. I highly recommend listening to the song while reading. Also, I'm trying a new format. lmk how you guys liked the fic and the format :)

"Are you going to stay the night, love?" San asked, eyes softening as he watched you put on your jeans.

You shrugged. "And Mrs. Choi?"

San's breath hitched, grimacing as you reminded him of his wife. The wife he knew was out with another man, the wife he was displeased to have been married to, the wife he had no feelings for.

"Must you hurt me like that, sweetheart?" He chuckled, placing a hand over his chest.

You smirk, crawling over him, fingers tracing the toned muscle on his chest. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Choi," you giggle, licking his lips. San closed his eyes, anticipating a kiss but when none came, he pouted in disappointment.

"No kiss goodbye?"

"I'm in a rush you see," you say, taking your bag. Quickly walking to the king-sized bed, you leaned down to peck his lips lightly. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Choi," you smile, waving him goodbye.

Long after the man heard the door click shut after you left, he stayed in the bed, eyes glancing over to his side where the pillow was dipped, an imprint of your rendezvous with him minutes ago. With a sigh, he got off the bed.

As the CEO stood under the running water of the shower, all the memories came flooding back to him.

"Hello!" Your mother had chirped, a glass jar in hand filled with cookies. "We're the new neighbors." She nudged you a little, a signal to introduce yourself. "Y/n, nice to meet you."

San swore he got hard just from your touch, mind buzzing as if he was electrocuted. "I'm San, Choi San and that," he pointed at the woman on the phone inside the house. "That's my wife." You didn't miss the way his jaw clenched.

That was five months ago.

The man could have not even dreamt that you'd come by his place a few days later, with a beaming smile on that perfect face of yours. "I made lasagna, thought I'd give you some," you smiled.

"Oh, come in," San smiled, placing his hand on your back aqs he guided you inside his mansion.

Looking around, you nodded. "Isn't Mrs. Choi home?"

San sighed, walking you to the expensive couch. "She's out."

"Thought I'd finally meet her today," you pouted, placing the glass dish on the coffee table.

San smiled apologetically. "You made it, sweetheart?"

Ignoring the heat now engulfing your cheeks, you nodded eagerly. "I like to cook every now and then," you said as San quickly got up, coming back within seconds with a fork in hand.

Nodding, he took a bite, closing his head as he ate the delicacy in relish. "So good," he sighed, resting his head on the couch. "Sorry," he chuckled when he noticed you staring. "Haven't had a home-cooked meal in ages!"

That was not the reason you were staring at his undeniably handsome face, though. A speck of sauce stuck to the corner of his pink lips. Debating whether or not to tell him or wipe it away yourself, you finally settled on the latter, leaning over the table as you wiped the corners of his mouth.

"There," you whispered, the smile halting as you noticed his eyes moving to your lips. Suddenly aware of the close proximity, you retracted your hand. "S-sorry."

San had been holding his breath. Too scared that he'll scare you if he breathes too loudly. His fingers itched, fighting all the life morals he had ever pledged to.

You were pretty, prettier than his wife, prettier than all the obnoxious women who all but threw themselves on him. But he couldn't ignore that you were younger than him. Much, much younger.

What if he acted upon his wish and kissed you? Would you slap him across the face and report him to the cops? Or would you run to your mother and tell her what he did? It'd be a headache, to say the least.

But a part of him wanted to take a risk. Risk it all for a taste of your perfect, divine lips. Grabbing your wrist, he ran his thumb over your bottom lip, eyes fixed on yours. "Can I?" He whispered.

Nodding your head, he didn't even let you open your mouth to answer him before he pressed his lips to yours. Hungry and desperate, he pulled you close by the back of your neck.

Breathless, you pushed him away gently. "Mr. Ch-," he interrupted, licking your lips. "San, doll," he breathed, hungry eyes staring into yours. "Call me San, please," he all but begged.

"San," you tried again, fingers running through his locks. "Kiss me properly?" You smirked.

San smiled, walking over to your side of the couch. "Gladly, sweetheart," he smiled, sitting you down. He knelt down before you, cupping your cheeks as he kissed you for the second time, knocking all the air out of your lungs. His hands roamed your body, careful, meticulous, as if he were memorizing each and every inch of your divine being.

"San," you gasped out of breath. "I have to go," you mumbled quietly, caressing his hair. "My mother would get worried," you pouted.

As much as he wanted to continue, he agreed begrudgingly. Helping you to the door, he watched with his arms crossed as you fixed your messy hair. "Come back tomorrow?"

You giggled, standing on your tiptoes to peck his lips. "Of course, Sannie."

And just like that, you were gone like the gust of wind that came in and robbed the man of all morals and graced him with the thrill of something terrific.

His dirty little secret.

Turning off the water, San got out of the bathroom. As he lay on his empty bed, he couldn't stop smiling. How would he devote himself to you tomorrow? Would you be happy if he took you dressed in the three-piece suit you liked so much? Whatever it was, he was more than ready to give it to you.

But when you called him while he was in a meeting with sniffles, the man was ready to reschedule all his meetings for the day if it meant you'd stop crying.

"What happened, sweetheart?" he asked in distress.

"Nothing," you lied. "See you tonight?"

San smiled lovingly even though he knew you couldn't see it. "Of course, sweet dove."

When you rushed into his mansion that evening, you didn't even let him speak before you pressed your lips to his, already undressing. "Need you," was all that you muttered.

San quickly helped you out of your clothing. Pushing him down on the bed, you straddled as he heaved. "I'll be in control tonight."

You swore you saw hearts in the man's eyes. Smiling like an man gone mad, he held your hips, guiding you. "Whatever you wish, darling."

Pulling down his sweats, you stroke his hard cock a few times, you lined him with your already soaking hole, sighing as he lodged deep within you.

Throwing his head back, his grip on your hips tightened, grinding you against him. "Fuck," he groaned, snaking his hand along your waist.

"Oh god," you whined, pulling at your breasts as you bounced on his cock. Groaning underneath you, he pulled you down, kissing you deeply. "You're so bold today, love," he smirked.

Slapping him, you held onto his chest for support as you fucked yourself on his cock. "That's my girl," you heard him say.

"Comming, Sannie," you screamed. San held onto your hips, thrusting deeper into you. "Come, baby," he cooed. "Come around my cock."

Within seconds, you felt came undone on his abs. "Fuck," you cried as he filled you up with his release.

Pushing yourself off of him, you flopped beside him exhausted. San chuckled, moving hair out of your face. "Sleepy, baby?"

You hummed lazily. San smiled, pulling your body flush against his. "Goodnight, baby," you heard him whisper.

"I love you so much, Y/n."

You crunched up your face as you heard the words leave his mouth. He has fallen. Fuck. You never meant this, whatever you had going on with him, to ever get this far.

As much as you liked him, it was all that it was. A dirty little secret. He had a wife. No matter if he didn't love her, she was still married to him. Legally, socially. And neither did you hope he would divorce her for you.

No. You're content using him, fucking him. You have a long life before you. Completing uni, get a job, fuck around. You couldn't stop yourself from enjoying life for San, even if he was disgustingly hot. It was time to give a long-awaited reality check.

When San woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was look for you. Usually, you'd be in his shirts, walking around his house to make coffee or breakfast or maybe even in his bathroom washing up.

When he found no traces of you or your clothes, he texted you before he hopped in the shower. Hoping you answer him back. But when he got a reply from you for the entire day, he got worried. He even went to your house, but when your mother opened the door instead, he was thoroughly disappointed.

"Is Y/n not here?" He asked.

Your mother smiled apologetically, knowing how you got close to Mr. Choi, always speaking fondly of him and his wife, never knowing that you did not even meet that infamous woman. ''Oh, she's gone to a friend's house."

San smiled politely as he left. Maybe you were busy with school or something else. He was worried, but he wouldn't invade your privacy. You will come back, he's sure.

But when a month passed without any texts or calls from you, the man had to drive to your school and ask you himself.

As he stopped the car, he waited for a bit before he finally saw you– arms linked with a guy your age, laughing as if he had said the most incredible joke in the world. San's jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

"Y/n."

You paused, eyes wide as you recognized the voice. "Mr. Choi?" San scoffed. "Mr. Choi"? Was he a stranger now?

"Where have you been?" he asked, voice low in anger.

The man beside you pulled you closer to him, shielding you from his imposing stature. "Calm down, mister."

San clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Who's he?" he pointed.

"My boyfriend," you answered meekly from behind your lover. "Yunho."

San felt his heart break. He thought he'd finally found the one. That you loved him too. Closing his eyes to compose his thoughts, he nodded slowly. "You left the glass dish the other day." No. Six months ago. "Come take it."

Yunho blinked in confusion. You sighed, patting his shoulder. "It's okay, baby," you forced a smile. "We're neighbors. You go ahead, I'll see you tomorrow."

San watched as you kissed your "boyfriend" goodbye. When you finally got in his car, he drove in silence. Too stunned to speak. When he finally pulled up to his house, he got out first, leaving you in the car as he opened the door.

"What's going on? Can you enlighten me, please?" He smiled sarcastically. "Turning off your phone, no texts, no calls for a month and you found yourself a boyfriend?" He was fuming.

"S-San," You tired, walking towards him.

"No!" He screamed, shoving your hand away. "You think this is a game? I love you Y/n, and—"

"I don't!" You screamed back.

San blinked. "You don't?"

Running your hand through your hair, you shook your head. "I don't, San. I never did."

San had to sit down on the couch before he could fall, eyes glassed over with tears. "Why are you saying that, sweeth-"

"Stop, stop, stop," you interrupted. "Don't. We're done, San," you finally said. "Let's not see each other anymore."

San got up, kneeling before you. "Y/n, please," he begged, on the verge of tears. "Don't say that. I love you."

Sighing, you leaned down, wiping away his tears. "San, sannie," you shook him gently. "Listen to me. You have a wife. A job. I have my whole life before me! I cannot stop just because you love me." You breathed.

"You have the money, the looks. You can get any girl you want," you tired to reason.

Tears rolled down his face, eyes red and puffy. "I want you, not anyone else." He begged. "You're the one, Y/n, I know you are."

"But I don't want to be the one, San." With a last peck to his cheek, you got up taking your bag. "Goodbye, San"

And you left San kneeling, defeated in his own house, with a bleeding heart in his hand.

©yup-thats-me; ⋆.˚reqs are open𐙚⋆.˚

71 notes · View notes

thechaoticcherub · 15 hours ago

Text

Secrets

Pairing: Dad!Joel x possessed!reader

Summary: You've been acting strange, especially at night but this time the sleep walking has gotten completely out of hand.

Warnings: 18+, Incest, DDDNE(Dead Dove Do Not Eat), age gap(obviously), dubcon, daddy kink(?), possession, demons, religious imagery, catholicism, dry humping, thigh riding, this shit is icky and dark, pet names, not beta-ed, barely any editing sorry, the POV is all over the place in this one, no use of y/n.

Notes: This is part of an on going dad!joel x possessed!reader miniseries. This is the first one i'm posting but it can def be read stand alone as will most of the others in this miniseries.

Also: i do not care about your feelings about incest in fics. dont like it? Dont read it. It's erotic fiction, I can explore whatever the fuck I want. The end.

Joel’s nights hadn’t been disturbed this much by you since you were a very little girl, but recently it had seemed like at least once a week it was a new moonlit issue. Of course nothing had ever gone this far, this was a new one as far as nocturnal adventures went. His phone had buzzed next to his bed, loud, angry and constant. When he hadn’t recognized the number he assumed Tommy was in trouble so his groggy,

“Yeah?” came out even more irritated than he had intended it to.

“Mr. Miller?” The voice on the other line was sure of itself but not unkind. Nothing like a police officer or warden of a jail and definitely not Tommy.

“Speaking,” He said as he tried to rouse himself, rubbing at his eyes, he fumbled for his watch on his bedside table, checking it. It was 3:42 AM.

“Mr. Miller, this is Father Reyes from Holy Trinity Catholic Church?” He posed it like a question, as if Joel should be aware why his pastor was calling him at 3 AM.

“F-father Reyes?” Joel asked, he had sat up in bed and was rubbing his forehead, trying to get his brain working. Immediately his mind went to when the last time he had been to confession, or even mass had been…god damn that Catholic guilt.

“Yes, I’m calling because your daughter is here…and I’m assuming this is as much news to you as it was to me,” As soon as Father Gabriel Reyes spoke those words, Joel was standing up to go check in your room. His first thought was that Father Reyes had the wrong girl, the wrong family but he needed to check anyway.

“What?” He asked.

“Yes, I refrained from calling the police because I know her and you and thought I should contact you first.” Joel hurried across the hall, but he already knew from the sight of your door standing ajar that you would not be in your bed. Fear rushed through him, like tidal wave after confusing tidal wave.

“I’m coming now,” Joel spoke into the phone as he stood in your doorway, staring at your bed. It looked…staged. As if you had purposely folded your blanket back just so and slid from the bed, leaving it looking like a gaping maw. Empty of his child who he had so obliviously assumed was sleeping soundly nearby.

Joel didn’t remember much about getting dressed and finding his keys. He remembered nothing of the short drive from the house to Holy Trinity. It was a drive he had done so many times before, with you that he could have done it in his sleep-apparently you could walk it in your sleep because that was the only explanation. Your sleep walking had started again. Only now it had graduated from jaunts into kitchen when you were six years old to jaunts down the middle of the night suburban streets to your old church.

When he reached the nearly empty parking lot, he parked haphazardly. The night time disturbances of the last few weeks felt like they were getting odder and odder and this was one that he could not abide. It was one thing to have a nightmare and shriek in the night. It was one thing to beg to sleep in his bed…even if that had it’s own set of problems. But this…this was a different level. Leaving your home. Leaving him to wonder how the fuck you managed to get somewhere this far away.

When Joel walked to the doors of the church he caught sight of the cleaners leaving, they gave him a look that might have been judgement. Joel hurried past them and into the narthex where he saw Father Reyes waiting for him, looking flustered.

“Father Reyes,” Joel said, “I’m so sorry about this-I’m guessin’ she’s sleepwalkin’” Joel said.

“Yes, I believe she is. I came in when the cleaners called me and said there was someone in the nave. I sat with her but I didn’t think it would be a good idea for someone other than family to wake her.” He explained. Joel was barely listening, he was looking around, trying to see if he could catch sight of you.

“Yea, probably a good idea, shit-“ he broke off, “I mean…yeah, I don’t know what’s goin’ on with her.” There was a moment when he looked back at Father Reyes that he could see that judgement he had seen on the cleaner’s faces appearing on his face, but then it was gone and he was back to his holy self. After the moment passed he felt himself wanting to ask the pastor something but he wrote it off as a ludicrous question and turned to go get you.

When he walked into the Nave, he saw you immediately, you were sitting three pews back from the front. You were seemingly staring up at the cross. Joel could shake the eeriness of it. Something about the shadows, the stained glass, the statues and looming cross made the hairs on his arms stand up. This was one of the most holy places you could be in and yet, Joel felt wrong as he walked down the aisle towards where you were sitting. Maybe he had just seen The Exorcist too many times.

There was barely any light in the nave, some filtering in from the Narthex and whatever moonlight gleamed in through the tall stained glass. Joel reached your pew and sank down in the space next to you. You were still, looking forward, your hair in front of your face covering your eyes. Your body was leaned forward slightly, your hands twisted together in your lap. You were in just your nightgown.

The thought of you out walking down the backroads all alone in nothing but your pajamas made Joel feel sick to his stomach. He reached out and gently brushed your hair back away from your face. Your eyes were open but they stared blankly upwards at the cross.

“Babygirl,” Joel whispered to you, trying to ease you back to reality. When you were little and would sleepwalk into the kitchen, or into his room, he would softly and gently coax you back to bed. You would never remember it in the morning, you would giggle, your nose scrunching when he would relay it all to you. He longed for that giggle again, the nose scrunch on your beautiful face. Even now, addled, sleep stuck in your eyes, he couldn’t help but notice how genuinely pretty you were. The curve of your lips as they pouted even now, the way your deep breathing pressed your breasts-

Your head rolled around, uncanny in its swiftness, to lock half lidded eyes on him. Your eyes saw him, but there was no sparkle of recognition, or acknowledgment, or any of your typical life. Your eyes were nothing like his daughters, except there you sat, looking like you, smelling like you, breathing like you, but the creep in the back of Joel’s neck contradicted his senses.

“Do you think He will forgive you, Daddy?” It was your voice, your sweet voice that usually was too loud or too boisterous. The voice he had known since your first cry almost 19 year ago but something told Joel to move away form you, but he didn’t, he wouldn’t.

Your eyes inched up his body, dragging a crawling feeling inside of Joel with it. When you locked eyes with him, your voice changed from a flat monotone to something with more life, even if that life was mocking him.

“Do you think He should forgive us?” Your hand found his thigh, high up on his jeans, so close, so nearly touching something you shouldn’t have even thought of. There was something sick inside Joel that didn’t immediately push you away. Later, he would tell himself it was because he hadn’t wanted to upset you while you were still obviously…asleep.

Joel watched your hand, it worked closer and closer, you were ready to grab him through his jeans, he could feel it so close and he knew there was a part of him that wanted to let it happen. It was a part he had buried for so long that he cold barely access it now but it was there and it was making him harden now. Your fingers brushed against the denim clad bulge, your head was still lolling on your shoulder, eyes staring up at Joel. For a moment the spark of pleasure that spasmed through him threatened to take over his whole brain but in your face Joel saw a flash of a similar Judgement. Maybe it was really there, maybe it wasn’t but it snapped him away from his insane needs andhe shoved your hand back off of him, coming back to himself.

“Babygirl, shhh, you’re sleepin’ lets get ya home,” He said, he breath coming in half shuddering.

“I know all the secrets you hide.” Your voice lilted into a exaggerated southern drawl, deep and commanding, almost like his own but still too high, you, his daughter, mimicking him. Joel had about enough of this now, he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and stood you up, you stood without hesitation and he took your into the aisle. Joel shrugged his coat off as he walked you out of the nave, putting it around your shoulders.

“Thanks for callin’, Father.” Joel said as he passed Father Reyes who nodded and Joel felt him watch him as he took you out of the Narthex and to your car.

Joel got you situated laying across the backseat, going to the front seat. He was trying his hardest not to linger on the words you had spoken while sitting in the pew. What secrets could you have possibly been talking about? Clearly you were dreaming and speaking nonsense, there was no other explanation for it. You slept in the backseat for the entire short drive back to the house. Joel parked in the driveway and stared out the windshield for a moment, there was no reason to be unsettled by you, you were his daughter for Christ’s sake.

You had been challenging and a little different your whole life and Joel had always appreciated that about you. You follow the beat of your own drummer, peanut! He had always told you. You had also always had issues with sleep, dating back to when you were a baby, colic-y, clingy, restless. But there was something about now that felt so different to Joel. Maybe it was just because you were grown now and reverting to childhood problems seemed…off. The way you had looked, sitting in that church pew, staring forward, unseeing, it gave him the heebie jeebies. Then again, when you had slept walked as a little girl, you had often scared the shit outta him. Suddenly appearing at the foot of his bed, or worse, leaning directly over him.

Joel tried to push aside the worry and got out of the car, glancing towards the front of the house as he walked around to the backseat. When he finally turned his gaze to the backseat you were sitting straight up, looking through the window at him.

“Jesus,” he jumped, not expecting you to be right there. When he opened the back door, you blinked a few times,

“Dad?” You asked and Joel was relieved to hear your sweet voice, normal, emotional and confused.

“Yea, peanut, you were sleep walkin’,” he said, reaching out to help you out of the car. “Almost all the way to fuckin’ Timbuktu,” He said, half under his breath. You reached out to him and he took your hands, wrapping his arm around you as he lead you into the house.

Joel took you right up to your room, you were still pretty out of it but you were wondering where you had gone, Joel reluctantly told you and you stared at him like he had three fuckin’ heads, as if he would lie to you about where he had picked you up from.

“I don’t…understand, I don’t remember-“ You were mumbling as Joel pulled the blankets in your bed back so you could get in.

“Well you were sleepwalkin’ I don’t think you typically remember that-“

“Yeah but…I was at church?” You confirmed again. Joel nodded.

“Don’t worry too much about it now, peanut. Get in bed,” He instructed, he watched you sink down onto the edge of the bed, laying back against the pillows and staring, still clearly upset, at the ceiling.

“Did I say anything?” You asked. The words spoken to him in a flat monotone came back to Joel, sending a shiver up and down his spine even now as he tucked you safely into bed. Do you think He will forgive you, Daddy? Do you think He should forgive us? I know all the secrets you hide. Joel shook his head,

“Nothin’ that made much sense,” he said. You were quiet, laying under the covers, your eyes distant. Joel watched your body give an intense shudder, your teeth started to chatter and your brow knit.

“I’m…I’m freezing,” You said.

“Well doesn’t surprise me, walkin’ all the way to church in nothin’ but your nightgown and no fuckin’ shoes.” Joel half laughed and turned to leave you, “You’ll warm up quick-“

“No! Dad!” Your voice tilted towards desperate as you reached out for him. “I’m…I’m so cold…” Your teeth were chattering so hard it was making it almost impossible for you to get the words out. The shivering had seemed to come out of nowhere. Joel turned back,

“Babygirl, you’re safe.” He said, wondering if maybe the shivering was more from being unsettled. “Just relax-“

“NO!” you practically shouted, you sat up in bed and reached out to clutch his arm, “Daddy!” You wailed, and it crushed something inside of Joel. It wasn’t the same way you had said ‘daddy’ earlier, taunting, cruel. It was like you were his baby again, crying for him. “Please come warm me up,” Your voice tortured him in so many ways, he couldn’t focus on which one this was. “Please!” You pleaded. Joel couldn’t say no. Not when you were shaking, not when you seemed to need him so badly.

“Okay, darlin,” he pulled the blankets back again and crawled into your small bed next to you, body pressing into yours. “Christ, girl,” He said as his hand touched your bare upper arm, you were freezing. So freezing you didn’t feel real. He started to rub your arm, trying to bring life back into your skin.

“I told you I was freezing,” You whined. Joel curled around you, wrapping his arms around you and pulled you back into him. Your back to his front. Those secrets your sleep-stolen mind had mentioned earlier started to pulse under his skin. No. You didn’t know those secrets. You had been talking nonsense in that church. He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, willing away any feelings that had started to erupt inside of him. But then you wiggled your hips back and it certainly didn’t feel accidental.

“Daddy,” You breathed and the word felt so completely wrong in this little bed, with his arms locked around you, and your hips wiggling.

“Shh, go to sleep again, babygirl.” He breathed. He rubbed at your back, your sides, your arms wanting to rub warmth, heat into you but it seemed like he was only stoking the heat inside of himself.

You were quiet for a moment and he hoped you were starting to drift off but then you suddenly pushed yourself up and flipped around so you were facing him. You tucked yourself into his chest, curling up there, Joel’s arms resting on your waist. He could feel your breathing, feel every tiny motion of your body. So when you opened your legs, flinging one over top of his he almost pushed you off of him. But what kind of father rejects cuddles from his daughter like that? Even though now he could feel your crotch pressing into his thigh which was now resting between your two legs, he couldn’t shove you off of him. Not when you needed him so badly and your arms were still so cold.

Joel resigned himself to lay still and allow you to try and get comfortable in whatever way you needed. He listened to your sweet breaths, trying to calm down it seemed. It had been an eventful night and now you were just looking for comfort. Joel leaned over and buried a kiss in your hair. You sighed contentedly and your weight shifted slightly. Adjustment, to get comfortable.

You pressed your hips forward, feeling your dad’s jean clad thigh between your legs. His arms were holding you so tightly, protectively and you felt very out of body, like you couldn’t quite control the motion of your hips. You were caged in his arms, something gripped you and kept you there, rocking your body forward. Your short nightgown was riding up, practically around your waist. Joel pretended he didn’t notice. Your underwear was the only protection between your most intimate part and the denim of his pants and it felt rough and delicious.

Your movements were steady now, not adjustments, not something Joel should ignore…but he was. You were grinding your pussy against his leg, that was obvious. Secrets. You also had secrets apparently and yet while you were sleeping you had the fuckin’ audacity to mock him about secrets? You pressed yourself against his thigh, and Joel didn’t move, or…he did a little, he adjusted his leg, propping it up some, providing a more stable spot for you to grind against.

The silence between you was thick, you were trying to regulate your breathing, if he caught on that you were breathing too hard it would break the spell, the agreement to say nothing and he would stop you. You couldn’t stop now. Something deep inside of you was compelling you forward, it was fucking humiliating how badly you needed this. You needed to get off on Daddy’s leg and you hated yourself for it. If you could have stopped, you would have, you would have forced your body away from his and run away, never to look at him again. But no. It was like you were a puppet, being held up by taut strings, rocking your hips forward over and over, grinding yourself against him. But there was no marionette that could control the throbbing in your clit and the need for release.

Disgusting girl. The voice crept in unbidden. It was familiar now. A rumble from underneath and it sent chills through you. All your secrets laid out right here. Dad’s watching them play out. Your humping of his thigh was becoming more frantic and you needed something to hold on to. So afraid of the trance being broken but unable to stop yourself your arms reached up and locked around Joel’s neck.

Joel was screaming at himself to stop it, to hold your hips back but his cock was throbbing in the jeans and he needed to see this play out and he couldn’t take away the comfort from you. He wouldn’t. You buried your face in his shoulder, he could feel the hum of whines, muffled by his shirt as you worked your body towards climax. Joel reached around and put his hand on your lower back, helping you rock back and forth, seeking that need. The movement of his hand made you even more aware of who this was, Daddy…Dad, trying to take care of you. Disgusting girl. Always needing Dad to help. The voice burrowed itself inside of you. You were losing yourself now, pleasure was taking over your body but something else was as well, relishing in the incestuous lust. The vile debasement of a loving father and daughter. The moan escaped your mouth, sounding like a gasp and a growl at the same time.

Joel could feel you shuddering against him, his jeans felt damp from how wet you were and as you moaned he just knew you had just come. He couldn’t speak. How could that growl that had just escaped your mouth be his sweet little girl? Coming against his thigh. He was proud of you for taking what you needed but his cock was rock hard with need, he resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing to be done about it now. Especially as your body went limp in his arms and you buried your face in his chest.

Silence stretched on and you refused to look up from his chest. Joel half wanted to whisper that it was okay, that he loved you but you clearly couldn’t look at him, or even move away from your hiding spot in his chest so he let it remain silent. After a while, he just hoped you were sleeping. He hoped it was peaceful.

You might have been asleep but it wasn’t peaceful. The voice taunted you, mocking you for all your secrets, even as you slept enveloped in Daddy’s arms.

#joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #the last of us #tlou #writing #tw: incest #cw: incest

77 notes · View notes

bradleybeachbabe · 2 days ago

Text

But I’ll Always Be The Man In Love With You

gif credit

pairing: Tim Bradford x Wife!Reader

request: @stargazing15 asked- Hi! I saw that you're taking requests for Tim Bradford. Can I make a angst/fluff request? Your and Tim Bradfords relationships starts to strain. His career is taking off what leads to long hours, lots of work calls during his free time. And you are trying to keep it all together working full-time yourself, making sure Tim lacked nothing due to his irregular hours and being the person everyone count on (because that's just who you are). After a chat -rather firm warning with a friendly smack on the back of the head- with Lopez, Tim finally notices too the toll it is all taking on you and your relationship.

summary: You and Tim get into an small argument about his Sergeant’s promotion which leds to you crying, and Angela smacking TIm on the back of the head the next day at work, so because of that, he ends apologizing to you when he comes home from work later in the evening

warnings: angst, sad!tim, slight arguing, angela putting tim in his place, apologizing, crying, mention of tim putting away his weapon into a safe, tim owning up to his mistakes, cussing, kissing, soft!tim, mention of a glass of wine. if i missed anything, please let me know!

word count: 1.9k+

a/n: my stupid ass realized that when i was 600 words in, i wasn’t completely following the plot of for your request😭i followed a small part of it, so i’m truly sorry about that! i hope you still enjoy this fic though! also shoutout to the song the man in love with you and if i know me by george strait inspiring me to finish this fic in less than a week!🙂‍↕️and yes, the title is a song lyric from the first song. i thought it fit perfectly for the fic. also thank you @auroralightsthesky for proof reading this for me!

For the past few weeks, your and Tim’s relationship has become strained. Most likely, it’s because his career has taken off, in terms of being promoted to Sergeant. You were happy for your husband though. You knew how much it meant for him to get the promotion. But ever since the promotion, he has been working longer hours, getting more work calls during his days off, or even getting called into work at the last minute. You have tried to be understanding of that, but it has been getting exhausting. You miss having your husband around. The house has been feeling so empty with him working more. You knew that you should say something, especially since it's been bothering you so much.

“How long is this going to go on?” you asked when he got home from work. In the morning, he mentioned to you that he might get lucky and be home past six for once, depending on the workday that would end up having. That didn’t happen though, he ended up coming home shortly after eleven.

“Probably for a while. I just got promoted, so I'm still learning how to adapt to being a field sergeant, so that’s why I’m working these long hours,” Tim said as he closed the safe where he keeps his weapon. “Why?”

“Because I miss you, Tim. I miss my husband,” you stated. “Before you got the promotion, you were home more. We were able to spend time with each other. And now, we don’t. When I come home from the hospital, after working my full time shifts. I come home to a quiet and empty house. I feel like I have been doing everything alone lately. Whether that be doing laundry, cleaning around the house, making breakfast, or taking Kojo for his daily walks, you name it. I’m alone, Tim.”

You had tears rolling down your face now. You know that you shouldn’t really be crying over the situation, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You were hurting, and what you have been feeling lately has just been eating you up. You just needed to let it out.

Tim didn’t know how to react. He has seen you get upset before, but not like this before. It broke his heart to see you crying. Tim took a step closer to you so that he could comfort you, but you stepped back.

“No, don’t” you sniffled. “I don’t need your pity, right now.”

When you told Tim that, his heart broke. He couldn’t believe that you said that, but you had every right to.

Tim just nodded his head.

“I’m sleeping in the guest bedroom tonight,” you informed Tim as you were about to walk out of your shared bedroom.

Tim just nodded his head again. He wasn’t going to stop you. He knew that you needed your space for now.

———

It was your day off from work, so you were able to sleep in for a while. You didn’t have that much planned besides taking Kojo out for a walk. When you walked out of the guest bedroom, you woke up to an empty house. You weren’t surprised about that though.

“I guess, it’s just you and I for the day,” you crouched down to where Kojo was lying on the living room floor and petted him. When you stood back up, you looked over to where his food bowl was to see if he was fed or not, and he was. Tim must have fed him before he went to work.

———

“You’re tense,” Angela said as she and Tim were at her desk, just catching up about stuff. They had some free time since they just finished up the paperwork of a murder case that they both worked on. “Is there something that you wanna tell me?”

“Nope. Everything is fine,” Tim lied straight through his teeth. He didn’t even look at Angela when she said that. Right off the bat, she knew that was a sign that something was bothering him.

“Bullshit,” Angela deadpanned. “I know you too well. So, I know when something is bothering you. So, talk to me,” she said.

Tim sighed and looked around the station. “Let’s go to my office and talk,” he suggested. “I don’t want anyone listening to our conversation.”

“Works with me,” Angela nodded her head.

Angela and Tim sat up and headed over to Tim’s office which was down the hall. When they reached his office, she closed the door behind them.

“Okay, what’s wrong? Why have you been so tense ever since your shift started this morning?” Angela asked as she crossed her arms across her chest.

Tim leaned against his desk and sighed. “Y/N and I got into an argument last night.”

“About what?”

“About me getting my promotion,” Tim said. “She’s upset about the fact that I have been busier with work because of it. She told me that she misses me. She told me she hates coming home to a quiet and lonely house. She feels like she’s alone. Also, during the argument, she ended up crying,” he added. Tim felt like beating himself up now. He felt like a horrible husband.

Angela gave Tim a soft look. She felt bad, but that was more for you. She was more annoyed with Tim, “You made her cry, Tim? Why would you do that?” She asked with a fed-up tone in his voice.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know that she was going to end up crying when we got into the argument,” he objected.

“Well, did you at least apologize to her?” Angela asked.

Tim looked down and started to fiddle with the black silicone wedding ring that he wears when he’s at work. He didn’t want to look at Angela. Tim has an idea of what Angela’s reaction is going to be when he gives her an answer.

“Tim?” Angela raised her eyebrow at him. She was waiting for an answer.

Tim looked back up at her and sighed, “No.”

Angela pinched the bride of her nose and then put her hands on his hips, “Why?”

“Because she didn't want my pity. That's why,” Tim said as he sat up straight. “I tried to comfort her, but she didn’t want anything to do with me. I fucked up, Angela,” Tim ran a hand over his face.

“Tim. You need to apologize to her.”

“I know that, but how?’ Tim asked as he looked back at her. He already knew that a simple apology wasn't going to work.

“I can’t just say Sorry and that’s it, because I know she won’t forgive me that quickly,” Tim said. “Do you have any ideas on how I can apologize to her?” He begged.

Angela looked at the ground and started to tap her chin as she was thinking of ways that Tim could apologize. Then an idea popped into her mind.

“Oh!” as she snapped her fingers and looked back at Tim. “You could treat her to a spa day,” She suggested.

“I mean…that’s a good idea,” Tim nodded as he crossed his arms across his chest. “Plus, it’s been a while since Y/N has been treated to a spa day.”

“See! That would work,” Angela cheered.

“Okay then. Spa day is for Y/N,” Tim nodded his head. “Let’s just hope that accepts my apology though,” Tim sighed.

Angela didn’t say anything back to Tim. What she did instead, was that she took a step closer to him and slapped the back of his head.

“Ow! What was that for?” Tim asked as he rubbed the back of his head.

“For making Y/N cry,” She pouted. “I should have done it earlier though,” She added as she opened the door of Tim’s office and walked out.

Tim just stood there, dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe that his very good friend just did that, but Angela had every right to do that to Tim.

———

Tim was lucky enough to arrive back home from work at a reasonable time. It wasn’t too late, and he was so glad about that. He was planning on apologizing to you the moment he walked through the door. Tim shut off his truck and grabbed his stuff and got out and headed to the front door. Tim unlocked the front door and stepped in. He closed the door behind him,

When Tim stepped into your shared home, he saw that the back porch light was on and that you were out there with Kojo. Tim dropped his stuff on the dining room table and then walked over to the back screen door. He slid it open and stepped into the backyard where you were. You were sitting up on one of the lawn chairs, having a glass of wine. You looked up to your left when you heard the glass sliding door open.

“Hi,” Tim quietly said.

“Hi.”

“Can we walk?” Tim asked. Tim isn't usually nervous about anything, but for some reason, this situation felt different.

You just nodded your head. You put down your glass of wine on the table next to you and turned your attention to Tim.

Tim sat down on the lawn chair that was right next to you. “I need to own up to my mistakes and say that I’m truly sorry about the argument that we got into last night. The last thing that I wanted to do was to make you cry. That’s never my intention to do so. You have no idea how shitty I truly feel now about the fact that I have been working longer than usual in the past, and getting more work calls, and even getting called into work at the last minute. I don’t wanna become the person who is married to their job,” Tim shook his head. “I only wanna be married to you, and that’s it. So, once again, I’m truly sorry about last night.”

You wiped the tears that were rolling down your cheeks. Something about Tim’s apology really tugged at the strings of your heart.

“I’m sorry for last night too. I shouldn't have walked away and slept in the guest bedroom. We should have talked it out instead,” you shook your head and looked down at your hands in your lap.

“Hey, don’t do that. You had every right to do that last night. You don’t need to apologize for anything. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded your head.

“Come here,” Tim motioned as he stood up, opening his arms.

You stood up from your spot and wrapped your arms around Tim. Tim embraced you in a hug. He planted a kiss on the top of your head. “I have something to share with you,” Tim informed.

You looked up at him, “What is it?” you asked.

“So, besides me apologizing to you. I went ahead and booked you a spa appointment at the Four Seasons this Saturday.”

“Oh! I do love a good spa day,” you exclaimed. “I can’t wait for Saturday then.”

Tim didn’t say anything back. He just placed a kiss on your lips instead. ‘Am I forgiven?” he asked as he pulled back from your lips.

“You’re forgiven,” you said as you pulled him in for another kiss. As you kissed him, Kojo barked at the two of you.

“See! Kojo is even happy that we made up,” Tim smiled as he pulled back from the kiss.

“Yeah, he is,” you agreed.

You were glad that Tim owned up to his mistakes and came forward to apologize to you about it. You were relieved that you two could leave the argument in the past. You two can now just focus on what’s in front of you.

go follow @bradleybeachbabe-library to be notified when i post any new fics!

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford fanfiction #tim bradford fic #tim bradford angst #the rookie #the rookie x reader #the rookie fanfic #the rookie fanfiction #the rookie imagine #tim bradford oneshot

85 notes · View notes

anincompletelist · 18 hours ago

Text

STUCKY RECS | part i

hi all! i've been consuming my fair share of stucky fics lately (in part thanks to all of your lovely recs!) and as per usual, I worry I'll lose them in my mess of ao3 bookmarks if I do not compile them somewhere else as well. I hope some of you might be able to find a few as well in the process!

I'm still working my way through plenty, so this is only one installment. :)

↓ recs below ↓

(these are in no particular order, and feature a range of topics, ratings, and possible warnings. as with any rec, please be sure to also double check for any triggers yourself before reading. however, I will not rec MCD and very rarely unhappy endings.

if you read one and enjoy it, please be sure to leave a comment or support! if you don't, just move on. be kind!)

☆ CIVILIAN ☆ by CoraRochester, with (BEAUTIFUL) art by alby_mangroves | E | 71k

“Do you want to go somewhere more… private?” The blond man, after a long silence, had agreed. “My room is just up the block,” he said, jerking his head at the bar’s door. * In 1937, Steve Rogers joins the army, and by 1945, he’s back in Brooklyn, dishonorable discharge in hand and nothing to show for years in the Pacific. In 1947, a seventeen year old Bucky Barnes meets Steve Rogers in a Brooklyn gay bar, and Steve Rogers finally comes home.

warnings: underage sex (bucky is 17 in the beginning), possibly non-con (not between steve and bucky)

☆ IF THE BAD TIMES ARE COMING LET 'EM COME ☆ by suzukiblu | E | 9k

“I think I’m gonna have to hurt some people,” Steve Rogers says, voice tight with rage. The asset assumes that will be him, then laughs at himself for the thought. He’s not people.

warnings: dehumanization (due to winter soldier!bucky)

☆ MAGIC FINGERS ☆ by lillupon | G | 6k

“Kinda hard to wash your hair if you don’t take your hat off,” Steve says, amused. Hesitantly, Bucky reaches up to pull his cap off, revealing a matted mess of hair. Steve lets out a barely audible, “Oh.” Somehow, Bucky managed to catch his quiet exclamation and his shoulders round up protectively. “Sorry.” Bucky’s voice is tight with shame. Steve feels like a complete unprofessional and a grade A asshole. Steve is just a simple hairdresser.

warnings: none

☆ AND THE NEXT ☆ by mcwho | E | 12k

They have him in the common room of all places, and they won’t let Steve see him. or: a time-travel glitch lands 1936's bucky right in 2025 steve's lap

warnings: underage sex (16 y/o bucky time travels to 2025's steve)

☆ THE CARE & FEEDING OF STEVEN G. ROGERS ☆ by greenbergsays | E | 8k

Bucky takes care of Steve.

warnings: none

☆ BETWEEN THE TIDES ☆ by the1918, with super cool art by britbrit99! | E | 52k

“This isn’t the kind of story I usually read.” Bucky Barnes, beta, is a high-strung workaholic in the publishing industry. When he’s suddenly forced out onto vacation by his boss, much to his chagrin, he gets in the car and heads north out of Brooklyn for a month-long stay at a vacation rental on Maine’s mid-coast. His host—a mysterious omega named Steve Rogers—is an idle and lonely romance author with a shelf full of unsubmitted manuscripts and a pocket full of secrets he’s finally ready to share. “I know,” Steve calls back. All around them, the salty sea air rushes off the ocean, tangling itself with gold and crimson leaves in the surrounding tree line. “That’s why I wrote it.”

warnings: alternate universe (a/b/o, untraditional dynamics)

☆ ART NOUVEAU ☆ by voluptuous_panic | E | 12k

Steve's on the worst date of his life. At least the bartender's cute.

warnings: none

☆ NO GRAVE CAN HOLD MY BODY DOWN, I'LL CRAWL HOME TO HIM ☆ by ara_the_jedi | E | 32k

1917; James "Bucky" Barnes is born. 1918; Steve Rogers is born. 1936; Bucky Barnes bonds Steve Rogers. 1941; Bucky Barnes is drafted. 1943; Steve Rogers becomes Captain America. 1945; Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers die separately. 1972; the Winter Soldier is recovered by SHIELD. 2011; Captain America is recovered by SHIELD. 2012. The Winter Soldier is asked to care for Captain America during subdrop.

warnings: alternate universe/different dynamics (dom/sub & a/b/o), check notes and tags for all kinks and dynamics*

☆ DESPITE THE THREATENING SKY AND SHUDDERING EARTH (THEY REMAINED) ☆ by praximeter | E | 71k

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips. Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions— “Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.” Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

warnings: the aftermath of non-con body modification, drug withdrawal, medical procedures

OKAY!

that's all for now! will be working my way through some more soon :) I hope you're all well, and happy reading!

#stucky fic recs #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky barnes #Steve rogers #Steve x bucky #stevebucky #catfa #catws #shrunkyclunks #shrinkyclinks

33 notes · View notes

lumosflairr · 23 hours ago

Note

Can you write a fic where Charlie and the reader are from different houses, competitive, and they are like enemies from Hogwarts? Then they later meet in Romania, and as they work together, they fall in love. This happens during Deathly Hallows Part 1, and they go as a couple to Bill’s wedding, and everyone is shocked that Charlie has got a girl, especially the reader, because she’s kind of famous for being the IT girl. Blah blah… I’m sorry for the long writing 😭😭 just write what feels right.

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙴 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 - 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙸𝙴 𝚆𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙻𝙴𝚈

summary: Once known as the “Slytherin Princess,” you and Charlie Weasley were rivals at school—constantly clashing, constantly competing, and constantly denying the tension that sparked between you. Years later, you’re unexpectedly reunited at the Romanian Dragon Reserve, forced to work side-by-side after a dangerous incident with a hatchling.

word count: 7.2k

warnings: none.

taglist: @its-jennarose

sorry this took so long! As you can see by the word count, this took some time lol.

Your hatred for Charlie Weasley began on a rainy September morning, outside the Care of Magical Creatures paddock.

He showed up late, mud-splattered and grinning like a bloody golden retriever, interrupting your explanation of graphorn behavior mid-sentence. He’d stood beside you, hands on hips, and said, “Actually, I read that graphorns charge when you stare ‘em down. Not when you bow like a Hippogriff. But thanks for trying, Slytherin.”

You’d spent three hours preparing that presentation. You’d nearly hexed him.

After that, it was war.

You were the definition of composed brilliance: sharp-tongued, top marks, sleek robes, and a reputation for making boys cry in the dueling club. People referred to you as the “Slytherin Princess” Ironically enough, said you had a mind like a trap and a spine of ice. You preferred it that way.

Charlie was chaos incarnate. Mud-streaked robes. A laugh that echoed off every stone wall. House pride that burned so hot, he once got into a shouting match with a Ravenclaw Prefect for insulting Gryffindor’s record. He lived for the thrill of the chase—dragons, Quidditch, arguments. Especially with you.

You had nothing in common, except for one thing:

You both hated to lose.

He challenged every answer you gave in class. You corrected every flawed statistic in his essays. He called you a “dirty snake”, and you called him “Dragon Breath.” You dueled in the courtyard once after a particularly nasty Transfiguration debate and earned a week of detention scrubbing flobberworm guts with Filch.

You drove each other mad.

He got under your skin because he didn’t care about the power and perfection that meant everything to you. You got under his because you could see through him—knew that behind his carefree smile was a boy who did care, deeply, more than he’d ever admit.

By the time your seventh year ended, you’d been ecstatic to never see Charlie Weasley again.

The minute that Hogwarts Express pulled out of Hogsmeade Station for the last time, you thought, thank Merlin I’ll never have to hear that smug Gryffindor voice again. You imagined your future with all the fire of someone who refused to be chained down—traveling the world, working with dangerous magical creatures, building your name and reputation far beyond the dusty castle halls you’d ruled for seven years.

And that’s exactly what you did.

You didn’t go back to your family’s estate. You didn’t marry some respectable pure-blood boy like the Prophet’s social column predicted. You joined an international conservation team dedicated to magical wildlife: thunderbirds in Brazil, kelpies in the Scottish highlands, chimaeras in Greece.

But dragons? Dragons had always fascinated you.

Not just their power, but their wildness. Their refusal to be tamed. You liked that. It reminded you of yourself.

So when your company sent word you were being stationed long-term in Romania to oversee a new hybrid breeding program, you accepted without hesitation. New territory, new challenges. No politics. No war. No one to question your place.

The last thing you expected was to climb off the train, squint through the cold, and see him standing at the edge of the platform like some sick cosmic joke.

Charlie bloody Weasley.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

You hadn’t seen him in nearly four years. He looked taller, broader, sun-browned and dragon-scarred, wearing soot-stained leathers and that same infuriatingly cocky expression you remembered from Hogwarts.

“Oh, brilliant,” he said, voice loud and unmistakably smug. “They really will let anyone near dragons these days.”

Your blood pressure spiked.

And then came the final blow: a clipboard shoved into your hand, detailing your station assignment.

“Co-lead of the Romanian Reserve’s hybrid breeding sector. Assigned field partner: Charles Weasley.”

You stared at the parchment. Then at him.

“I must be cursed,” you muttered.

He just grinned wider. “Missed me, didn’t you?”

You wanted to throw him into the nearest dragon pit.

Charlie led you through the dragon compound, pointing out where the new hatchlings were kept, where the Horntail had nearly eaten a trainee last week, and where you definitely shouldn’t wander unless you fancied losing a limb.

He walked ahead with that same annoying strut, calling over his shoulder, “So, Slytherin Princess—what made you finally trade your throne for dragon dung and fireproof gloves?”

You scoffed. “Maybe I got tired of people talking and not doing. Or maybe I just enjoy the company of creatures that are less irritating than you.”

“Ouch.” He gave a grin without turning around. “Still sharp as ever.”

Still irritating. Still cocky. Still the boy who made your blood boil.

But also—somehow—the only familiar face in a country full of smoke and fire and uncertainty.

He paused near a pen filled with feeding crates. “I’ll show you the hatchery tomorrow. For now, find a bunk. Try not to die.”

You rolled your eyes. “I survived Hogwarts with you, didn’t I? I can handle a few dragons.”

He smirked, that same infuriating tilt of his mouth that used to make you want to hex him straight through the Charms corridor. “Dragons are easier to work with than you. At least they don’t talk back every ten seconds.”

You stepped in closer, boots crunching on the gravel between you, and raised your brow. “Trust me, Weasley. The feeling is mutual.”

A beat of silence passed—just enough for your words to sting.

He didn’t reply. Just gave a short, humorless huff of breath before turning his back on you.

And that was fine. You didn’t come here to make friends. Especially not with him.

You tightened the strap on your bag, then you followed him into the smoke and fire, already counting the days until you could prove you didn’t need him.

Romanian mornings were cold and gray, the kind of chill that sank into your bones no matter how thick your coat was. The compound smelled like ash, earth, and something primal. You were already covered in soot, your boots damp with melted frost, and it wasn’t even noon.

Charlie had barely spoken to you since your arrival the day before. Just a few grunted directions and one snide comment about how your gloves were too clean.

You’d returned the favor by calling him a feral stable boy.

He hadn’t stopped smiling since.

You were currently elbow-deep in inventory sheets inside the secondary enclosure, which housed several adolescent Ridgebacks, when a roar ripped through the air—not the usual kind. Not warning, not frustration. Panic.

You froze, eyes shooting up toward the sky.

Then you heard it again. Louder. Closer. Terrified.

A dragon was loose.

You dropped the clipboard.

“MOVE!” a voice bellowed.

You spun around just in time to see Charlie sprinting across the enclosure toward you.

“What the hell—?”

“Get down!” he shouted, shoving you sideways just as a gust of searing-hot wind blew across the compound. A shadow passed overhead. Something massive. The beat of enormous wings thundered in your chest.

You crashed hard into the dirt with Charlie half on top of you, his arm braced over your head, shielding you. The earth trembled beneath you.

A young Ironbelly—sixteen feet of raw power and fire—was in the air, wild-eyed and out of control. Its wing had torn clean through the northeast gate.

“What happened?!” you shouted, coughing against the smoke rising from the ground.

“New handler spooked it. Idiot brought raw meat too close to the younglings,” Charlie snapped. “I told them not to move feeding to the outer pens yet!”

You shoved him off you, heat flashing through your chest—not from the dragon. “You didn’t have to tackle me like that, I had it under control!”

“You were standing like an idiot in the open,” he shot back, already yanking his wand from his holster. “Next time I’ll let it melt your face off and save myself the trouble.”

“You’d miss me,” you snapped.

Charlie didn’t answer. He was too busy barking orders to the others, eyes fixed on the beast overhead. The dragon banked hard, roaring as its tail clipped the observation tower with a crunch of splintering wood.

Without hesitating, he turned to you.

“Follow my lead. We need to ground it before it hits the breeding pen.”

“I know how to bring down a dragon—”

“Then prove it, Princess.”

He sprinted toward the outer platform, and despite everything in you screaming not to, you followed.

The dragon’s scales shimmered with silver and soot as it circled low. You raised your wand as Charlie scaled the training post nearby, using elevation for better aim.

You cast a containment ward near its flank while Charlie launched a fire-retardant hex that hit just below the wing joint. The dragon shrieked, wind knocked from its lungs mid-air.

It dropped lower—unbalanced, but not down.

“Again!” Charlie yelled.

“I know!” you snapped.

You hit the right side, Charlie the left. The dragon screeched and came down fast, skidding hard across the ground with an earth-shaking crash. Smoke curled from its nostrils, its sides heaving.

The world went quiet.

You stood frozen, heart thundering, wand still raised. Ash and embers floated in the air around you.

Charlie dropped down from the post, covered in soot, hair falling into his eyes.

“You alright?” he asked, tone clipped but—surprisingly—concerned.

You turned your head slowly toward him, still catching your breath. “Didn’t need saving.”

“Didn’t say you did.”

“But you tackled me.”

“I shielded you,” he corrected. “You’re welcome.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You liked that.”

A pause.

Then that damn grin. “Maybe a little.”

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

You just stood there, smoke swirling between you, heat pulsing in the silence.

You hated him.

You really, really hated him.

So why did your heart feel like it was beating hard against something more than fear?

You spent the rest of the day scrubbing ash off your arms and biting your tongue until it bled.

Everyone was talking about the Ironbelly. No one was hurt. The breeding pen was untouched. The youngling handlers called it “a miracle.”

You called it luck.

Charlie called it “a job well done.”

He said it with that smug tone that made you want to hex him into next Tuesday. Never mind that you’d cast half the grounding spells yourself. Never mind that you had stunned the dragon’s tail before it could whip a trainee into the tree line.

But of course, Charlie Weasley didn’t thank you. He just gave you a once-over like he was checking for injuries, muttered something about your aim not being “terrible,” and disappeared to write the incident report.

You’d stood there, filthy and furious, watching his back retreat into the admin tent.

God, you hated him.

So why did your stomach flip when you remembered the way he’d thrown himself over you?

It was late at night now. The fire crackled in the center of the reserve’s main yard. Most of the handlers had already turned in, but your name had been posted on the shift board for night watch—thanks to the day’s chaos.

You rubbed your temples and cursed under your breath.

Of course, it was tonight.

And of course, it was with him.

Charlie arrived five minutes late, looking maddeningly relaxed with a cup of coffee in hand and that tired but satisfied look on his face like he’d just saved the world.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” you muttered as he sat on the log beside you, shoulder barely brushing yours.

He shrugged. “Didn’t think you’d still be pouting.”

You turned your head, glare sharp. “I’m not pouting. I’m just surprised you didn’t sprain your back patting yourself after the Ironbelly stunt.”

That earned a low chuckle from him. “You’re still mad I tackled you, huh?”

“I’m mad you act like that was some heroic act when I was two seconds from casting the same bloody spell.”

“You weren’t watching the skies.”

“I always watch the skies.”

Another pause.

The fire popped between you.

Charlie sipped from his cup. “I’m not your enemy, you know.”

You blinked. That threw you off.

You turned, staring at the orange light dancing across his profile. “Could’ve fooled me.”

His jaw ticked, eyes fixed ahead. “You think I liked being around you at Hogwarts? You were infuriating.”

“Me? You were arrogant. Loud. Completely allergic to rules.”

“You were cold. Smug. Always looked at me like I didn’t belong in the same room as you.”

You sat in silence, heart pounding.

Because maybe… you had. Back then. Maybe you’d hated how comfortable he was in his own skin when you were clawing to prove your worth every second. Maybe you’d hated him for seeing through the armor you wore like a badge.

He spoke again, quieter this time. “You were brilliant. I just hated how much you knew it.”

You turned to him slowly, something unfamiliar tugging at your chest. “And you were fearless,” you said. “I just hated that I admired it.”

Charlie looked at you then—really looked.

The wind shifted. Softer now. Cooler. The fire between you crackled lower, as if even it was holding its breath.

“You never looked scared,” he said.

You gave a bitter smile. “That was the point.”

Silence fell again. But it wasn’t hostile now. It was… heavy. Full.

Your eyes met. There was something sharp and unresolved between you—years of rivalry and tension and words left unsaid.

And under it… something new. You looked away first.

“You taking the first patrol or am I?” you asked, voice tight.

Charlie stood slowly, brushing ash from his pants. “I’ll take it. Try not to fall asleep.”

You didn’t reply.

He walked off toward the northern perimeter, wand drawn, posture alert.

You watched his silhouette disappear into the dark, and for the first time since stepping off that train, you weren’t sure which of you was the real threat:

The dragon with fire in its lungs, or the boy with fire in his eyes.

A rare clutch of Welsh Green eggs was brought into the Romanian Reserve after poachers were intercepted trying to smuggle them out of the country. The Ministry wanted to quietly protect and rehabilitate the hatchlings while keeping the whole ordeal off the books — no press, no attention, no mistakes.

Since Charlie is the most experienced with hatchlings, and you have a strong track record working with magical creature rehabilitation, the two of you were assigned to supervise the recovery of the clutch. It was supposed to be a short assignment — a few days, tops — until the dragons stabilized.

But of course, things never go as planned.

One night, one of the eggs began hatching earlier than expected — dangerously early. The shell cracked awkwardly, and the baby dragon struggled, too weak to push itself free. By the time Charlie and the reader got to it, the little thing had nearly suffocated on broken shell fragments and fluid.

Charlie was ready to step back and let nature take its course — “Some of them just don’t make it” — but you refused. You grabbed the fragile hatchling in your arms and heated its core with a careful warming charm while Charlie ran to get a binding salve and a feeding vial.

For the first time in years, you worked together — seamlessly.

The hatchling survived.

But just barely.

It couldn’t be left alone with the others. It needed direct handling, feeding, and monitoring every few hours. No magic could replace that kind of care.

And somehow, you and Charlie were assigned as co-handlers.

You got stuck with the morning and midday feedings. He handled the evenings and late-night rotations. It was awkward at first — neither of you quite sure what to say after nearly kissing during the Ironbelly incident and nearly killing each other every other day — but with the hatchling between you, things slowly… softened.

You were scheduled for a midday check-in. Charlie wasn’t technically required to be there — but he showed up anyway. Claimed it was to “double-check the salve measurements.”

You knew better.

You were kneeling in the straw-covered den, bundled up in your dragonskin gloves and work coat, cradling the hatchling like it was something sacred. Your hair was pulled back, a few strands stuck to your temple from the heat. There was a smudge of soot across your cheek, and your face was flushed from the warmth of the hatchery.

Charlie wasn’t watching the baby.

He should’ve been. The little Welsh Green hatchling in your arms was only a week old, and even at this size, one wrong flick of its tail or a misfire of flame could send someone to the hospital wing.

But Charlie wasn’t looking at the baby.

He was watching you.

And Merlin help him, you looked beautiful.

Not like the polished “Slytherin Princess” from your Hogwarts days. Not like the razor-sharp girl who used to cut boys down in the dueling club with a flick of her wand and a well-aimed sneer.

But beautiful in a quiet, grounded way. The kind of beautiful that snuck up on you. That stayed.

Charlie leaned against the post at the edge of the enclosure, arms crossed, and tried to shake it off.

He’d spent years telling himself he hated you. That he couldn’t stand the way you always had an answer for everything. That your attitude, your voice, your presence made him itch.

But now, standing there watching you murmur soft things to a hatchling that had nearly scorched its eggmate two days ago, all he could think was—

“Maybe I didn’t hate her at all. Maybe I just didn’t know what to do with wanting her.”

He barely noticed he was staring until your voice broke through the air, sharp with amusement.

“If you’re going to burn a hole in my head, Weasley, you could at least be useful and hand me the feeding salve.”

He blinked. “What?”

You smirked without looking up. “You’re staring.”

Charlie pushed off the post and grabbed the tin from the nearby shelf, walking it over with a muttered, “Wasn’t staring.”

“Sure you weren’t.” You took the tin, your gloved fingers brushing his. “You just happened to be glaring at me for ten minutes with a dopey look on your face.”

His jaw tightened. “Wasn’t dopey.”

“Definitely was.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then paused.

You gently rubbed the salve into the baby dragon’s scales, soothing the iridescent green sheen that shimmered under the glowstone lamps. You looked so focused. So gentle. So… warm.

Charlie swallowed, voice quieter this time.

“You’re really good with them.”

You glanced up, surprised. “The dragons?”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Didn’t expect that. You used to act like you were too good to get dirty.”

You raised a brow. “And you used to act like dragons were just oversized Quidditch bludgers.”

He gave a half-smile.

You turned back to the baby, who was starting to fall asleep in your arms, eyelids drooping with a low little purr of contentment.

Charlie watched the way you tucked it gently into the straw, your touch precise, reverent.

When you finally stood and dusted your knees off, he didn’t miss the glow in your cheeks or the way you looked at the hatchling like you were proud.

He didn’t miss any of it.

“That was…” he cleared his throat, unsure of his words, “…kind of pretty to watch.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Charlie grinned, stepping a little closer. “You. Like this. Soft. Quiet. Soot on your cheek. It’s…” He shrugged. “Kind of unfair, really. Makes it hard to remember why I ever found you annoying.”

You froze, lips parting slightly.

And damn it if that wasn’t the exact reaction he wanted.

“Oh, Merlin,” you said, rolling your eyes as you turned to return the salve to the shelf. “That was dangerously close to a compliment.”

He followed, tone dropping. “I’m full of surprises.”

You turned just as he got close again—too close—and suddenly there was barely a foot of space between you.

You could see the way the firelight played across his freckles. How his eyes weren’t just blue, but deep, stormy. Unsettling in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

The playful edge in your voice wavered. “You always look at people like that?”

Charlie tilted his head slightly. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to decide if you want to kiss them or challenge them to a duel.”

He smiled. “What if it’s both?”

You stared at him, breath catching. “Then I guess I’d be in trouble.”

Neither of you moved.

Charlie’s voice dropped low, like smoke curling through the space between you. “Then maybe you should stop looking at me like you want the same damn thing.”

You didn’t think. You didn’t breathe. You didn’t care.

You reached for his collar just as he leaned in, and the kiss hit like a slow burn—not violent like the storm the other night, but steady and inevitable.

His hand slid to the side of your neck, fingers warm through your jacket collar. Yours curled into his shirt.

It was quieter this time. Deeper. The kind of kiss that tasted like understanding. Like all the years you’d spent misreading each other finally realigned.

You pulled back first, eyes fluttering open.

Charlie looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. His voice was rough with something real.

“So,” he said, barely louder than a whisper, “was that hate… or something else?”

You stared at him.

Then smiled.

And kissed him again.

No one ever said a kiss could rewrite history.

But that one did.

After years of biting remarks, shoulder checks in the corridor, and muttered insults under your breath — one kiss turned all of it into background noise. Static. A version of yourselves you’d already started to forget.

Because after that moment in the hatchery… everything changed.

You and Charlie didn’t talk about it right away. Not with words, at least.

But the shift was obvious.

He started showing up at your feeding shifts even when he wasn’t scheduled. You started saving the last of your coffee rations for him without thinking. When you bickered now, it was gentler — more teasing than sharp. He touched your back when you passed, and you leaned into it. You shared gloves when you couldn’t find your own pair. You ate together, worked together, moved like two pieces that had been fighting the connection for too long.

People noticed.

Some of the handlers joked that you two were “finally acting like adults.” Others watched warily, waiting for the next explosion. But it never came.

What came instead were quiet mornings in the hatchery, long walks between pens at dusk, and soft glances across the firepit when you thought no one was looking.

Charlie kissed you again the next night — slower, surer — behind the training post when he thought you were mad at him for burning your lunch. You weren’t. You just wanted him to admit he missed you.

He did. Easily.

He always did now.

The invitation came on a Thursday morning, tucked in with the feed reports.

You recognized Fleur’s elegant script before Charlie even flipped the envelope open.

“Bill & Fleur’s Wedding

The Burrow — August 1st

Formal Attire

Bring someone worth dancing with.”

Charlie raised a brow. “Think I qualify?”

You shrugged. “Depends on how good your dancing is.”

“Good enough to keep you from stepping on my feet.”

You smirked. “You’re assuming I’m saying yes.”

He leaned closer, that grin you hated (but now secretly loved) spreading across his face. “I always assume you’re saying yes.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Fine. But if you drop me mid-spin, I’m setting your robes on fire.”

“You’re actually coming?” Charlie asked, peeking his head into your bunkroom.

You were tossing clothes into a trunk. You’d just folded your black dress robes and were digging for your heeled boots when he appeared.

“Don’t act so surprised,” you said. “You invited me.”

“Well, yeah, but…” He scratched his neck, suddenly shy. “This is my whole family. My mum. All my brothers. It’s going to be loud. And ridiculous. And full of questions.”

“Charlie,” you said flatly, “I worked in a Slytherin common room for seven years. Your family’s not going to scare me.”

That got a laugh. A soft one.

He leaned on the doorframe and watched you for a moment before asking, “What do I call you now?”

You turned. “What?”

He shrugged. “I mean… you’re not just ‘my co-handler’ anymore. Are you?”

You stepped toward him slowly, a mischievous gleam in your eye. “You’re asking what label to use when you introduce me at the wedding?”

Charlie gave a half-smile. “I’m trying to avoid getting hexed by Fred for calling you my ‘work friend.’”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “Hmm… how about ‘the girl who used to hate me and now falls asleep on my shoulder every other night’?”

He grinned. “Not quite romantic enough.”

You leaned in. “Then you’ll just have to kiss me in front of everyone and let them figure it out.”

He didn’t hesitate. His mouth brushed yours with that warm, careful certainty you were still getting used to. The kind of kiss that made your knees feel traitorous and your chest feel safe.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, “You’re going to regret bringing me to this wedding.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because every single one of your brothers is going to want to know how the hell you pulled me.”

Charlie grinned, all fire and freckles. “Let them wonder.”

The Burrow was buzzing by the time you arrived.

Chickens scattered as you stepped out of the Floo with your trunk, nearly tripping over an enchanted bouquet that zoomed past in a trail of glitter and flower petals. Music played faintly from the garden. The air smelled like sugar, summer grass, and some kind of magically-reinforced stress.

The Weasley wedding prep was in full force.

And you were right in the middle of it.

Charlie brushed soot off your shoulder and gave you a crooked grin. “Welcome to the madness.”

You blinked up at the chaos. “This looks like it’s already been hit by three howlers and a small tornado.”

“Probably accurate.”

Molly Weasley was already halfway through scolding George for charming the centerpieces into snitch-shaped firecrackers when Charlie led you into the kitchen.

“Mum,” he started, “this is—”

“Oh, you must be the dragon girl!” Molly cried, wiping her hands on a towel and rushing toward you. “He’s said so little, but I’ve heard plenty! You’re absolutely lovely—look at those cheekbones! And you work with dragons, honestly, you poor thing. Aren’t they terrifying? You need feeding? We’ve got fresh rolls and treacle tart—”

“Mum, breathe,” Charlie interrupted, hand gently landing on your back.

You were… stunned.

In all your years of Hogwarts gossip and pureblood politics, you had never been met with this kind of warmth. Not without strings. Not without judgment.

You smiled slowly. “I’d love some treacle tart.”

Charlie’s lips twitched into a smile while Molly beamed at you.

Later, after dinner, you stepped out onto the porch with a butterbeer in hand. Charlie had gone to help Arthur wrestle a rebellious fairy light string out of the attic, and you were enjoying the rare moment of quiet.

Until you heard them.

“…That’s her?” Ron whispered.

“She looks nothing like I pictured,” Harry replied, equally quiet.

“Charlie said he hated her in school,” Ron said. “Like, full-on hated. Said she once cursed his broom mid-match.”

“She did,” you called out without turning. “He was being an arse and I had excellent aim.”

Silence rang through. You turned slowly, eyebrows raised.

Ron and Harry were frozen like schoolboys caught stealing gillywater.

You took a slow sip of your butterbeer.

“I’ve got better aim now, if you’re wondering.”

Harry held up both hands in surrender. “We meant it in a good way! Just… you’re kind of legendary. At Hogwarts, people called you the Slytherin Princess. No one ever thought you’d end up with a Weasley.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

Ron made a face. “Well, you were always sort of… terrifying.”

You smirked. “Still am.”

“But in, like… a fit-Charlie-perfectly kind of way,” Harry added quickly.

You eyed them both for a second longer, then turned back toward the orchard path. “You lot were more tolerable when you were scared of me.”

Behind you, Ron muttered, “Still kind of am.”

After the rehearsal dinner, you wandered into the garden alone. The fairy lights Charlie helped hang sparkled in the trees, casting a warm glow over the benches and the freshly-swept dance floor.

You heard his boots before you saw him.

He joined you without a word, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he slid his arm around your waist.

“How bad was it?” he asked.

You leaned against him. “Your mum loves me. Your brothers think I’m scary. Harry and Ron are convinced I once plotted your murder.”

Charlie snorted. “Did you tell them you did?”

“Obviously.”

Then, he spoke again - voice softer: “You okay?”

You turned to look at him, your fingers resting gently against his chest. “Yeah. Just not used to people looking at us and knowing.”

His hand cupped your cheek, warm and steady.“Let them look,” he said. “They don’t get it. They don’t know what it took.”

You smiled faintly. “They don’t know that I used to dream about strangling you with your own tie.”

“And now?”

“Now I just think about kissing you to shut you up.”

Charlie grinned, pulled you close, and did exactly that.

The day of the wedding bloomed warm and golden, as if even the sky had been invited.

The Burrow was unrecognizable — transformed by swaying white tents, floating floral arrangements, and soft spells that kept the breeze just cool enough to feel like a blessing. Music hummed from nowhere and everywhere. Tables sparkled with charmed champagne glasses. And above it all, a heavy feeling pulsed in the air — the kind that came when something good was finally happening in a world that hadn’t seen enough good lately.

And at the center of it all was you.

Hair swept up, robe deep green and fitted like armor softened with silk, dragon claw necklace just peeking from beneath the neckline — you weren’t exactly trying to draw attention.

But you did.

You stepped out from the house just as the first guests arrived, and the whispers started immediately.

“She’s with Charlie?”

“Wait — is that the Slytherin girl who hexed Roger Chapley's broom in fourth year?”

“I thought she hated him?”

“Didn’t she duel him once?”

“Pretty sure she threatened to set his eyebrows on fire.”

“Honestly? Goals.”

And then Charlie appeared, straightening the cuffs of his dark brown dress robes, hair pulled back, freckles glowing under the sun — and walked directly to you without hesitation.

You smirked at the corner of his mouth. “You’re late.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

Your heart flipped — partly because of the words, and partly because he meant them without even blinking. It was so easy now. The pretending was over.

He slipped his hand into yours and brought it to his lips.

“Ready?” he asked.

You squeezed his hand. “More than.”

You sat beside Charlie at the front, arms pressed close, fingers linked beneath the tablecloth like teenagers hiding something thrilling.

Fleur looked breathtaking. Bill looked like he’d already won the world. The vows were soft and glowing, the kiss was met with cheers and fireworks, and the moment the music kicked in, the real chaos began.

Fred and George opened the bar. Ginny charmed butterflies into the punch. Ron stepped on Hermione’s foot during their first awkward dance, and Harry nearly choked on a canapé shaped like a Snitch.

And through it all — Charlie barely left your side.

You danced with him. Talked with his brothers. Avoided Percy. Teased Ron. Sipped firewhisky. Laughed until your sides hurt.

And you let yourself feel it.

The joy. The belonging. The way Charlie looked at you like you were it.

You and Charlie found yourself on the dance floor later that night. It wasn’t your first dance together that night — but it was the one that mattered.

The music had softened. The lanterns glowed low. The sky was streaked with stars.

Charlie reached for your hand without a word, led you gently onto the grass under the fairy lights, and pulled you close.

Your arms wrapped around his neck. His settled at your waist.

You swayed in silence.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you murmured against his shoulder.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the first thing you’ve ever wanted for yourself.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his voice soft.

“Because you are.”

Your breath hitched. You’d always thought love would come fast, fierce — like how dragons fell. Sharp wings, roaring fire. A battle.

But this… this felt steady.

Like a storm that knew your name.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, and everything else — the chatter, the music, the world — faded.

Just you. Just him.

And finally, peace.

#lumosflair #harry potter #wizarding world #hogwarts #fluff #x reader #weasley #charlie weasley x reader fluff #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #Mattie's inbox

27 notes · View notes

allyeilishh · 5 hours ago

Note

A funny request where reader can read the minds of animals and communicate with them both in her mind and out loud. Maybe in the format of a 5 + 1 fic where it’s like 5 times reader almost exposes her power then the 1 time she can’t avoid it, so she tells Billie about it

ᥫ᭡ ANIMAL GIRL ── .✦ B.E.

pairing: Billie Eilish x Reader

genre: fluff

synopsis: where reader has the ability to talk to animals and exposes herself to Billie.

w/c: 3.6k

The first time it happened was on a hike. You and Billie were in a park, following a trail that goes around the entire woods. You could hear all the birds chirping, frogs croaking, and the gentle rustle of the leaves flowing in the wind.

Billie was holding onto your hand, taking in every detail of the park. It was so beautiful, especially this time of year. Everything was so fresh, so vibrant it was almost like it was a movie. It was refreshing to smell the clean air and the flowers growing.

You could see a deer staring at you off the trail. It wasn’t uncommon for animals to look at you, staring silently. You knew they could sense you understood them. That you knew what they were saying. But this deer looked almost worried. That’s when you spotted her.

A female deer, lying on the ground, a bullet wound in one of its shoulders. Shot and hunted, yet never picked up. It tore your heart to pieces. You had always loved deer, them being so cute and all. And seeing the deer just lying there helpless shot a pain through your heart.

But you didn’t know how to help. Billie was rambling and holding onto your hand. You didn’t have a way to help unless you exposed your little power. You didn’t want to leave Billie, but your heart yearned to help the deer. You let out a quiet sigh, before looking over at Billie.

“Baby, I think I left my water bottle back in the car. Do you mind going back and getting it for me?” You spoke in the most innocent tone you could. Eyelashes fluttering.

Billie stopped mid-sentence, her eyes softening as she looked at you. You both were already a little far from the car, but seeing your innocent expression and the little beads of sweat on your forehead, she couldn’t say no.

“Yeah, okay baby. Just wait here for me, okay? Be right back.” She said, letting go of your hand reluctantly, kissing your cheek before making her way back towards the car.

The second she was out of sight, you were off the trail and darting towards the two deer. You could hear the tiny whimpering of the female deer, and it tore your heart into two. You sank to your knees next to her, gently petting her head.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m gonna help, okay? Can you lie still?” You said softly, taking in the deer’s expression. Then, you saw her nod. You couldn’t help but smile. It was always such an experience to see the animals understanding you.

You took off your backpack from your shoulders, putting it down next to you. You quickly began to rummage through everything, before finding the first aid. It wasn’t exactly the best, but it was all you could have for a hiking trip. You weren’t exactly expecting to stitch up a deer.

You moved closer to the deer, movements slow and precise, not wanting to scare her. One hand went to the deer’s back, gently rubbing the soft fur as you began to gently clean the wound. And when she jumped, you gently cooed the deer as if it was a baby.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s helping you. It’s cleaning so it doesn’t get infected. I know it hurts, sweet girl, just try and stay still.”

And she understood. The deer tried to stay as still as possible as you continued to clean. And the second you were done, you could see the deer slowly beginning to relax. It made your heart warm up. You couldn’t help but smile. She was already getting comfortable.

“That’s it, sweet girl. This is the worst part, it’s gonna really hurt. I’m so sorry.” You said in advance, knowing that pulling out the bullet would be the worst thing for the deer. You just had to make sure she didn’t bleed out.

You gently cooed at the deer as you went in with a pair of scissors clamps, slow and precise. You couldn’t help but hear the deer whimpering, and it was tearing you to pieces. But then, you saw the other deer—the one who had been staring at you, leaning down to lick the top of her head.

That’s when you finally realized. They must be in a relationship. The male deer looked concerned for his mate. The scene was so cute, you almost forgot what you were doing. You quickly snapped back into focus, clamping down on the bullet.

You were slow, precise, making sure everything went smoothly. And when the bullet was finally out and no blood poured out, you let out a sigh of relief, releasing the bullet and letting it drop to the ground. You softly murmured to the deer again, soft and kind.

“You did so good, sweetie, I’m so proud. I’m just going to patch you up now. Then you should be good.”

You began to grab gauze and wipe away any dried blood, making sure everything was clean and dry. You then placed fresh, heavily stacked gauze over the wound, placing medical tape around the edges, making sure it was all secure and felt comfortable for the deer.

You could see how comfortable the deer had gotten after you had taken care of her. You couldn’t help but smile, seeing as the deer got up with ease. Your heart felt like it was swelling in love. But before you could even think, the deer was licking at your cheek, and you couldn’t help but giggle, your hands going to rest on the sides of its neck.

“Okay, okay, girl. You’re welcome.” You giggled out as the deer finally pulled away. You didn’t need words to see the gratitude on their faces. You gave them a soft smile, before waving them both off, watching as they both ran back out into the woods.

It was always moments like this that made your heart swell. Seeing an injured animal but up on its feet just after some help was what made you love your little power. You let out a little sigh, before beginning to pack everything back up and stuffing it in your backpack.

As you made your way back to the trail, you could see Billie coming back. Perfect timing. You sped up just a bit, reaching the trail as a soft smile pressed onto your lips. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey, sweetheart. What were you doing off the path?” Billie questioned softly, handing you your water bottle.

“Just smelling some flowers I saw.” You lied, yet it was believable, because Billie didn’t push. She just took your hand again, continuing your hike and her story.

It was a sunny day, the sun beaming down onto your skin as you sat beside your pool. The day was beautiful, and you were on your lounge chair, taking in the sun. The backyard was somewhat quiet, behinds for the ruffling of the trees and the little animals running around behind you.

You were like a safe space for the wildlife. Since yours and Billie’s house were somewhat in a rural area, the wildlife often ended up in your backyard most of the time. Playing with each other and just having fun without the fear of being hunted. Because they were on your property, and anyone unwelcome would hear an earful.

Billie was still inside, making some smoothies for you two. Today was just a by-the-pool day, no work, just relaxing with each other. You weren’t exactly trying to mother some baby bunnies. But when two of them came hopping over to the pool, obviously about to jump in, you quickly sent a warning towards them telepathically. Which stopped them in their tracks.

You couldn’t help but smile as you rolled your eyes, watching as they hopped back away from the large pool. But, of course, peace never lasts, because not even a few minutes later, you heard the two bunnies play fighting. Which, at first, didn’t bother you. You knew they were just having fun, and you weren’t going to ruin that.

You only started to care when one of the bunnies came running towards you, squealing. And within seconds, the bunny was curled up on your chest, hiding its face with its ears. You had zero idea what had happened, but you could already guess, seeing the small scratch on the bunny’s ear. You let out a soft coo, gently petting the soft fur.

“Oh, baby, did your sister cut your ear?” You gently said, looking over at the other bunny, who had already started to shy away. They had definitely known what they had done wrong, and they knew that they would get a scolding from you.

“Come here,” you said to the other bunny, waving your fingers for them to come over. The bunny instantly hopped over, scurrying right next to its sister. You could see the sister’s legs bending, like she was ready to attack. You immediately put a hand between them, eyes darkening.

“Listen, you two can’t be picking fights. You’re going to get each other hurt.” You said firmly, already hinting towards the scratch on the sister’s ear. You gently petted the female bunny, soothing the scratched ear.

“You hear me? Both of you?” You said firmly, watching as they both nodded. You hummed in response, beginning to shoo them off. That’s when Billie began to come out with the smoothies. They both immediately scrambled away, hopping into the woods.

Billie sat down on the lounge chair next to you, handing you your smoothie as she smiled. “Were some bunnies just curled up on you?”

“Yeah, I think you scared them off with your big mouth.” You said teasingly, taking a sip out of the straw.

“Hey! I don’t have a big mouth!” She said defensively, rolling her eyes and leaning back against her lounge chair.

You and Billie had both gone to the beach for the weekend, set up under a big umbrella. Both of your towels were next to each other, trying to keep yourselves as close as possible. You two honestly just wanted to enjoy the beach together without any flashing cameras or deadlines.

And that’s what you two got. You and Billie were lying down on your towels, giggling and talking about some drama that had been going on. You hadn’t planned on going in the ocean, and when Billie had asked you, you politely turned her down.

She let out a dramatic groan, rolling her eyes. But she placed a gentle peck on your lips before heading out towards the water. You couldn’t help but chuckle, watching her walk away. You propped yourself up onto your elbows, watching as Billie made her way into the water.

You watched as she got slammed down by the waves, yet kept getting back up. It made you laugh, seeing her having fun.

But then, in the corner of your eye, you saw baby turtles coming out from the sand. They looked so small, and they were the cutest things that you could’ve ever seen.

The beach was mostly empty, and not many people were paying attention to you. So the second you could, you ran over to them, making sure they safely got across the ocean. You cooed at each one, complimenting on how pretty their shells were. They each smiled at you, and it felt like an award each time.

You shooed away any seagulls that tried to pick them up, using your stern look to turn them away. Even asshole seagulls listened to you. You could see each baby turtle waddling off the sand and into the water, and it made your heart melt seeing them disappear into their new, safe home.

You stood there for a moment, watching the ocean’s waves crashing beneath your feet, trying to get one last glance of the turtles. You were suddenly snapped out of your little trance as a wet hand was placed on your shoulder.

“You’re such an animal girl, you know that? Sometimes I think you can actually speak to them.” Billie said softly, placing her dripping wet chin on your shoulder. You couldn’t help but chuckle, turning around to face her.

“Yeah, I know. But you’re just a shark person.” You teased slightly, tucking a drenched strand of hair behind her ear.

“Nothing wrong with a girl loving her dog,” she said, before leaning in. Her arms wrapped around your waist, her face in your neck.

“But I’m more of a you girl if I do say so myself.” She murmured, before placing a gentle kiss to your neck.

You rolled your eyes teasingly, before gently pushing her away. “Alright, c’mon, miss flirtatious, you’re gonna get me all wet.”

“I already do that on the daily.” She teased, biting her lower lip.

“Billie, oh my god,” you said, embarrassed, dragging her back to your towels.

You and Billie had this date idea, and she knew it would be something you would love. She was taking you horseback riding. You weren’t very educated on how to do it, but having Billie with you felt safer and more secure.

You could see the horses in the stables all suddenly paying attention to you, but you tried to ignore it, knowing that Billie couldn’t know. You never told her—not because you didn’t trust her, but because you didn’t know how she would take it. So you just kept it to yourself.

Billie led a horse out of one of the stables, a gentle smile on her face. “This is Ruby, and you’ll be riding her. She’s a real cutie.” She said softly, getting the saddle on top of Ruby and securing it.

Ruby was a white-coated horse, with a dark brown mane and tail. She had little spots all over her, and it just added to the cuteness of the horse. You gently rubbed her nose, feeling her leaning into your touch. You couldn’t help but giggle, seeing Ruby so comfortable with you already.

“She really likes you, huh?” Billie said, a smile placed on her lips. She gently took your hand, leading you over to the saddle.

“Yeah, I guess.” You spoke back, a small chuckle ringing through your throat. Billie helped you up onto the horse, making sure you got on securely. She led Ruby outside of the stables, telling her to wait there as she got her own horse.

As Billie left, you leaned down, getting close to Ruby’s ear, but making sure you didn’t get too close. “You’re a very pretty girl, aren’t ya?” You spoke in a soft murmur, before hearing Ruby neigh softly.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, gently brushing her mane with your fingers. You spoke again, voice a quiet murmur. “You like it here? You seem to be very happy, I can tell.”

Ruby nodded, letting out another neigh. You smiled, gently scratching her ear. And right then, Billie came out, already on her horse.

She gave you a soft smile, speaking gently. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded, and then, you two were off. You were just taking a few laps around the land, not trailing too far away from the stables. You were next to Billie, trying to get used to the feeling of controlling an entire horse beneath you.

“You doing okay?” Billie said softly, reaching out to gently rub your back for a moment. You nodded, taking a small breath.

But eventually, you got used to the feeling after a lap, and Billie could tell you had gotten comfortable. She couldn’t help but tease a bit, speeding up her horse a bit.

It confused you for a second, before you realized what she was doing. She was trying to show off. She wanted to show you that she had more power. But you weren’t going to let that happen. Not on your watch.

You leaned down, speaking in a soft murmur to Ruby. “Speed up for me, girl.”

And that’s exactly what happened. Ruby’s slow walk turned into a jog, sending you forward a bit, before composing yourself. You quickly surpassed Billie, letting out a soft giggle as you looked back to see her shocked expression.

But then, the battle was on. Billie sped up even more, passing you yet again. You rolled your eyes, before telepathically speaking to Ruby once more. “Run, girl. Run into the wind.”

And before you knew it, Ruby was speeding off, and leaving Billie in the dust. But not for long. You were giggling and gently playing with ruby’s mane before you saw Billie by your side again.

“Oh, you’re so on.”

You had been minding your own business, trying to cook breakfast in the kitchen, peaceful and silent. You hadn’t expected Billie to even be awake yet, since she normally didn’t wake up until almost noon.

But when you heard the blood-curdling scream from your bedroom, you knew she was. And it had you jumping out of your skin. You called her name in a panic, turning off the stove before darting up the stairs.

And in your room, there she was, teary-eyed, curled up on top of the bed, staring down at the ground like it was going to murder her. you were confused for a moment, before seeing it. A spider. A tiny, itty-bitty spider that was no bigger than your palm.

“Seriously, Billie?” You said, a mixture of annoyance and teasing. “A spider?”

Her eyes instantly locked onto yours, terrified like she had just witnessed her entire bloodline getting murdered. “Kill it! It’s terrifying!”

“I’m not gonna kill it, you drama queen.” You said, rolling your eyes. You made your way over to the spider, picking it up into your hand. You smiled softly, feeling the tiny legs shifting on your hand.

You walked over to the window, cracking it open and setting it on a leaf of the plants you had on your windowsill. “You’re a little cutie,” you murmured to yourself, under your breath.

You shut the window, returning your focus back to Billie, who had now calmed down, and was practically begging you with her eyes for you to come over.

You let out a little chuckle, before sitting down next to her, pulling her into your arms. “It was just a spider, it was harmless, sweet girl.” You said with a soft chuckle, feeling her hiding into your neck.

“But it was so scary!” She said with a whine, holding onto you tighter.

“No, it wasn’t, you drama queen.” You said, gently stoking her hair. You knew she had a fear of spiders, but seeing it in action made it even funnier.

“You want breakfast? I was cooking before I got interrupted by your screaming.” You teased, gently tilting her head up to look at you. You felt her nod, and you teasingly rolled your eyes, before getting up and walking back downstairs with her hand in yours.

It was one of the days where Billie spent a long time at the studio. It was late, and you were curled up on the couch with Shark. The room was quiet, the tv playing in the dimmed room, and you felt at ease. A blanket draped over you, and your hand gently scratching sharks head.

You felt Shark sigh in contentment, his head leaning into your hand. You couldn’t help but chuckle, seeing Shark all relaxed. You spoke softly, your voice teasing and a little annoyed. “You’re acting like such a big cuddle bug now, but once Billie gets home and sees you torn apart her favorite shirt, you’re not gonna be so cuddly.”

Sharks head instantly lifted, his eyebrows furrowed and his teeth slightly showing. You couldn’t help but laugh, seeing him all angry.

“What?! I told you not to, but you just think that everything’s a chew toy.” You said as a chuckle, feeling his paw hitting at your stomach. He let out a bark, denying it.

“Yes you do!” Another bark. You and Shark kept going back and forth, before another voice cut in.

“What’s going on?” Her voice was confused, a little shocked. It was Billie. You froze, and so did Shark. But before long, Shark was off of the couch and running out of the room. Leaving you alone with Billie.

The room was silent for a moment, other than the tv playing awkwardly in the background now. Billie plopped down next to you, searching your face for some sort of explanation.

You looked back at her, locking eyes. You didn’t know how to explain it. You didn’t know how to explain that you could speak to animals, and how they could understand you. How they could understand the words you said like you spoke their own language.

“You can understand when animals speak?” Billie spoke softly, her voice holding a bit of shock, but now, a bit of amusement. She felt a small smile forming onto her face, gently pulling you closer.

You gave Billie a soft nod, and your fears were slowly falling away. You could see the curiosity in Billie’s eyes, how excited she was for this new found information.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? You knew I wouldn’t have been mad about it, right? This is so cool!” She said, her voice rising with excitement. You let out a soft giggle, feeling Billie pulling you closer.

You felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. A secret you had been trying to keep hidden didn’t even matter. It didn’t even have to be a secret in the first place. You snuggled into Billie’s arms, letting out a content sigh.

“Shark also tore up your favorite shirt earlier. He wanted me to tell you that he doesn’t regret it.”

“What?!”⋆. 𐙚 ̊

a/n: can yall tell I got lazy towards the end…. ALSO I know Billie doesn’t have arachnophobia I just didn’t know what to write I’m sorry 💔💔 this is terrible I’m gonna delete this

#ally writes ! ⋆. 𐙚 ̊#ally talks! ᯓ★#anons ! ʚɞ #requests !! ✎#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #wlw #billie eilish hmhas #billie eilish x you #billie x reader #hmhas billie eilish #billie eyelash #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x female reader

26 notes · View notes

fawnsturns · 2 days ago

Text

𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 જ⁀➴ from doberman!matt

lowercase intended. masterlist. there are some sexually themed ideas in this fic, so if that makes you uncomfortable, do not continue reading. inspired by @kiemiu

one. "hey bun, i saw this necklace with a heart on it. you showed it to me the other day. do you, uh, still want it? i'll send you a picture, just, uh, let me know."

two. "you should come over, i miss you. my brothers have been asking about your brownies, so maybe make some of those too. you don't have to but.. y'know." muffled sounds come through, before chris' voice, "hey! come over, please bring your fucking brownies, bro." a smack is heard before matt's voice is back, "sorry bunny, anyway ... please come over."

three. "i just got out of a meeting and—fuck—people who are competent are getting rare. i said, 'i don't like parties' and they asked what i meant by that. i genuinely don't think there should be any misunderstanding in my statement. whatever, at least you're not stupid. thanks for, uh, being smart."

four. "jesus, i'm in fucking public, bunny. you can't send me pictures like that right now. wait til later."

five. "we're not getting a dog, it's not happening. it's a lot of maintenance, honey. i love you forever. but still no dog."

six. "i just landed in boston; chris is overly energetic. how can you be so uppity right off a plane? anyway, i miss you, i love you."

seven. "i was opening my phone, and nick saw my wallpaper and goes, 'who's that?'—" nick cuts in quickly, "it was a dark photo!" matt scoffs, "alright, whatever you say. anyway, nick has no memory of you—" a loud slap is heard, "bunny, i never said that." matt is heard laughing before it cuts off.

eight. "okay, so, the dog is spinning. like—" he laughs, "he's just twirling. i don't know if he's hungry, i fed him, but.." the nails of the dog scratched against the floor in excitement, "shit, yeah.. i'll just give him a treat. alright, we love you."

nine. "was going over the credit card statements.. $10,000? that's all you can do? go to the mall tomorrow, try to spend more than that. all my hard work should be paying towards your happiness. i love you, also, while you're at the store, we need dog food."

ten. "hey, you, uh, left a lipstick stain on one of my dress shirts.. not sure if i should clean it or keep it there. y'know what, i'll just keep it, i got other shirts. alright, problem solved, i suppose. i love you."

⌇⋆⋆.˚-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈.ᐟ

taglist ༉‧₊˚. @mercirain33 , @maddieshifts444 , @mohacksblog , @iluvchr1s , @angvl3tears , @sturns-mermaid , @maliaforstvrns , @courta13 , @lamouredemaviie , @le4hsblog , @chrattswettestgirl

p.s. inbox is open , please leave requests! dividers by @bbyg4rlhelps

40 notes · View notes

dilly-dahlia · 16 hours ago

Note

Heya, I saw your event post and got super excited bc I love it when my fav fic authors do stuff like this! Would you be willing to do Backyard Boy for Laurance? I don't really have anything else specific to request, just go crazy if you so choose :)

Everything is Perfect

pairing: Laurance x Reader

content: during their college years, suggestive, friends with benefits situation, friends to lovers, i did accidentally sprinkle angst in here, sorry, definitely not beta read

summary: Your favorite place in the entire world was your summer beach house, though the fact that a certain brown-haired boy with sparkling eyes may have played a major role in that bias.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: yesss anon this is brilliant the gears were turning I had so much fun writing this

masterlist

300 milestone event | event masterlist

There was nothing you loved more than riding in Laurance's car with the wind against your face. He had a convertible—a nice one—and when the summer season rolled around he very rarely put the cover up. He would turn the radio to a station that played old pop songs and the music would blast through the speakers as he rode through the streets with you.

It was nice. Your favorite car ride was always the first one when the two of you finally reunited after the school year. You attended different campuses, and even though the two of you had every way imaginable to reach out to each other, nothing could beat the time you spent actually in the other's presence.

The beach party your parents threw every year during summer's first week fell second to your favorite thing. And that was really only because Laurance was almost always by your side. That was why you and Laurance often had this first car ride, actually. Ever since he'd gotten his license his own parents sent him on every errand imaginable. You always tagged along.

Cadenza would normally join the two of you, but Laurance's sister had recently found herself enamored. She had opted to spend the first half of summer back in the city with her interest. You weren't entirely upset, seeing as it gave you an excuse to spend time alone with Laurance.

The first couple minutes were always awkward. It was time spent asking dry questions like How are you? How was the school year? Are you excited for summer? Time spent getting used to being together again.

The first car ride to the closest Walmart (which was a whopping hour long drive away) always dissipated the tension, and it never took long for the two of you to fall back into your usual routine. By the time you returned to your families beach houses, neither of you could stop talking to each other.

Of course, talking turned to teasing, and sometimes that teasing would turn to touches that lingered for just a little too long.

"Laurance! The water's cold!"

You really loved the beach side party your parents threw. Your parents made an assortment of pastries and grilled hot dogs and hamburger patties. Laurance's dads made mouth watering brisket and charcuterie boards. You decorated the beach with fairy lights and whatever else you picked up from the store. Every time you did, Laurance would find bothering you to be the most amusing thing in the world.

It was. You were so easy to rile up that you would often drop the decorating altogether just to chase him into the ocean and get him back. Sometimes you would get lucky enough to be able to tackle him to the sand, the waves lapping across both of you and soiling whatever outfit you had chosen to wear.

When the sun painted the sky in hues of orange and violet as it set and the people that wandered into your party mingled around the bonfire, you and Laurance often found yourselves drifting away. It was something you had done since you started high school, and anyone that cared noticed.

They never said anything.

They let the two of you pretend you were stealthy in sneaking away, but they must have been blind to not notice the change in atmosphere when the two of you were seen again the next day.

There was a concealed alcove just a five minute walk away from the beach houses. Everyone knew about it and sometimes you would find another couple that snuck away for a private moment, but tonight it was just you and Laurance.

The sand was finer there. During the day you were sure it would shine golden, too, since that picturesque image was the only thing you could imagine that matched the light and airy feeling you got every time you were there wirh Laurance.

Sometimes, mostly after long conversations about what had been pressing against your hearts since you last saw each other, the two of you would sit in silence. Your feet would be at the ocean’s edge and you would relish in the coolness of the salty water washing against your skin. Laurance would fidget with the bracelet around his wrist (one you'd made him to match your own) and occasionally steal a glance at you.

"Can I kiss you?"

He always asked that. It had started as a joke however many years ago when his friend Garroth had dared him to. He asked at least once every summer after that, always waiting for your cheeky rejection and never expecting a serious answer.

It took him by surprise when, the summer after you'd both graduated high school, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. Now he asked any time you found yourselves alone.

In that alcove that only belonged to the two of you, it always started soft. His lips would be gentle against yours, his hands tentative and almost hesitant to touch you. But he would always gain the confidence to pull you closer. He always slid you so close you sat in his lap and then he'd lie back against the velvety sand.

You would thread your fingers through his hair to press his body firmer against yours. His breath would hitch and he would part his lips just enough. The tips of his fingers would brush against your shoulders, ghosting along your spine with a featherlight touch that made you shudder and arch into him until—

Well, you get the idea.

After, the two of you would lazily pull your clothes back on and lie too close in the sand and look up at the stars. The party would be long over by now, but neither of you would be able to bring yourselves away from the moment. It was yours and yours alone. You didn't want it tainted by anything as trivial as the end of a party.

"Just friends?" you would always ask. Your voice would come out as a whisper for fear of shattering the fragile moment. Because back in Phoenix Drop Laurance had a beautiful on-and-off girlfriend he was conveniently never dating when summer rolled around. But sometimes, the faintest light of hope would fall through the cracks. Like you wanted more but couldn't risk destroying what you already had for it.

"Just friends," Laurance would agree. His tone would match yours in softness, hoping to preserve those fleeting seconds in a time capsule. Because back in Phoenix Drop there was a beautiful girl waiting for the text he always sent at the beginning of August like clockwork. But sometimes, the way he said just friends sounded sad. Longing. Like he wanted more but couldn't bear the thought of asking for it.

You always brushed it off and told yourself you were imagining things.

—

You and Laurance were close. Somehow, he was always touching you. Whether it was an arm slung across your shoulders or linking his pinky with yours, Laurance couldn’t stand when you were in the same space as him and his hands weren’t on you in some way.

He was always warm. His fingertips were calloused and he had a bump on his ring finger from where his pencil rested when he wrote, but he was still soft. You still wanted him to constantly touch you and found yourself longing for it when he wasn’t.

You didn’t have feelings for him. That’s what you thought, at least. That was disproven when the two of you went to a nearby flea market and ten separate people asked if you were dating. It was hardly that, it was moreso the fact that you had seen the most gorgeous set of china plates and Laurance promised he’d get them for you when you lived with him.

He was joking about that. He always was. But something about that time made you feel fizzy and bright. For one delusional second, you let yourself believe that he truly intended to live with you.

When you fully realized the extent of your feelings on the ride home, you were appalled with yourself. How could you have developed feelings for someone you considered to be your best friend?

After that revelation had hit you in the face as hard as a rock, you started to notice the little things. Like the way Laurance always went first and made sure you followed close behind when the two of you travelled to new places. Or how he always offered to eat whatever food you hadn’t off your plate when you got full. You never had to ask if he wanted it, he always just took it when you pushed the plate away from yourself.

He also always asked to kiss you. Every time. He never went in without intent or explicit consent. It didn’t matter if the two of you had been making out just a few minutes ago—if he wanted to kiss you again he would always ask.

And, strangely enough, the trips you took into town together started to feel more and more like dates as the days passed. Laurance always paid. He always pointed out things he thought you might like. He held doors open and kept you close to him.

Anyone else would have said you were dating.

Maybe that was why one day you asked him, “What are we?” You were lying in a hammock, gently swinging back and forth every time a gust of wind blew past. Laurance sat on the concrete beside you, book open and looking handsome as ever while he read.

He peered over his shoulder at you, brows furrowed as he took in your question. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. You knew you should probably look at him, but you didn’t want to. His celestite gaze would pierce through your heart and you weren’t sure you could take that. Not in that moment, anyway. “I mean, we kiss.”

The fact that your only defense was we kiss was pathetic. You didn’t even sound sure of that fact when the words left your mouth. Immediately you regretted even responding and not just brushing the question away like your feelings.

Slowly, Laurance closed his book. You got a peek at the dark cover, but he tucked it against his side before you could read the title. It was probably something for a class he was taking. It was thick and if you knew Laurance, you knew he would never willingly pick something that long up.

“Just friends,” Laurance had replied. He sounded pained to say it, though. Like it physically hurt him to have those words leave his lips.

“And go on dates,” you added, hoping it would make him rethink what he wanted. “Well, they feel like dates at least. And we sneak away every chance we get. It just . . . It doesn’t feel very friendly.”

Laurance blinked at you. For a moment, you wished that you could read minds just so you could know what the brunette was thinking. His pale eyes shimmered like the ocean’s surface in the rays of the sun. They were all you were willing to see, despite your adamance about not wanting to before.

“Um . . .” He faltered. Truthfully, he was trying to come up with something to avoid his feelings. Because he did have an on-and-off girlfriend waiting for him to flick it on again back in Phoenix Drop. For a moment, he considered bringing Michi up. Just to avoid admitting how he felt.

He couldn’t bring himself to. Not when you were looking at him with eyes that looked like they would fill with tears if he gave the wrong answer. He couldn’t lie to you.

“We do,” he agreed, and he gave a brief nod that he hoped would give him a second to collect his thoughts. It didn’t, and the unspoken words remained a scrambled mess that was becoming impossible to organize into sentences.

“So . . .” You trailed off. There was a question in the air, though you weren’t entirely sure what it was. It could still be what are we, but some part of you also meant to ask if he still wanted to be with Michi. If he even wanted you at all or if he just considered you a fling to have every summer. Someone to let loose with.

Laurance cleared his throat. His full attention was on you and you suddenly wished that he wasn’t always so attentive when speaking to others. That sometimes he might glance away nervously, but no. The eye contact he held with you was steadfast and unyielding.

“What do you want us to be?”

Your breath caught and the beating of your heart sped up. It was pounding so hard you could hear the blood rushing in your ears. You should have expected him to ask that, but it surprised you.

“Uhm . . .” You were the flustered one now. Your mouth felt dry and your previously racing mind was now void of any thoughts. “I-I want to be more than friends.”

It was a soft, quiet admission. Your voice was a whisper and Laurance would have had a hard time understanding if his eyes hadn’t flicked down to your lips so he could read them. His mouth fell slightly agape, and when his gaze met yours once more his pupils were dilated.

“Okay,” he said, and that was that. He gave a curt, almost awkward nod before repeating the word. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nodded again, though this time he seemed more sure of himself.

“Okay what?” you asked. Sure, it was an answer, but you weren’t sure if it was an okay, let’s date or an okay, it’s cool that you wanna be more than friends but I don’t I hope that’s okay.

Maybe you were overthinking this.

“Let’s try it.”

You couldn’t help it when your lips curled up into the sweetest smile Laurance had ever seen. The amused breath you let out sounded like bells, and as Laurance continued he wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

“We’ll go on a date. A real one, where we both know what it is.” He flashed you a boyish grin of his own. “And we’ll start dating.”

“Just for the summer?” Your voice sounded hopeful and you were scared it would come across as you truly wanting it just for the summer. Just a passing fling that would dissipate when the school year started and be completely forgotten about by the time you saw him again.

Laurance’s grin faltered, and he cleared his throat to gather himself. "Sure. If that's what you want."

It wasn't what you wanted, but Laurance seemed so quick to agree that you didn't want to tell him that and then freak him out. So you only offered a soft nod.

Laurance gently took your hand in his and brought it up to his lips.`He met your gaze with a starstruck smile before standing and pulling you out of your hammock.

"Where are we going?" You let him pull you to your feet without much complaint or resistance.

"Our date," he said. He flashed you another charming smile, and you couldn't help but return it.

—

Laurance ended up taking you to a local cafe that served sweet pastries and smelled like wildflowers. He picked a booth by the window and didn't let a single second of awkward silence come between you two the entire time you sat there.

You never officially got together, but anyone could see the change in air when the two of you were around. It had always been secret feelings and skirting around the bush, but now you were more obvious. You laughed without care and made lingering touches more obvious. When Cadenza finally joined your families for the summer, it was the first thing she commented on.

"You and Laurance seem really close," she'd said. You'd taken her to one of the popular smoothie shops in town. "More than usual."

You didn't say anything, but you couldn't help the grin that spread across your face and that was all the answer Cadenza needed. She squealed and playfully hit your shoulder. "Finally! Irene, the two of you have been in love with each other for years."

Your face warmed. You averted your gaze to hopefully avoid any further questions or comments, but Cadenza kept going. "Goodness, every year before he gets back with Michi he goes on and on about how much you mean to him. I was getting tired of it."

"He does?" Your eyes widened. You knew you talked to your own friends about Laurance, but you had imagined that every time he got back with Michi you were almost completely out of his mind. You never would have thought that he'd talk about you.

But it got your hopes up. If he talked about you while you weren't there (and in a good light, no less), then maybe that meant he wouldn't just want a summer fling. Maybe by the time this warm season ended, the true extent of your feelings for each other would come out.

Until then, though, you would savor the few months you had where you'd be considered his significant other. The two of you would be a couple until August, and then you'd talk about it.

But the feeling of wanting to run and dance for joy was in your heart, and if this thing only ended up being a summer fling, then you would be okay with that.

I feel like this went a very different direction than I intended, but I mean.... it's still good I think? it's shorter than usual and I feel like it isn't my normal kind of writing. but also I suck at writing summaries because wth is this one I just wrote 😭

idk anyways. hopefully you guys enjoyed this event fic cause I had fun writing it <3

TAGGING: @mellozhi @garrothswiferealnotfake @frostnova321 @kixbit38 @fartmonster98 @myluvbucky @jess1ka18 @isaiku @iim5foryou4ever

#dahlia's dreams ☾#dahlia’s deliveries ☾#aphmau #aphverse #aphblr #mystreet #phoenix drop high #pdh #laurance x reader #laurance zvahl #laurance mystreet #mystreet laurance #pdh laurance #laurance pdh #laurance zvhal x reader #aphmau laurance

26 notes · View notes

augustjoy · 23 hours ago

Text

You’re a star.

Based on the following ask: I was actually thinking of a reader who was training to become an actress and she worked part time at a dinner theatre as a waitress and would fill in for the actors sometimes but Hotch only knows that she's a waitress there and not that she's an understudy bc she forgot to tell him for whatever reason. So one day the team decides to go to the venue for some kind of bonding event and Hotch expects to see the reader as a waitress there but instead gets a surprise when she comes out onto the stage all dressed up in her costume and starts singing. Okie so when researching for this fic I saw that a popular dinner theater is currently showing Rogers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella (which was made into a movie in 1957, later redone with Brandy!) …and the music in it is BEAUTIFUL, so I ran with it…that is the show that our lovely reader will be standing in for.

Aaron Hotchner x Aspiring Actress! Fem Reader Fluff Word count: 2122

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, unspecified age gap, explicit language, Hotch is in awe of you, proud Hotch, FBI Team bonding, aspiring actress reader, fem reader, singer reader, waitress reader, probably some theater inaccuracies (I was a choir kid y’all, sorry), tooth rotting fluff, BAU team speechless, reader wears makeup, has hair long enough to put up, and wears dresses for the show, reader is described to have a feminine voice, let me know if I missed anything! You are responsible for your own media consumption - if these warnings are triggering or potentially harmful, DO NOT READ.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Broadway had been your dream since you were a little girl. You’d gone to see Wicked, Les Misérables, The Phantom of the Opera, The Lion King, and more recently Hamilton and Aladdin. Every time you sat in one of those theater chairs, you vibrated with excitement, you shined with a childlike wonder then, and even still now. You’d begged your mom to put you in singing lessons after seeing your first musical at just 8 years old.

You’d been in choir all through school and theater both in and out of school. Your mom was your biggest cheerleader, always backing you. So, when you told her you were planning on going to college in New York City, she hadn’t been even the slightest bit surprised. She helped you film audition tapes and sent them into every performing arts school you could think of. You’d sent in applications and auditions to Carnegie Mellon, Ithaca, NYU, and Julliard. Any of which would have made you happy, but when your acceptance letters came from Ithaca and NYU, you’d had to make a choice.

NYU had been incredible, you’d met tons of incredible people, had opportunities to do some off-Broadway shows, but you’d yet to have your big break.

Which brings you to now, you recently finished your master’s program, and you were working at a dinner theater. It wasn’t ideal, but this was a place that many people had been found. Even last week your coworker James got offered a role in a Broadway show. They’d told him an audition tape wasn’t needed, that they had seen all they needed to right here.

This job was great, you may be a waitress but getting to sing and perform in front of a crown, to bring them joy, it was everything you’d wanted. The theater had done Newsies last month, which meant not a ton of female cast members were needed, but this month, they’d decided on Cinderella. You had been over the moon, you wanted nothing more than to get a decent role, more than the ensemble, so when you were cast as the fairy godmother you were thrilled…but then you’d noticed you’d also been listed as Cinderella’s understudy.

You couldn’t believe it. Both were great parts, and understudy meant opportunity.

Here’s the thing about being a twenty-something year old living in/near New York City, everyone thinks you’re either some uppity content creator, or they think you are a naive aspiring actor/artist. You’d been a cliché the moment you’d stepped foot into this city, so when you met Aaron, you may have bent the truth just a little.

He knew you went to NYU, and he knew you were a waitress and where you worked…he’d even heard you sing a few times here and there (in the shower mostly). But you may have neglected to tell him about wanting to pursue a career on Broadway. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, you just didn’t want to be that girl. You didn’t want to come across as the young dumb girl, broke in New York. Not when you had been asked out by the handsome older man who had a highly successful career.

You and Aaron had been seeing one another for about six months now. You hadn’t gotten to spend that much time together, given that he had to travel so much for work, but that was okay. You knew his work was important, and it didn’t bother you. He’d always made sure you felt loved and like you were the only girl in the world.

It had been about two weeks into the new show, people had been singing your praises as the fairy godmother, telling you how wonderful you were. You were riding on a high, and while you finally wanted to share that with Aaron, they’d been called away on back-to-back cases, and you didn’t think it was an appropriate conversation to have while he was actively hunting serial killers.

So, you’d kept it to yourself…and when Kiera, the girl playing Cinderella got a case of tonsillitis, resulting in her needing a tonsillectomy, you were asked to step in.

“Well, Kiera is out…so looks like you are no longer the understudy. Are you good to go on tomorrow?” The director asked.

“Me?” You pointed at yourself. “I mean, yes. I-I’m ready!”

“Good! Now, go see Sheryl for a costume fitting.”

“Thank you!”

Aaron had been home yesterday when you’d got off work. He texted you telling you they’d caught the guy and were home safe. He’d even called you to talk about your week and how things had been going.

You could tell he was stressed, and you didn’t want to add to that, so you’d let him know work had been busy and that a coworker had called in sick, so you’d been picking up some extra shifts…not a total lie. You would tell him, soon.

You’d been practicing all day, your lines, the songs, with and without your costars. You wanted to be perfect, going out there as the lead. It had kept you so distracted, you’d forgotten to check your phone.

Aaron: Hey sweetheart I hope you are having a great day. I miss you, come over tonight?

Aaron: They are forcing us to have a team outing tonight, the BAU and Cyber Crimes together.

Aaron: Something about team building. It is however at the theater…so hopefully I will see you!

Aaron: I could drive you home tonight, so we can spend some time together. Text me back when you can honey.

He was a little nervous, you were typically good about replying to him, especially around your break…which was typically right about now. Aaron tried to shake the worry from his thoughts, he’d likely see you soon.

“Why do we have to go to this thing?” Emily huffed.

“Team building, I guess.” JJ replied.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad!” Penelope attempted to lighten the mood. “I heard they’re showing Cinderella, so at least it is something we all know!”

The rest of the team joined in the conversation as they entered the theater, waiting to be seated at a table. Aaron was scanning the floor for you, surely you’d be around serving guests…

“Which one is she?” Dave questioned.

“She’s not-I don’t see her.” Aaron whispered back.

“Is she in the show?” Dave asked.

“I don’t think so, she never mentioned being in the shows, only serving.” Aaron shrugged.

The teams were seated, each person handed a menu as well as a program for the show. While they looked over their menus a petite woman walked out onto the stage to provide instructions and expectations for when the show began.

“Please ensure all cellular devices are either off or on silent. When your servers arrive, they will take the entirety of your order now, as well as provide paper and pens for if you are to need additional food or drinks throughout the evening, this is to minimize talking. We will have a fifteen-minute intermission, which you can utilize to check your devices, use the restroom, and place additional orders. The program provided to you withholds the individuals performing in tonight’s show. Please note that our Cinderella has fallen ill, but no need to worry, her amazing understudy has stepped in. Last thing, please enjoy the show!”

Aaron’s gaze scanned over the program, immediately finding your name listed next to Fairy Godmother, shock took over his expression and Dave was quick to notice.

“She’s the fairy godmother.” Aaron said quietly.

“Wait! She’s in the show?” Penelope squealed.

“Did you say she’s the fairy godmother?" Spencer questioned, and when Aaron nodded, he added “Um, she’s listed as Cinderella’s understudy.”

Aaron’s jaw hit the floor. He couldn’t believe that you were the lead. He had heard you sing before and he knew how wonderful your voice was…he also knew that you’d gone to NYU for musical theater, thanks to Penelope. He just wasn’t sure why you hadn’t told him. Work had been keeping him especially busy lately, so maybe he just missed it.

The lights dimmed and places were taken. You’d felt nervous initially, but ultimately you were so excited to be doing this. The cast had begun with the prologue off stage; your first song would be In My Own Little Corner.

Aaron and the team watched in awe. Everything about this production had been incredible, the costumes, the sets, but most notably you and your singing. So far he’d see the maid costume, but truthfully, he was most excited to see you dressed up in the ball gown, he knew you’d look like a vision.

And when transformations began, he was proved right. There on stage you had gone from the milkmaid to a princess, and he was speechless. You looked so beautiful and then when you began singing It’s Possible as your character was making her way to the ball.

The show went on a bit longer before intermission, your character transformed back into the milkmaid, poorly treated by her stepsisters and stepmother.

During intermission you finally checked your phone, you wanted to see if your eyes had deceived you, or if Aaron and his entire team were really here tonight, watching you perform for the first time.

4 New Messages

Aaron: Hey sweetheart I hope you are having a great day. I miss you, come over tonight?

Aaron: They are forcing us to have a team outing tonight, the BAU and Cyber Crimes together.

Aaron: Something about team building. It is however at the theater…so hopefully I will see you!

Aaron: I could drive you home tonight, so we can spend some time together. Text me back when you can honey.

As you read them, another message came in.

Aaron: You are absolutely breathtaking, had I known you were in the show I would’ve brought flowers. I love you, break a leg sweetheart.

You: I’ll explain everything after the show! I love you so much Aar.

People were scrambling, times were being called out, signaling that it was time to take your places. Upon reentry, the first song was your own, one where Cinderella would reminisce on her time spent with the prince.

The song entitled He Was Tall, and while you sang it, Aaron fell in love with you all over again. He could see his teammates glancing over at him throughout the evening all with warmth and understanding of the love he was exuding due to your performance. He just couldn’t help his amazement; you’d had such poise and grace as you floated around the stage. Your voice was that of a princess, there was no other way to describe it, this part had been made for you.

Looking around he could see the way you’d captured the hearts of every patron in the theater. They were all hooked on every word that escaped your lips, completely enraptured. The show continued on through the prince’s pursuit of his lost princess, he’d gone around with the glass slipper and when he found it fit you and only you, the proposal scene began, quickly slipping into the wedding and then the exit.

By the end, Aaron’s eyes were misty, and the room had erupted in cheers, most people had been standing, giving you and the rest of the company a well-deserved round of applause. When it came time for bows, you and the prince had been nudged forward to bow together and the whole room ignited, they had gone wild for your talents…and Aaron couldn’t be more proud.

Finally, the stage cleared, and people sat to finish any remaining food or drinks, but Aaron stood in wait. Hoping you’d come out soon to see him. When he was just about to give up, Dave nodded behind him, signaling someone was there.

Aaron turned to see you, still in your wedding costume, he was stunned.

“Hey Aar.” You smiled.

“Hi sweetheart.” He said, quickly pressing his lips to yours and pulling you into a hug. “You were incredible honey! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You’ve been so busy with work, I just didn’t want to add anything to your plate.” You shrugged.

“This, you, sweetheart, you can tell me these things. This is the stuff I want to know. This is the kind of thing that makes my days better. Have you always been in the shows here?” He asked.

“Not always, mostly ensemble work. This was my first big one.” You began, “I didn’t tell you about the acting because I didn’t want to be another cliché girl in her twenties, moving to New York to pursue acting.”

“You aren’t a cliché honey. You’re a star.”

Hotch Taglist: @bernelflo @pastelpinkflowerlife @just-moondust @khxna @crimesthatnooneaskedfor @juninnyxriddle

46 notes · View notes